Chapter 4

The next morning, I drove to the Vexille family’s law offices in lower Manhattan to handle the final closing documents for the merger.

Just as I came off the highway ramp, three black SUVs appeared in my rearview mirror.

My stomach tightened. I instinctively floored it.

They closed in fast, boxing me in. The passenger window of the car beside me rolled down. A man in a mask raised a pistol fitted with a silencer.

The Salvatori family. Vexille’s rivals.

Thwack.

The first bullet hit the window, a spiderweb crack exploding across the bulletproof glass.

I jerked the wheel with one hand, my other fumbling for my phone. I dialed Donatello’s private number.

It rang for a full minute. No answer.

I tried again. And a third time.

Still nothing.

I tossed the phone aside with a bitter laugh. He never missed my calls. Unless he was with Angelina.

The cars were getting closer. I took a deep breath, slammed my foot on the gas, and rammed my way through the gap between them.

If no one was coming to save me, I’d have to save myself.

The moment I broke free, a bullet tore through the shattered window and into my left shoulder.

A grunt of pain escaped me, but I bit my lip and held the wheel steady.

When I was finally clear, I used the last of my strength to grab my phone and dial 911.

I woke up to the smell of antiseptic.

“Avril! You’re finally awake!”

Chloe, my friend, rushed to my bedside, her eyes red. She grabbed my hand, her voice choked with tears. “You’ve been out for three days. The doctors said you lost too much blood…”

I licked my dry lips and managed a weak smile. “Sorry to worry you.”

A nurse came in. “Miss Merouin, we’re so glad you’re awake. It seems there was an issue with your husband’s contact information. We haven’t been able to reach him. Would you like to…”

“Don’t bother,” I cut her off, my voice flat. “We’re divorced.”

Just then, the door to the room was thrown open.

Donatello stood there, his expression frozen. “Divorced? What divorce?”

The air turned to ice.

My heart seized for a second before I pointed calmly at my friend.

“Chloe. She’s the one getting a divorce.”

Chloe didn’t miss a beat. “…Right. My husband cheated. I was just asking Avril for help.”

Doubt still lingered in Donatello’s eyes. I spoke before he could. “You’ve been so busy lately. I didn’t want to bother you with small things.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed. The sharp, interrogating edge in his eyes softened into guilt.

He must have been thinking about what he had been busy with. It all came back to Angelina.

He sat down by my bed and took my uninjured hand. His palm was hot, his knuckles trembling slightly.

“Avril, I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low. “The Salvatori bastards who did this… I’ll make them pay tenfold.”

I just hummed in response.

“And… from now on, I don’t care what I’m doing. I will always answer your call.”

I looked down, my eyelashes hiding the emotion in my eyes. “Okay. I know.”

He seemed to want to say more but didn’t know how. He sat in stiff silence for a while before finally asking, “When are you being discharged?”

“Five days, the doctor said.”

“I’ll be here to pick you up in five days,” he said, his tone absolute. “I’m clearing my schedule. I’m taking you home.”

I looked up at him and smiled. “Okay.”

Five days later, the sky was overcast.

I waited in my hospital room all day. Donatello never showed up.

On a whim, I opened Angelina’s social media page.

An hour ago, she’d posted a new photo.

She was lying in a bed, looking pale, an IV drip in the back of her hand. In a chair beside the bed sat a figure I knew all too well: Donatello, looking down at her, his expression one of gentle focus.

The caption: “Always troubling him.”

I stared at the picture for a long, long time.

Then I called him.

“Avril?” His voice was rushed. I could hear the faint beep of a heart monitor in the background. “Sorry, something urgent came up. I’m dealing with it now. I might be late…”

“It’s okay,” I interrupted gently. “I can get home by myself.”

“…You’re not fully recovered. I’ll have a driver pick you up.”

“No need. I’ve already called a cab.” I paused, then added, just as I always did, “You be safe.”

I hung up the phone.

I stood by the side of the road and looked at the calendar on my phone.

Ten more days.

I hugged myself and whispered it like a prayer. Ten more days, and I’ll be free.