Marco stepped through the grand doors of the Venetti estate, loosening his tie, his mind still tangled in the rage from earlier.
The meeting. Carmen. The way she had looked him in the eyes and told him, “I found something on Ella.”
His jaw tightened. He didn’t want to think about her.
Didn’t want to think about the way doubt had started creeping into his mind ever since Matteo called Ella “Mommy.”
He needed to focus. To move forward.
Marco sighed, rolling his shoulders before heading into the living room. That’s when he paused.
Matteo sat alone, cross-legged on the floor, playing with his toy cars. Marco’s brows furrowed.
“Where’s Ella?” he asked.
Matteo shrugged, not looking up.
“I dunno,” he mumbled, pushing a car across the rug.
Marco’s chest tightened. Ella was never far from Matteo. She was always watching him, hovering, mothering.
“What do you mean you don’t know?” Marco pressed, his voice growing sharper.
Matteo kept playing, unaffected. “She was here,” he muttered. “Then she wasn’t.”
Marco’s stomach dropped. Something felt off. “Matteo, when was the last time you saw her?” Marco demanded.
Matteo just shrugged again, unbothered. That’s when Marco’s pulse sped up.
He turned sharply, scanning the room, but the house was quiet. Too quiet. Marco immediately started moving, his body tense, his mind racing. Where the hell was she?
Marco checked the kitchen first, but it was empty—a pot of cold coffee still sitting on the stove.
He moved through the hallways, checking room after room.
“Ella?” he called out.
No answer.
The guest rooms—empty. The backyard—empty. Marco’s hands clenched into fists.
Where the hell was she?
He climbed the stairs, moving faster now, checking every corner, every space—
Nothing.
She was just gone. And Matteo had been alone for an hour. His jaw locked. A deep, dark feeling settled in his chest.
Ella never left Matteo alone. Ever.
His phone was already in his hand, his fingers dialing—
But just as he was about to call the police—
A soft voice came from the hallway.
“I’m here.”
Marco whipped around. And there she was.
Ella stood at the top of the stairs, perfectly calm, her expression unreadable. Her hair was dry, her clothes neatly pressed, her skin perfectly smooth.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I was taking a shower.”
Marco’s eyes narrowed. He looked her over, his jaw clenching.
She didn’t look like she had just come out of a shower.