Ten

Damian – Age 27 – Three Years Later

I sit in the dimly lit strip joint the Bratva owns, drinking scotch as a half-naked blond-haired beauty rubs her panty-covered pussy over the limp dick in my pants. The bastard just does not want to know this woman. Even now, three years later, after finding my wife gone from our wedding reception, it just does not seem to want to cooperate. I've tried everything—finger-fucking chicks, having two chicks in my bed rubbing on each other—everything! And nothing works, unless I close my eyes and picture my printsessa's gorgeous dark blue eyes and luscious curvy body, then the fucker comes to life. Still, I never do get off because as soon as I open my eyes or feel the body underneath or above me, it goes down again. It has to be her. I know this isn't doing me any favors, having these sluts who love sex more than the average man grind on me, but I can't breathe without her.

I need to forget just for half an hour a night.

I do this almost every night now when I'm not on the hunt for men trying to take over our family's territory. Then, during the day, when I'm not training to take over from my father and Stefano, I scorch the earth for my wife but never find her! I even harassed her best friend Lilly, but she says she doesn't know, which is bullshit. Sofia had help disappearing, and I bet you my left nut, the Irish fucker, is the one she went to. He may be one of my closest friends now, but he's still a fucker. He just smirks at me every time I ask!

After hacking into his phone, I know she contacted him two days before the wedding. We couldn't get anything else from his cell, and he's unwilling to help. I do admire his loyalty to my wife, though.

Where the fuck is she?

Once the slut gets off, orgasming on my thigh, I tuck a few hundred bills in her wet thong, then get up to leave. Alexandr is waiting for me, looking at me with concern. He used to come here for the women, but now he just stares at me, waiting for me to flip my shit again like I did last week when one of the women mentioned me being a free agent. The same thing happened with Candice a few months after my wedding. Alexandr hacked into her phone, and she had several videos and pictures of us in her email from Mindy that were forwarded to my wife but weren’t delivered. Her email was disconnected on the day of the wedding. She’d planned to leave me after the wedding.

I walk into our new home on Elm Street and go straight upstairs.

I strip, then turn on the shower in our marble bathroom that Sofia picked out before Victoria took over decorating our old house. I knew my wife hated that house, but bought it anyway because I was a fucking idiot.

I climb in the shower and wash the stripper scent away before I get out and dry off, then climb into bed naked. I sigh. After I moved our stuff here, her smell is no longer lingering around. The rest of the house is furnished from Sofia’s Pinterest board, something she filled with all the things she wanted in our home. Too bad Victoria got her way instead.

I lay on my back. Memories return like they do when I'm alone with my thoughts every night—how I once fucked anything that moved, the guilt of betraying Sofia over and over again, even in our own home. I remember how she used to look at me with love, and then I remember how different she was on our wedding day. I noticed, but I didn't question her about it. I was too cocky.

I fall asleep to memories swirling around my mind. When sleep claims me, my dreams haunt me.

I pull Candice away from me now that she's had her fill. I tell her I have to get back to my wife, and she turns red with rage. Still, I turn around and return to the reception with my brother and friend following while she screeches like a banshee as my men drag her and Mindy out of the hotel. I don't understand why she's acting like this; she wasn't the only one I was fucking on the regular, and she knew it, too.

When I get to the reception, something is not right. I can feel it deep in my gut. I look around and see people are drunk out of their minds, which I expected, but my wife is nowhere to be found. I find her Aunt Emilia near the bar and corner her quickly.

"Hey, have you seen Sofia?"

She turns and gives me a grin, patting my cheek. "Such a handsome boy. My niece doesn't deserve you or the title of queen. You should have married my daughter." I cringe. "I saw Sofia helping her to her room; Luna was a little tipsy." She kisses my cheek, her eyes looking mischievous, then turns back to the bartender, giving him bedroom eyes. I know she must be lonely; her husband, whom she she was forced to marry twenty years ago, turned out to be a traitor to the family. She shot him herself while smiling, and I can never remember his name.

I run upstairs to find my printsessa. I did tell her I wanted to retire early. I smirk, thinking maybe she'll be naked, waiting for me, until I remember her apparently helping Luna. Still, Emilia also looked at me with a glint in her eyes. Great. I better check there first, just in case. The last thing I need is the little slut accidentally slipping that I fucked her.

I get to her room a few minutes later, and her door is a jar, so I go in. Her window is wide open, and she's passed out on her stomach, and a trash can has been placed by the side of the bed. Sofia must have brought her to bed, then. I shake my head and close her window, then turn to leave. I shut the door behind me, return to the elevator, and press the penthouse button, humming impatiently to get to my bride.

When I finally get to my room, I open the door, and the living area is in a dim light, making me smirk. I look to the right and see the bedroom door open and go to it, smiling like a loon.

"Wife?" I open the door fully, but all there is is her wedding dress laid neatly on the bed, her shoes placed next to it on the floor, and her phone lying on top of it. I notice her grandmother's clip on the floor, and I pick it up before looking toward the bathroom. It's dark, and the door is wide open. What the fuck?

I slowly walk toward the bed, place the clip on the dress, and pick up her phone. I press the button on the side, and two saved videos show on the screen. I start the most recent video, and voices play out loud.

"Well, last time I checked, you've fucked me at least three times a week since you were sixteen. It's not a surprise I'm knocked up. Shall we go tell your new wife?"

