Page 53 of Unworthy Ties
“Marco!” I snapped, my voice sharp enough to cut through the penthouse quiet. “Where is she?Where’s Gabriella?”
The hulking man froze, eyes wide beneath his stoic exterior. He opened his mouth, hesitated, then finally muttered, “I… I don’t know, sir.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?” I demanded, my voice trembling on the edge of fury.
“The dressing on the salad she made me… I’m lactose intolerant.”
“I don’t care if she had you drink a gallon of milk; I expect you to keep an eye on her at all times!” I rubbed my temples to soothe the pounding headache that had suddenly came on. “Pull the video footage in the complex.”
“Right away, sir.”
While Marco worked on pulling the video footage, I first did the obvious: call Gabriella’s cell phone. The phone rang, the sound echoing ominously in the silence of the penthouse. Each ring felt longer than the last, stretching my anxiety taut like a wire ready to snap. After the third ring, voicemail picked up,her warm voice a stark contrast to the unease pooling in my stomach.
“Fuck.” I went into FindMy to check the location of her phone, only to see the little dot blinking stubbornly on the dining table—right where she’d left it.
She was addicted to her phone. She wouldn’t have left without it.
I placed a frantic call to Felix. He answered on the last ring.
“You always call me at the worst times,” he said, his tone laced with annoyance. I could hear the clinking of a glass and the sound of women’s laughter in the background.
“I don’t care if it’s a bad time,” I snapped, my voice low and urgent. “Gabriella’s gone. She’s not in the penthouse.”
Felix’s laughter cut off abruptly. “What do you mean, gone?”
“I don’t know,” I cut in, teeth gritted. “She got out.”
“Get your ass here now,” I commanded, my heart racing as I hung up before he could respond.
The minutes between my call and Felix’s arrival stretched like hours. I paced the length of the living room, every muscle in my body coiled tight, ears tuned to the smallest sound. Marco’s fingers tapped furiously at the keyboard, trying to pull up the security feed, but even the clicks of the keys grated on my nerves.
Then the elevator dinged. The sound was sharp, final, like a gunshot. A moment later, Felix stormed through the door, shirt half-unbuttoned, tie hanging loose, the scent of whiskey and perfume trailing in with him. His usual smirk was gone, instead replaced with a rare, stone-hard seriousness.
“What the fuck happened?” he demanded, his gaze cutting across the wreckage of the office before landing squarely on me.
I relayed what had happened, including that she had presumably found the folder of the other women that I considered marrying.
Felix’s expression darkened at the mention of the folder. “You idiot. You should have thrown that away!”
His words hit like a slap, but I didn’t flinch. My jaw clenched, heat rising in my chest. “You think I don’t fucking know that?” I shot back, my voice low and dangerous.
“Look,” Felix took a deep breath in a rare attempt to not escalate our argument further. “She probably just got upset and is walking the streets of NYC. Once Marco finds the footage, we can—”
“Got it,” Marco said. The image flickered to life on the screen, a grainy black-and-white shot of our hallway. It showed Gabriella entering the elevator and then, seconds later, it showed the elevator doors sliding shut behind her. She emerged moments later and walked out of the lobby.
I felt the blood drain from my face as the footage continued to play. She had left the building, but where had she gone?
“Pull the footage from the stores across the street,” I commanded Marco.
“Already done,” he responded.
Finally, he had done something useful today.
The screens shifted again, cycling through shaky exterior angles. I leaned forward, every muscle tight, scanning for her. A figure emerged on the screen, a flicker of movement that sent a jolt through my chest. Gabriella, her silhouette unmistakable, stepped briskly along the sidewalk, her head down and shoulders hunched as if under the weight of a heavy burden.
She turned down a quieter street, one the cameras barely caught, and then my heart stopped.
A dark van rolled up beside her, brakes squealing. The side door flew open, and before she could even react, two men grabbed her. She struggled, kicking, thrashing, but they dragged her inside as if she weighed nothing. The door slammed shut; the van lurching forward and disappearing off-screen.
