Unmissing(56)

“Things aren’t good,” he says, pacing.

I’ve half a mind to grab him by the shoulders and nail him to the wall until he stops moving. All this back and forth is dizzying.

“Heard back from the last buyer a few days ago.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “They passed. All of them did.”

“What? When were you going to tell me this?”

He frowns. “Not while you were in the hospital . . .”

“Why’d they pass?” The sting of rejection is personal with this one. While the restaurants were a joint effort, I’m the one who chose every menu item, the fabric on the drapes, the light fixtures, the music. The entire experience—from the moment a diner walks in to the second they return to the parking lot, belly swollen with unforgettable cuisine and veins flooded with top-shelf liquor—was all me. Luca handled everything else. Loans, accounting, hiring. The less inspiring aspects of running a business.

The fact that not one, not two, but three firms passed on the buyout is a slap in the face.

“We’re in a risk-averse market right now,” Luca says. Though I don’t even know if he comprehends what that means. He simply married an ambitious woman and did everything in his power to make her dreams come true—and he may have picked up an impressive phrase or two along the way. We both know I was always the brains in this operation.

“So what now?”

He stares at the wall behind me, his knuckles rapping on his thigh. “We fold.”

This is the bottom dropping out. I thought it’d hit harder, but so far it feels like nothing—a dark void of numbness.

“What else?” I cross my arms and will him to look at me, but like a stubborn mule, the bastard refuses. “What else have you been keeping from me?”

He sniffs. “There’s nothing more I can tell you that you don’t already know.”

“Come on. We both know that’s a lie.”

I turn and head to the hallway. I don’t want to fight within earshot of my children. Oblivious or not, it’s not the kind of precedent I want to set for this family.

“I’m done pretending,” I say. “I’m done playing the role of your ignorant, dutiful wife. And I’m done biting my tongue when what I should be doing is asking you the one question that’s been on my mind since the moment that woman showed up at our door.”

He studies a vintage oil portrait on the wall behind me, lips pressing into a hard line like he’s buying time.

“We promised we’d never talk about that,” he finally says. And it’s true. We’ve made a dozen ironclad agreements to one another since the beginning, but that was the biggest, most sacred one. Almost more sacred than our actual wedding vows.

“What choice have you left us?” I want to scream these words in his face until I’m bloodred. I want to push him against the wall, watch him stumble backward, and relish in the shocked look on his face as he’s caught off guard. His sweet little wife, the mother of his children, the one woman he never should’ve underestimated.

His cheeks flush pink, though he’s not embarrassed. Luca Coletto doesn’t get embarrassed. He’s frustrated, powerless, caught in a years-old lie by the only person who has ever stood by his side and loved him unconditionally.

“I’m going to give you one shot at this.” I keep my voice low and my stare laser focused. “And if you lie to me, Luca . . . so help me . . .” Fist clenching midair, I ask the million-dollar question: “Why is she still alive?”

Elsie giggles from the next room, and I peek my head around the doorway to make sure Everett is safe.

One of us has to care.

“I’m wondering the same thing,” he says, eyes tracking me. “I thought she was dead when I left.”

“You didn’t . . . I don’t know . . . check her pulse?”

“I didn’t want to touch her.” He maintains an impressively stoic expression. “I shot her in the back, I watched her collapse, watched her bleed out. And I waited. I didn’t want to move her or risk getting touch DNA or anything on or around her.”

I roll my eyes. “Apparently you didn’t wait long enough.”

I’ve pegged him as many things over the years. Imbecile was the least of them. Until now.

Jaw clenched, I shake my head. “You’ve royally screwed us. You know that, right? And what were you thinking, bringing us out here? She’s going to think we skipped town, and she’s going to go straight to the police and turn you in.”

“Trust me, she won’t.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Because I have something she wants.” He tucks his chin. “She asked for a new identity, and I told her I’d handle it. She’s not going to turn me in without getting what she wants.”

Idiot.

“And what would she do with a stolen identity, Luca? Honestly.” I throw my hands in the air and let them fall against my sides with a defeated, exaggerated clap.

He begins to say something, then stops.

“So much for being a team.” I deliver my words with sharp precision, using a tone I’ve seldom used in this marriage.

“I’ve got a plan; you just have to trust me.”

I run my fingers through my hair. “And does this plan have anything to do with my emptied bank account? And all those credit card withdrawals?”