Two weeks.
Fourteen days.
Three hundred and thirty-six hours.
Twenty-thousand minutes of ghost town silence.
And no, I didn’t count.
(Okay, I totally did, but only because the silence was driving me insane.)
Dario hadn’t called. Not a text. Not a missed call. Not even a smoke signal.
At first, I pretended not to care. Like, ugh whatever, I’m not his actual wife.
Then I got mildly irritated. Because who disappears after threatening a man in broad daylight, leaves a girl in a literal fortress, and expects her not to get curious?
Then I got bored. Boredom turned into stubbornness. And stubbornness? That turned into recklessness.
So naturally, I did what any lonely, semi-kidn*pped, under-supervised girl in a mafia mansion would do.
I invited Maya over.
Yes, that Maya. My sweet, sar
