I ended the call, my gaze coasting to the spare room window. Sunlight glared on the glass, but as I stood there looking at it, something abnormally cold settled in my stomach. I took one last drag and then put the cigarette out on the wooden table.

Heading to the house, I opened the back door to see a silent kitchen and living room. A breath of cool air hit my skin, but inside my bloodstream heated as though held over a burner. The house was still, nothing but the air-conditioning and my boots against the hardwood sounded as I walked into the kitchen.

Her phone sat on the counter and I grabbed it as I walked past.

As I made my way up the stairs, that god awful squeak cut through the air and somehow settled under my skin with a grating texture. I rolled my shoulders to push the odd sensation away.

With an unnatural calmness, I searched every room. Mine—ours. The spare rooms. The bathrooms.

All empty.

Something tightened in my throat and pierced me in the fucking chest.

She ran. She fucking stole from me and ran. To be with another man? He was the deadest goddamn man to ever exist.

Her clothes were here as well as her bag, but maybe she hadn’t needed them. Maybe they would’ve slowed her down.

I inhaled deeply and made my way down the steps while making a call. The ringing sounded faraway, blurring with the drumming of blood in my ears.

“Allister.” Christian’s cold tone crept through the line.

“Find my wife,” I rasped. “She has a bank account downtown. She’s either been there or will be soon.” I gritted my teeth before adding, “And then most likely the bus station.”

Two quiet moments passed.

“Give me an hour.”

He hung up, and I slipped my phone into my pocket. I still held hers in my other hand, and before I knew it, it was flying across the room and hitting the wall.

“Fuck!”

I swept all the decanters off the bar before pushing the entire thing over. Glass shattered and skidded across the hardwood. The strong smell of liquor hit my nose as the liquid spread to my boots. Bitterness bit into my chest. I ran my hands through my hair and let a dangerous calm settle over me.

Crazy, she called me.

She had no idea how goddamn crazy I could be.

I’d give Christian an hour before I started tearing this city apart piece by piece.

The flames flickered and crackled in the fire pit. I sat on the edge of my seat, my elbows on my knees and a steady burn radiating in my chest. I heard the back door slam shut but didn’t look up. I didn’t even remember what I’d texted Luca earlier, but he’d gone inside without a word when he got here a few minutes ago.

“A little warm for a fire,” he commented, sitting in a lawn chair across from me.

I didn’t respond, just watched the blaze eat the pink fabric alive.

“Burning her clothes already?”

Using the poker, I pushed the Yankees shirt further into the flames.

“Look, Ace, I know you’re pissed right now—” He paused when I shot him a dark look. “But she left all her pink clothes here—”

“Shut up, Luca,” I snapped. I didn’t want to hear his stupid theories about why she left. I didn’t fucking care. No, that wasn’t true—I cared so much it pissed me the fuck off.

He put his hands up but opened his mouth again. “Just don’t see a girl like her leaving her family behind, is all.”

“She’s done it before.”

He shook his head. “She wasn’t running. She didn’t even leave the city.”

I let out a bitter laugh when I realized it made more sense that she would stay for her family than she ever would for me.

“You’re not thinking with your head, Ace. Fuck, walk in your house.”

Been there. That’s why I was sitting out here.

My narrowed gaze found his. “Why are you sticking up for her?”

“I’m not. She’s making me wear a fucking pink tie to your wedding.” He grimaced. “Once her papà finds out you lost her, she knows it’ll get violent. She’s not dumb. I’m just putting the facts together and it doesn’t add up.”

It made perfect sense to me. That stupid ring. How tense she’d gotten this morning. She loved some other man and had left everything behind to be with him. My throat tightened, a hollow fucking feeling unfurling in my chest.

“Two million, Luca. Explain that.”

He was silent.

I gazed into the flames. I didn’t know what I would do when I found her, but Luca was right. My head wasn’t on straight concerning her. She’d always be my wife, but I didn’t need to be in this deep, especially when she wasn’t.

My phone rang, and I picked it up.

Christian rattled off an address, and my heart rate spiked.

“Just a warning, Ace. She’s not alone.”

His words hit me like a punch to the chest, and my grip tightened on the phone.

“Got it.”

“I think you have to pay for love with bitter tears.”

—Édith Piaf

“YOU KNOW,”—SEBASTIAN SCRATCHED HIS jaw—“I don’t know much about New York City, but my guess is this neighborhood isn’t one of the best.”

He sat beside me on a green bench that was sticky with spilled soda and other things I didn’t want to think about. If there ever was a neon sign flashing “steal from me” it was him, in his crisp gray suit and gold watch and cufflinks that sparkled in the sun. I’d dressed the way I had for a reason, but it was pointless now with him stuck to my side. I wasn’t that concerned for my safety, however. He might look preppy and ostentatious, but the darkness of his profession reflected in his eyes whenever the light hit them just right.

He sat back against the bench. “So, what do we do now? Just wait?”

“Yes.”

Across the trash-littered street sat a row of rundown townhouses. Barred lower windows, chipping paint, and sagging chain-link fences. My focus was on the gray one far enough away we were fairly hidden by a few trees, but close enough I could still make out the front door.

It had taken thirty minutes to find the right house, the entirety being filled with thoughts from seven months ago. I wished I could say my memory of him was poignant and unforgettable, but in truth, he was just a shadow in my mind, the only thread holding him together, guilt.

A small park sat off to our right, and Sebastian watched as a group of boys pretended to shoot each other with finger guns.

“Maybe they could come work for you and my husband,” I said.

He laughed. “I’ll give them a few years.” Resting his arm behind me, he said, “You do know he’s going to try to kill me, don’t you?”

“Why did you insist on coming if you believed that?” I shook my head in disbelief, but a cold sweat drifted through me. “I won’t tell him you were involved.”

He let out a breath of amusement, his gaze following a cop car that drove past us suspiciously slow. “Oh, Elena, he already knows.”

The hair on the back of my neck rose.

Movement caught in my periphery, and I fought not to shift to the edge of the bench. I didn’t want to bring more attention to myself when I already had a Colombian drug lord sitting next to me.