No! No, no, no, no! This can't be happening. I stop the video and quickly select the other one. My heart stops when I hear Candice's, Alexandr's, Mindy’s, and my own moans play out loud. Fuck no!

I run out of the room, her phone gripped tightly in my hand. I bypass the elevator and take the stairs. When I return to the reception, I scan the room and spot Alexandr straight away, his hand is up a waitress's skirt. I wince. Phoebe, his fiancée, will be pissed if she finds out. I search the room again and find Sergi standing at the bar with a scotch. His eyes meet mine, and he raises an eyebrow. I tilt my head toward my brother and nod in his direction. He heads to him at the same time I do.

Alexandr lifts his head, a smirk on his face, but it disappears as soon as he gets the look on my face. He whispers something to the waitress, then she nods and walks off.

"What's happened?"

He asks the question right away, but I can't seem to find the words.

My wife left me.

Fuck, she left me.

I hand him her phone, and they look at me weirdly, then crowd around the phone. Our moans fill our circle, and both men shoot their heads in my direction. Alexandr stops the video.

"Explain!"

"I went to find my wife, but instead," I breathe heavily, "I found the room empty. Her wedding dress was on the bed with her phone on top. Those videos were cued up and ready as soon as I pressed the screen." Alexandr looks pale, and I look at Sergi.

He lifts his head from the phone and says, "There's nothing on here except the two videos; she's deleted everything." He looks like he's about to be sick. I don't even know what I look like.

"How did she pull this off in two days?" Sergi asks, and I snap my head up.

"What do you mean?"

"The first video is from two days ago, nothing else, which means she did not know before then, right? Has she changed toward you at all before that?"

Alexandr's eyes go wide, and I drop my head.

"I hadn't seen her for three days before today, not even yesterday on her birthday, but she has been acting weird today. I thought it was nerves. What's the time stamp on the older video?" I ask.

"8:45pm, why?"

I look at Sergi before my face goes pale. "She messaged me at 8 p.m."

"Saying what, brother?"

I drop my head, then look back at Al.

"She had a surprise for me, and she couldn't wait to tell me. She only told me that it was life changing. She asked where I was, but I never thought much of it. I told her to tell me today as a wedding gift, but she must have decided it was too important to wait; she must have walked in just after I finger-fucked Candice."

Shit, I feel like I could fucking cry like a baby. I rake my hands through my hair, then yank hard.

"But how did she manage to leave? She had to have help, right?" Sergi questions.

I look around, scanning the guests. "Where are Lilly and that fucker Noah?"

Alexandr and Sergi look and frown.

"Let's take a look at the security cameras now!"

I wake up with a start, my heart beating fast from the memories. I look at the clock. 5 AM. Great. I get up to take a leak, then go to my walk-in closet. I look to the left like I always do. All her stuff from the old house is still neatly organized, with her wedding dress at the end of the rounded closet in a glass case. Her wedding shoes are there, too, as well as her Nonna's clip I found on the floor. I don't even think she knew she dropped it.

I drop my chin to my chest and take a deep breath, the dream slicing against an old, never-healing wound. We never did find out who helped her.

The morning of the ceremony, the cameras in the hotel malfunctioned, and again around the time she left, as well as the street cameras. She vanished. We've had several people come forward, stating they've spotted her. They claimed she changed her hair color and added a bit of weight, but it's never her. Last week, I slit a man's throat when he said I was stupid for not recognizing the girl he pointed out was her, but she was around 5'11", with brown eyes. It turns out it was his daughter, and he was a greedy bastard after the $3 million in reward money.

I dress in my gym gear, then go to my home gym for two hours of hard, grueling exercise to quiet my thoughts. Once I have exhausted myself, I take a quick shower.

I get dressed in my crisp, black button down long-sleeve shirt, sleeves rolled up to my elbows, black slacks, and shiny, black shoes. Then I go to grab my phone from the nightstand. I look at the screen to see two texts from Stefano, Sofia's father. I'm not the only one she left; her mother has been drinking more every day to the point of passing out anywhere, then does it all over again when she wakes up to realize her daughter is gone. Stefano barely goes home now, spending more time with his mistress, whom he's building a life, and thinking of divorcing Victoria. He still loves her, he just can't deal with her or the pain she puts him through anymore. I think there's more to the situation. He needs to really look into it; he doesn't even like this new woman; she's just a distraction for him.

I open the text.

Stefano: No luck in England

Stefano: I just had another phone call while waiting for my flight to take off. Another girl was spotted in a small town in Texas. Marfa. She was the same height, slightly curvier than our Sofia, but it has been three years. She had long, dark hair down her waist with streaks of blue in it.

They were sent five minutes ago. I message them back.

Me: Ok, I doubt it is her in Texas. She never liked high heat or small towns.

I'm positive of it. He messages straight back, and I stand up straighter as I read the text.

Stefano: That's what I thought—until I read the report they sent me. She's 23, working behind a bar at night, taking classes for her nursing degree at the State of Texas College twice weekly over the past three years. When she started, she was already a year into it. Does her name, Sophie Rossi, sound familiar? There could be a good chance she went with something similar to keep us off her track.

My heart fucking stops. It sounds like her, but is it, though? Surely, she’s pick a new, untraceable name.

Me: Send me the details, and I will investigate this one myself!

My heart crashes in my chest. Is this her?

Then I think of the women I tried to fuck to punish her for leaving me, and I pale. I bolt to the bathroom before throwing up everything I've eaten as guilt beats at me, and a tear leaks from my eye.