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CHAPTER FIVE

I didn't know how to breathe anymore without looking over my shoulder.

Alexander had only been gone for three days, but the silence he left behind felt more dangerous than his presence. Every time I stepped outside, I caught shadows in the corners of my vision. A man leaning against a lamppost too long. A dark car parked across from my apartment for hours.

I told myself it was just my imagination.

But deep down, I knew better. This wasn't affection. It was surveillance.

He called it "security."

I didn't feel safe. I felt owned.

When the message came, I was editing wedding photos in a corner café with the music too loud and the espresso too bitter.

Unknown number: We need to talk. It's about Romano. Michigan & 12th. Come alone. — James.

My first instinct was to delete it.

But I didn't.

Because I'd opened that safe. Because Alexander knew exactly where I was with James before I even told anyone. Because there was a part of me—growing louder every day—that wanted the truth.

So I went.

I chose a seat near the window. I could see every exit. Every reflection in the glass.

James arrived late. He looked thinner than I remembered. Tired. He slid into the chair across from me like a man trying not to be noticed. A man who knew fear.

"Thanks for coming," he said. "We don't have much time."

"Why now, James?"

He pulled out a manila envelope and pushed it across the table. "Because you're in danger. Real danger."

I didn't open it.

"Alexander isn't just some secretive CEO," he said. He's been on the FBI's radar for years. We call him The Ghost. Nothing sticks to him. People who talk vanish.

People who dig get buried."

I laughed because I didn't know what else to do. "You expect me to believe this? "You're the guy who couldn't remember our anniversary and now suddenly you're the voice of justice?"

James didn't blink. "Checked his shoulder. Left side. There's a scar. Knife wound. Prison hit. Ask him."

I stiffened. I had seen the scar. He'd said it came from a sailing accident.

"Look, Emma…" James lowered his voice. "I don't care if you believe me." Just open the file. If I disappear—if anything happens to me—you'll know why."

I opened the envelope.

Photos. Documents. Names. Surveillance shots of Alexander shaking hands with men identified as traffickers, smugglers, and arms dealers. Copies of financial transfers. Confidential files stamped with government seals. One photo caught me off guard—Alexander at a wedding I had shot, standing just out of frame.

"You think I'm just some pawn?" I whispered.

James hesitated. "I think he saw you that day. You captured something he didn't want on record. And I think he decided he wanted to keep you close. First, to control the situation. Now… I don't know. He's unpredictable."

He reached for my hand, but I pulled away.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" I asked.

"Come with me. Witness protection. We'll get you out—"

"I can't just disappear," I said. "My business, my life, my friends—"

"They won't matter if you're dead."

That line echoed long after I left the café.

I didn't head directly to my home after school. I chose to take the longer road. Using roads I was already familiar with. I have photographed these same buildings time and again. I took a visit to the local bookstore. I rode on two buses. To avoid being seen for as much time as possible.

Still, after I was back at my apartment, I had not reached a decision.

His text arrived at that point.

I just got here. Dinner will take place at Valentino's at 8 PM. The driver will come to pick you up at 7:30.

The restaurant was the place he loved the most. Private. Secluded. He would reserve things well in advance as if he had inside information.

I should have refused to get involved.

I responded by saying: I'll see you there.

Part of what I wished back then was that the story was false. I hoped he would tell me it wasn't correct.

I chose a black dress to wear. The one he chose as his prospective wife. At first, I was not sure if it was a weapon or a shield.

Of course, Marco was punctual when he came. No words were spoken by him. He avoided doing that when listening to others speak.

The Valentino's restaurant was mostly deserted. The server walked me to the usual private table in the back area. He stood up to welcome me with a warm smile, as if everything were the same as usual.

He said, "Casa Milà," while brushing my cheek. The group felt that three days was too much.

My face showed a smile in return. A song we both decided to rehearse and play.

The meal was simply great. Merely mentioning 'wine' gets you a glass without you asking. I wanted some specific items that I hadn't even ordered. Milan was the topic of Alexander's to me, and he asked about how my week went. It just felt like my normal life.

My view changed only when I witnessed his hand.

There were marks of bruising on the knuckles. His face was easy to see: rough and marked by many fights.

"Gym accident?" I tried to sound cheerful even though I was stressed.

He looked at his path, then gave a friendly smile. Maybe something close to that idea.

During the phone call, I went to the restroom without saying anything. I made a mistake on purpose by moving the wrong way.

I kept walking until I came across areas with people talking.

His voice.

I didn't go straight home. I walked a long way. Through the streets, I knew. Past buildings, I'd photographed a hundred times. I stopped by a bookstore. I took two buses. Anything to feel invisible for a little longer.

By the time I returned to my apartment, I still hadn't made a decision.

Then I got his text.

Alexander: Just landed. Dinner at Valentino's. 8 PM. The driver will pick you up at 7:30.

The restaurant was his favorite. Private. Secluded. Always reserved in advance, like he knew the future.

I should've said no.

Instead, I replied: See you there.

Because part of me still wanted it to be a lie. I needed him to say it wasn't true.

I wore a black dress. The one he liked. I didn't know if it was a weapon or a shield.

Marco arrived on time, of course. He didn't speak. He never did when he was listening.

Valentino's was almost empty. A server led me to the usual private table near the back. Alexander stood when I entered, smiling like nothing had changed.

"Cara Mia," he said, brushing my cheek. "Three days felt too long."

I smiled back. A performance we both agreed to play.

Dinner was perfect. Wine poured without asking. Food I hadn't ordered but somehow wanted. Alexander talked about Milan and asked about my week. It all felt… normal.

Until I saw his hand.

The knuckles were bruised. Raw, like he'd hit something that hit back.

"Gym accident?" I asked, forcing my voice to stay light.

He glanced down, then smiled. "Something like that."

Later, while he took a call, I excused myself to find the restroom. I turned the wrong way—on purpose.

I followed the service hallway until I heard voices.

His voice.