Page 120 of Unholy Union
Blood//Water - grandson
I’m still fuming over every damn word Sabrina said when the horn blares behind me. I turn around to find it’s some asshole in a delivery truck getting into it with Lazaro. He’s just pulled up in the town car to take me and Sabrina home.
The delivery driver has hopped out of his truck to yell at him about the street parking. Lazaro’s a man of few words, preferring to rely on action—most of that action being violence.
I sigh and head over before I’ve got a brutal public stabbing on my hands.
As soon as the delivery driver sees me coming, his face drains of color as recognition dawns in his eyes.
The city might not know for sure if the Valentes are a mafia family, but the rumors are out there. It’s just about an open secret in New York City not to fuck with us.
He stumbles over his own two feet and stammers, “N-never mind. You can have it. S-spot’s all yours.”
He’s scrambling back toward his truck, pulling away from the curb so fast his tires burn rubber.
Lazaro watches him go with narrowed eyes, unfazed. “Where’d your disgruntled princess run off to?”
“She’s inside. I was giving us both a moment to cool down,” I answer, scrubbing my jaw. I pull out my phone to check the GPS app that’s linked to the tiny tracker in Sabrina’s wedding ring. The app shows me the blinking green dot inside the Corsini headquarters building. “She’s still on the ground floor. Wait here. I’ll get her.”
He nods, leaning against the side of the car, ever the sentry standing watch.
I shove the phone back in my pocket and head for the doors, ignoring the pulsing throb in my temples and the way my gut keeps twisting tighter with every step.
There’s a good chance Sabrina could make another scene about having to come with me, but I don’t give a fuck. She’s my wife and there’s no other option.
Divorce isn’t on the table no matter what she says. As fucked up and confusing as things have become, I’m not ready to throw in the towel, and deep down, she’s not either.
I refuse to accept that she is.
I cut across the lobby toward the receptionist’s desk on the other side. She looks up as I approach, her tortoiseshell glasses perched on the bridge of her nose and one hand resting on her very round, very pregnant belly.
“Did you see where the pretty girl with curly hair went?” I ask.
Her brows knit at first, then she smiles. “Oh, you mean Sabrina? Mr. Corsini’s daughter? Yeah, I saw her a couple minutes ago. She went that way.”
She points down a corridor off to the left, and I don’t waste time thanking her. My shoes echo over the polished floor as I stride across the lobby in the direction she pointed.
The corridor narrows the farther I go, glass walls giving way to solid drywall. Ceiling lights buzz and the doors to offices grow fewer in number.
There’s no sign of her anywhere as I finally reach a dead end that leads to an emergency exit.
I pull out my phone again, reopening the tracking app. The green dot hasn’t moved. It’s still here, blinking in the same spot on the ground floor.
The receptionist had been correct. It’s showing that she’s in thisexactcorridor.
Except she’s not.
Unless Sabrina’s become the invisible woman in the last fifteen minutes since I’ve seen her, there’s no way she’s standing in this corridor at the same time I am.
Tension knots in my muscles as I slowly turn my head toward the stretch of hall behind me. The app says she’s about ten feet away, which can only mean…
My gaze drops to the ground, spotting the tiny ring glinting from the right angle.
Sabrina’s wedding ring.
I take a slow step forward, then another, my eyes set on the delicate little band of white-gold as dread coils tighter. It’s even smaller in the palm of my hand, reminding me how perfectly it had fit on Sabrina’s slender finger.
I stare at it for several seconds still in a state of shock that’s unlike me.
