Page 48 of The Voicemail

“They have to think it’s at her apartment,” I say, the pieces clicking into place. “Why else break in twice?”

“I thought Tomaso was just unhinged.”

I shake my head, remembering that day. Her things thrown all over the apartment.

“Both things can be true at the same time.”

“Did we ever check to see if there were any bugs in her office?”

“I didn’t think to check,” I admit. “She threw out every flower she got. It never occurred to me he could have planted a bug there. We know he was at the gallery opening last night, so it’s possible he’s had access before. Especially because of Claire. Can you get in and do a full sweep?”

“Of course,” he says dutifully. “In the meantime, you might have to do something you aren’t going to like. You might have to search her things.”

“You’re right,” I deadpan. “I don’t.”

“It’s just a thought,” he says carefully.

I turn it over after we hang up. It follows me while I rewatch the footage of Claire’s kidnapping, while my men receive a pharmacy delivery for Elena, and while Marco drives me back to her apartment.

I walk through the space alone, taking in the damage from Tomaso’s last visit. He tore through everything.

It’s the violence of it all that finally gets to me. The personal touches. He didn’t just want to do his job, he wanted to violate her sense of safety. He wanted to send her a message. Whatever he can do to her things, he can do even worse to her.

Would I be any better if I went through her things? Maybe not. She’d see it as another violation. She’d be furious with me. But if it saves her life, it’s worth the risk. Whatever gets Bianchi to leave her alone is worth it to me.

I pull out my phone and call Luca while I’m still in the middle of her destroyed living room.

“Do it,” I tell him. “Discreetly. Leave no trace. She shouldn’t know.”

“Understood,” he answers automatically before hanging up.

I sink down onto the torn-up couch and wonder if I’m doing the right thing. Probably not. That’s the truth. As much as I want to protect her, there’s every possibility that it will drive her away from me. That’s not what I want, but I’ll have to accept whatever consequences may come.

When I get back to the penthouse, she’s sitting at the kitchen island, robotically eating a dinner Adriana made. She doesn’t even look up when I walk in. For a moment I panic, thinking she already knows what I’ve done. When she finally does acknowledge me, though, her eyes look sad and tired, rather than betrayed.

“Are you okay?” I ask her carefully.

She laughs humorlessly. “It’s been a weird day,” she finally says quietly. “I don’t think I’m capable of being okay anymore.”

“That’s not true,” I tell her. “This is just a moment. It’s a blip. In the grand scheme of things, it’s nothing. One day, you’ll look back at all this and be proud that you survived it.”

“If I survive it,” she answers weakly before bursting into tears.

I try to lay a comforting hand on her back, but she shrugs me off. I don’t take it personally. This is an impossibly hard time for her. Everything in her life is spinning out of control. Tomaso is still out there. Claire is missing. Her boss is a coward, hiding his ties to a dangerous criminal. It would be a lot for anyone to carry.

“I’m sorry,” she says after a moment, wiping her face quickly. “I hate crying in front of people.”

“You don’t have to apologize, Elena,” I say sincerely. “You never have to apologize to me.”

“It’s embarrassing,” she protests, shaking her head. “I’m angry.”

“It’s natural,” I say.

“Can you just stop trying to comfort me?” she snaps, getting up and stepping away from me. “You can’t fix this, Alex. Nobody can.”

She sets her half-eaten plate in the sink and storms out, leaving me watching her go. I didn’t think Claire’s disappearance would rattle her this much, but I vow to give her space. She’ll be angry enough when she realizes I’ve gone through her things. Best not to push my luck any further.

15