The mansion felt empty.
Two days. Two days since Matteo had been taken.
Two days of searching, calling, tracking—only to hit dead end after dead end.
Marco stood in his office, staring at the maps and documents pinned to the wall, red circles marking every possible lead.
And yet?
Nothing. Not a single trace of Ella. Not a single clue of where she had taken his son.
He exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose.
His head pounded, his body running on nothing but coffee, stress, and fury.
Behind him, Luca was on the phone, barking orders to his men, his voice frustrated and sharp.
Carmen sat on the other side of the room, gripping her phone, her knee bouncing anxiously.
Every few minutes, she would dial someone.
And every time, Marco watched her face fall when no one had the answers she needed.
But worst of all?
Marco could feel it.
The way she was barely holding on. And the way she was slipping further and further away from him.
“This isn’t f**king working!” Carmen suddenly snapped, throwing her phone onto the table.
Both Marco and Luca turned to her, but she was already on her feet, pacing the room, breathing heavily.
“We’re wasting time,” she muttered, her hands shaking. “We should be out there, looking for him. Not sitting here staring at walls!”
Marco took a slow breath, watching her carefully. She was breaking. Piece by piece.
“Carmen—”
“Don’t,” she cut him off, spinning to face him, her eyes blazing with fury. “Don’t tell me to calm down, Marco. My son is missing. Our son is missing!”
“I know,” he said quietly.
Carmen let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head.
“Do you?” she asked. “Because you’re still standing there, acting like there’s a plan. Like this isn’t a complete f**king disaster!”
Marco’s jaw clenched. “We’re doing everything we can,” he said.
“And it’s not enough!” she snapped. Luca stood silently in the corner, not daring to intervene. This wasn’t his fight.
This was between them.
“We’re running out of time,” Carmen continued, her voice wavering now. “What if she’s already—”
She stopped, her breath catching. The thought was too much. Too painful.
Marco saw it—the way her entire body trembled, the way her fingers dug into her palms.
And for the first time in two days, Marco felt something worse than fear.
Regret. Because this? This was his fault. Matteo’s kidnapping. This wall between them. The anger in her eyes. The pain in her voice. She didn’t trust him anymore.
And maybe…
Maybe she never would again.
“Carmen,” Marco said softly. But she just shook her head.
“Don’t,” she whispered. “Don’t say my name like that.”
Marco’s chest tightened. “Like what?” he asked. Carmen’s eyes shone with something unreadable. “Like you still have the right to,” she murmured.
Silence. Heavy. Cold. Suffocating.
Her voice hardened again.
“You called me a traitor.”
Marco’s stomach twisted.
“You humiliated me,” she continued, her hands curling into fists. “You made me feel insane.”
She had said this plenty of times now. Marco allowed it. He swallowed hard.
“I was wrong.”
He had said that plenty of times too. There was nothing else he could think of. He was wrong. Wrong in big bold letters
“Yeah,” Carmen whispered, looking away. “You were.”
Marco felt it.
The finality in her voice. The way she had already accepted it. This was it. This was the moment he realized he had lost her.
For good. The only reason she was still here?
Matteo.
Not him. Never him. Marco forced himself to stay calm, but inside, he felt something crack.
“I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness,” he admitted. “But we need to focus on getting Matteo back.”
Carmen lifted her chin, nodding stiffly. “That’s the only reason I’m still here,” she said.
And Marco felt the words like a knife to the chest. Because for the first time in years, Carmen wasn’t his anymore.
She wasn’t his wife. She wasn’t his partner. She wasn’t the woman who had once looked at him like he was her whole world.
She was just—a mother trying to find her son.