Chapter 5

Chapter Five

The last thing Marco wanted was to say anything that would alert his employer that he was interested in Roselia. However, he suspected the man knew why she hadn't been at work for three days.

That's how long it had been since Marco had last seen her, and he was fucking agitated. He was like an addict when it came to her. He'd grown to hate Sundays when he didn't see her at all. He hadn't gone this long without seeing her for years.

It was absurd. He had no business caring about her, and he definitely wouldn't want Santo to know he'd ever even glanced in her direction. But now that he'd been called into the man's office, he knew this was his opportunity to find a way to get information.

Marco knocked on the frame of his boss's door.

"Come in." Santo lifted a hand and motioned for Marco to join him. He smiled. "Please, have a seat. How's my right-hand man?"

Marco forced his usual fake smile in return. "Doing well, sir, and you?"

"Can't complain. Well, except for the fact that I need to hire some new staff. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to find reliable house help?" He chuckled. "Girls are so entitled these days." He patted a stack of paper on his desk. "I've got a pile of resumes. Every time I call one of these girls, she's looking for something part-time, or she's appalled that I want her to work six days a week. There must not be many people who actually need to earn money."

Well, that was easy. Thanks for opening the window for me . "What happened to the girl who's been working here?"

Santo sighed. "The little bitch quit. Didn't even give me any notice." He riffled through a pile of folders on his desk. "Ah, here it is." He handed a folder over to Marco. "Can you look into this for me? I'm doing a bit of research on a new project. I'd like you to help me out."

"Sure. No problem." Marco could tell when he'd been dismissed. He didn't need Santo to say the words. He rose and fled the room, heading for his own office several doors down the hall.

Santo had quite the setup here. He ran his entire business from his estate. He rarely even left the property. Every morning, the man was at his desk when Marco arrived, and he was still at his desk after Marco left. He might have been the biggest fucking prick on earth, but no one could say he wasn't hands-on when it came to running his empire.

Marco was frustrated as he returned to his office. He found it hard to believe Roselia would quit, and certainly not without notice. It wasn't like her. She was far too conscientious for something like that.

He dropped onto his desk chair and stared into space. What he wanted to do was drive to her apartment and talk to her. He'd been there two nights in a row. Maybe she'd been inside and simply hadn't answered the door.

As soon as the day was over, Marco intended to head directly for her place and not leave until he had answers.

He shouldn't meddle. He shouldn't give a shit about some random woman who'd quit her job and moved on with her life. Good for her. At least she wouldn't be working for Santo anymore. He wasn't the sort of man Marco would want Roselia working for.

The last few hours of the day dragged, and Santo had several last-minute requests before Marco could leave. He was so aggravated when he arrived at Roselia's apartment that he pounded heavily on her door when she didn't answer.

Nothing. Hell, none of the neighbors even stepped into the hallway.

Marco leaned his forehead against the door. Think, man .

This was none of his business. Why the fuck was he even here? Why did he care? He should go home, be grateful she'd moved on with her life and was no longer working for that prick Santo, and forget her.

But he couldn't. She was under his skin. He didn't give a fuck about her age. The truth was she was his.

Fuck .

Horribly inconvenient and poor timing. Although, any time in the last two decades would have been poor timing. He absolutely couldn't drag Roselia into his fucked-up world.

But apparently, Marco was a greedy bastard. He wanted her, and he intended to have her. Lifting his head, he tried the doorknob. It was a long shot, but what if, by chance, it wasn't locked?

"Shit," he muttered as the door opened. It didn't open because it was unlocked. It opened because the deadbolt was broken. He pushed it open farther. "Rose?"

It was dark as he stepped inside. No sign of Rose. He pushed the door shut and turned on the overhead light. Something wasn't right. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

He wandered toward the kitchenette first. Dishes were in the sink. A pan was on the stove. It looked like the last thing she'd eaten had been grilled cheese, and based on the look of the cheese that stuck to the plate, that had been several days ago.

He stopped breathing when he noticed her purse sitting on the counter where she'd probably set it when she'd gotten home from work three nights ago.

Heart racing, he headed for her bedroom at a fast clip. He'd never been in her bedroom, but fuck propriety right now. He gasped when he pushed the door open. Flipping on that light to give more illumination, he eased into the space. The bed wasn't made, but that wasn't what caught his attention. The covers were tugged nearly completely off the mattress as though she'd been holding on to them and dragged them with her when she'd gotten up.

Marco's heart pounded heavier. "Fuck." She had not left here of her own accord. He knew it in his soul. Someone had come into this room, grabbed her out of her bed, and taken her.

He spun around, hands in his hair, taking in the rest of the room. The shoes he saw her wear every day were next to the bathroom. Her pillow was on the floor next to the bed. Even if a person got their foot tangled in the sheets and dragged them halfway off the bed, they wouldn't knock their pillow off the bed.

Marco squatted down to find a book on the floor, too, and a glass on its side. Both items must have fallen off the nightstand. The book had been soaked. It was wrinkled and damp, which meant the glass had been full of water, reinforcing his belief that she hadn't been here in three days.

"Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck." Now what? He pulled out his phone. He needed to call the police. "Shit." He paced the room. He couldn't call the police. What the hell was he thinking? Who the hell are you going to tell them you are, asshole?

Think.

He'd leave the apartment, head to a nearby convenience store, and place an anonymous call to the cops. They wouldn't be able to trace him.

Just as he was about to rush out of the room, he froze, remembering Santo's words just hours ago. The little bitch quit. Didn't even give me any notice .

Fury crept up his spine. Roselia hadn't quit her job and then coincidentally been abducted from her apartment later that night. No way she would have quit that job.

Which meant Santo had lied.