Chapter 4

The SUV entered the hotel’s underground garage through a private gate.

Two Moretti soldiers waited by the elevator. One took Dad’s coat; the other pressed the button for our floor.

Mom linked her arm through Dad’s.

“Don’t let Sienna turn this around on us,” she said. “She needs to understand how far out of line she’s gone.”

Dad adjusted his cuff.

“She’ll take that post down and apologize to her sister before breakfast. I won’t have either family embarrassed in front of our guests.”

Dante watched the floor numbers climb.

At the suite, he scanned the key card and opened the door.

Darkness.

He switched on the lights.

Nothing had changed since we’d left. My scarf still lay over the armchair. The hotel’s welcome card stood beside an untouched fruit basket.

There was no coffee on the table.

Mom looked around.

“Where is she?”

Dante went into the bedroom.

The bed was made, its white coverlet smooth beneath the rose petals the hotel staff had scattered that afternoon.

He checked the bathroom.

Empty.

“Maybe downstairs,” he said. “She might’ve gone out to watch the fireworks.”

He called me again.

This time, an automated voice told him I was unavailable.

He lowered the phone.

Dad dropped into an armchair.

“Enough chasing her. She knows where we are.”

His gaze settled on Dante.

“Get her gift. We’ll wait here.”

Dante hesitated, then crossed to his suitcase.

He took out a wooden presentation box and set it carefully on the coffee table.

“I made this for her.”

Inside was a miniature café.

For a moment, I felt a flicker of warmth.

I moved closer.

It was the little place near campus where we used to meet between classes.

Nothing expensive. Nothing owned by either family.

Dante’s bodyguard used to wait outside while we shared a corner booth.

I’d loved that booth.

For an hour, he was just a boy stealing fries from my plate, and I was a girl whose biggest problem was finishing a design assignment.

He’d carved everything.

The crooked lettering above the door. The chipped corner of our table. Even the vase of flowers by the window.

“She said she wanted something to remember it by when we moved into the house.”

His thumb brushed the edge of the box.

“It closed last year. I found some old pictures and worked from those.” he said. “I was going to give it to her at the reception.”

While I’d been sewing stones onto my dress, he’d been making this.

He had remembered every little thing about a place where we’d been happy.

Mom touched the tiny café window.

“Oh, Dante.”

Her eyes shone.

“You put so much love into this.”

Then she reached into her bag.

“We brought something for her, too.”

She opened a velvet case.

Inside lay my great-grandmother’s emerald bracelet and matching earrings.

I knew them immediately.

As a child, I’d begged Mom to let me try them on. She always said the same thing.

On your wedding day.

“I had the settings checked last month,” Mom said. “I’ll put them on her myself in the morning.”

Dad leaned forward to look.

“Sienna’s difficult sometimes. But she was always the one we never had to worry about.”

Isabella stood beside the sofa.

Her eyes moved from the miniature café to the emeralds. Her mouth tightened.

Resentment flickered across her face before she forced a smile.

I stared at the gifts.

They were beautiful.

Proof that they had thought of me. That somewhere between their orders and excuses, they had made room for things I wanted.

I’d spent years waiting to be loved like this.

Now they’d laid it all out on a table.

I couldn’t touch any of it.

Dante called room service.

Twenty minutes later, a waiter wheeled in a tray with a small chocolate mousse cake beneath a silver cover.

My favorite.

“She probably hasn’t eaten,” Dante said. “She’ll want something when she gets back.”

He set a fork beside the plate.

Then he checked the time.

One thirty.

His smile faded.

“It’s freezing out. What’s she doing down there this long?”

He picked up his phone again.

I stood beside him.

Then I looked at the little café, and all I could think about was the tiny box hidden in my suitcase.

A pair of baby socks.

I’d planned to give them to him at midnight.

I’d imagined his confusion, then his face when he understood. I’d wondered whether he would laugh or cry.

Now I would never know.

I pressed a hand to my stomach.

There was no heartbeat beneath my fingers. No warmth.

I’d barely had time to get used to loving someone I hadn’t met.

Grief washed over me.

I looked at Dante fussed over my gifts, already smiling at the thought of my reaction.

I could only laugh bitterly.

Would he regret it when he learned he’d lost us both?

Would he remember hanging up on me—and realize he’d taken my last hope of surviving with him?

The doorbell rang.

Mom stood immediately.

“There she is.”

She smoothed her dress and looked back at them.

“Let me speak first. She doesn’t get to make a scene and then expect everyone to fuss over her.”

Dante rose.

He straightened his collar, his eyes flicking toward the gifts. A smile was already forming.

Isabella stayed beside the sofa, winding a cushion tassel around her finger.

Mom pulled open the door.

“Sienna, do you have any idea what—”

She stopped.

Two uniformed police officers stood outside.

Behind them, one of the Moretti guards looked toward Dante.

The older officer spoke.

“We’re here to inform you that Sienna Bellini was found dead in the harbor tonight.”

The officer turned to Dante, his expression grave.

“She was also eight weeks pregnant.”