POV: Rosalind
I closed the winery early and drove home with the radio off, watching every car behind me in the mirror.
The drive felt longer than usual. Every stoplight held me hostage. Every turn felt deliberate. I tracked headlights in my rearview—that sedan three cars back, was it following? The SUV that took the same exit? My paranoia had metrics now. Distance. Timing. Pattern recognition.
Nothing stood out. But that didn't mean nothing was there.
The phone rang when I was ten minutes from home.
Daniel. Again.
"I'm still on the road," he said without preamble. Road noise louder now. Clearer. Turn signals clicking in rhythm. "They changed the location again. Third time. I'm following GPS coordinates they texted twenty minutes ago."
"Where are you?"
"Headed north. Rural area. No landmarks I recognize." His voice was steady but I heard the tension underneath. "This is intentional. They're making sure I can't prepare. Can't scout ahead. Can't bring anyone who might provide backup."
"Then don't go."
"We both know I don't have that option." He paused. The turn signal clicked three times. Then silence. "Listen carefully. If this call drops—technical issue, dead zone, whatever—you wait ten minutes before doing anything. Understood?"
"Ten minutes."
"Exactly ten. You count. You breathe. You do not move. You do not call anyone. You just wait."
My stomach tightened. "And then?"
"Then you call Luca. You tell him to go to the address I gave him last night. You tell him to bring identification and follow instructions exactly as they're given." Daniel's voice was clinical now. Precise. "And then you activate whatever exit plan you have. The one I'm pretending I don't know about. You use it. Immediately."
"Daniel—"
"Should Luca come to the house?" I asked.
"No." He said it fast. Firm. Then slower: "No. Luca stays away. Luca... Luca is safe where he is. Luca needs to stay exactly where he is."
The way he said our son's name—slowly, carefully, like he was fixing it in memory—made my throat tight.
"Daniel, what's going to happen?"
"I don't know. But I need you to promise me that if things go wrong, you protect yourself first. Not me. Not the business. Not anything except you and Luca." His breathing changed. Shallower. "Promise me, Rosalind."
"I promise."
"Good. That's—"
The call cut out mid-sentence.
Not a fade. Not static. Just sudden silence.
I stared at the phone. "Daniel?"
Nothing.
I tried to call back immediately. It rang once. Then: "The number you have dialed is not available. Please try again later."
Straight to voicemail.
I tried again. Same message.
My hands started shaking.
Ten minutes. He said ten minutes.
But ten minutes for what? Ten minutes until he was out of a dead zone? Ten minutes until something happened that required me to act?
I couldn't wait. Couldn't sit in my car counting seconds while my husband disappeared somewhere north of the city with people who'd been threatening my family for months.
I called Theo.
He answered on the first ring but didn't speak. Just breathed. Listening.
"Daniel," I said. Just his name. Just that one word.
"Sit down." Theo's voice was quiet. Controlled. "Wherever you are. Sit down and do not move."
"The call cut off. He's not answering. He said to wait ten minutes but—"
"Where are you?"
"In my car. Almost home."
"Pull over. Now."
I did. Swung into a parking lot. Killed the engine. My hands were shaking so hard I could barely hold the phone.
"I'm stopped," I said.
"Good. Now listen very carefully. You are going to sit exactly where you are for the next thirty minutes. You are not going to call anyone else. You are not going to drive home. You are not going to do anything except breathe and wait for me to call you back."
"Theo, something's wrong. Daniel said if the call dropped—"
"I know what Daniel said. I know what he's afraid of. And I know that if you go home right now, you'll walk into something you can't walk out of." His voice was steel. "So you sit. You wait. You trust me."
"I don't—"
"Rosalind. Trust me. Please."
I closed my eyes. Pressed the phone to my ear. "Okay."
"Thirty minutes. I'll call you back."
He hung up.
I sat in my car in a random parking lot with the sun setting and the phone pressed to my ear and the silence pressing down like a physical weight.
Around me, normal life continued. People walking into a grocery store. Kids on bikes. Someone loading shopping bags into a trunk.
Normal. While my husband was somewhere unreachable and my lover was telling me not to go home and my son was taking a meeting about what to do if his father died.
My phone buzzed.
Not a call. A text.
Luca’s number: Be at home.
Two words. No context. No signature.
I stared at the message. Read it three times. Tried to understand what that meant.
The phone rang again.
Not Theo. Not Daniel. Luca.
I answered. "Luca—"
"Mum, where are you?" His voice was tight. Scared. "I need to come identify—" He stopped. Composed himself. "Where are you?"
"In a parking lot. Safe. "
"Still at the meeting. They told me to stay here. Said someone would come explain." His breathing was uneven. "Mum, go home."
Then we just breathed together. Connected by phone lines and fear and the terrible certainty that something had happened and nothing would be the same again.
Finally, I spoke. "Okey. Don't leave. I'm coming home."
I hung up. Started the car. Pulled out of the parking lot.
Theo had said thirty minutes. Luca needed me now.
I chose Luca.