Chapter 4

I called Lucian nineteen times.

He did not answer once.

In the end, store security escorted me upstairs to an office. The manager was still polite, but the doubt in his eyes was clear. Not long after, DeLuca men arrived.

The man in front was Aaron, one of Lucian's lieutenants.

He lowered his head slightly. "Madam, Mr. DeLuca says you are to stay at the lake safe house for a few days and cool off. Once you agree to withdraw the lawsuit, he will come for you himself."

I stared at him. "Lucian ordered this?"

"Sir only wants you to stop acting on impulse. He said no one is to hurt you. You are only supposed to rest."

I had no choice.

The black SUV drove for more than an hour, but it did not take me to the lake house I knew. It stopped outside an abandoned warehouse by the West Pier.

That place had once been used by the DeLucas to hold traitors and debtors for short stretches. It was damp and cold, the air sour with rust and seawater.

"This is not the safe house." I was confused.

The two men behind Aaron did not answer. They pushed me into the basement.

The heavy iron door shut behind me.

The next three days were a nightmare.

Lucian might have believed I was at the lake house with a fireplace, a doctor, and hot tea, forced only to calm down. I was really in a basement at the West Pier with several women brought in over debt. When they learned I was Mrs. DeLuca, they looked at me like I was something expensive and useless.

They shoved me. They took my coat. They kicked cold food onto the dirty floor.

I pounded on the door and shouted. The guards only laughed through the iron window.

"Don't make this hard, madam. Learn your lesson, and you get out."

On the third morning, the door finally opened.

I thought it was over.

Instead, they took me to the rose conservatory on Long Island.

That was where Lucian had proposed to me.

Every rose there used to be tended by specialists. Beneath the glass dome, it had always been warm. Now a long table stood in the center, covered with blank cards.

Aaron placed a pen in front of me. "Sir says you damaged Miss Voss's clinic reputation. You are to write apology notes by hand. Nine hundred and ninety-nine of them. When they are done, you may leave."

I stared at him. "Lucian said that?"

He would not answer directly. "Madam, it is an order."

Later, I learned that Lucian had only asked public relations to draft one apology statement for me to sign. Clara had bought Aaron off. The safe house became the West Pier basement, and one statement became nine hundred and ninety-nine cards.

But I did not know that then.

All I knew was that Lucian had frozen my cards, had his men hold me for three days, and now wanted me to sit where he had proposed and apologize again and again to the woman he kept choosing.

So I sat down and wrote.

My fingers went from sore to painful, then from painful to numb. When blood smeared a card, the men at the door took it away and made me start over. Cold rain slid down the glass outside. My wounds began to burn, and fever rolled over me in waves.

By dusk, my vision went black. I collapsed beside the table.

When I woke, I was in the hospital.

An IV pierced the back of my hand, and my fingers were wrapped in gauze.

Lucian sat beside the bed, holding my hand.

"Your fever is down." His voice was rough. "The doctor said the infection worsened, and you were cold for too long. Evelyn, I only told them to take you to the safe house for a few days and have you sign an apology statement. I never thought you would end up like this."

So to him, it was still just cooling off.

I pulled my hand out of his.

"I understand."

I lowered my eyes and repeated, "I won't make trouble again."

Unease crossed his face, but his phone rang. He answered, listened for a few seconds, and I saw relief break through his expression.

Clara Voss had been found.

Lucian hung up and turned back to me. "Evelyn, I have something to handle. When I come back, I will make this up to you."

The moment the hospital door closed, Valerie called.

"Madam, the divorce has been confirmed by the court. Mr. DeLuca signed the agreement, and the lawyers have already handled the waiting period. Legally, you are Miss Moretti again."

I looked out at the gray sky beyond the window. My chest felt hollow, but it also felt light.

"Don't bring me the papers. Check me out of the hospital. Arrange a car to the airport."

An hour later, I stood in the terminal at Kennedy.

As the boarding announcement sounded, Lucian's call lit up my screen.

I watched it for a few seconds, then took out the SIM card, snapped it in half, and dropped it into the trash.

Then I picked up my suitcase and walked toward the gate.

From that moment on, Lucian DeLuca and I were done.