Roses never fade

Elena Rossi's POV:

I didn't pack clothes; I only packed the essentials.

My birth certificate. The bank transfer codes provided by Donna Isabella. My passport.

I stuffed them into the hidden lining of my purse.

Suddenly, the electronic lock on the front door beeped.

Dante.

He wasn't supposed to be back until morning.

Panic flared instantly. I hastily threw a blanket over the suitcase and sat on the edge of the bed just as the handle turned.

He walked in.

He smelled like rain and the cloying sweetness of her perfume.

He looked exhausted.

He loosened his tie, let out a heavy sigh, and tossed his jacket over a chair.

"Packing?" he asked, his eyes darting to the lump under the blanket.

"I'm cleaning," I lied, fighting to keep my voice steady. "Getting ready for the charity clothing drive."

He looked at me.

The air in the room seemed to shift.

He sensed something. He always did; his intuition was sharp.

He walked over and stood between my knees.

He reached out, his thumb gently brushing over the bandage on my cheek.

"Does it hurt?"

"No."

He sighed, running a hand through his dark hair.

"About Sofia..." he began.

"Don't," I interrupted softly.

I stood up, needing to put distance between us.

I walked over to the dresser and picked up the black card he had left there weeks ago.

"Is this still active?" I asked, holding it up.

He frowned. "Yes. Why?"

"I want to buy a dress," I said, meeting his gaze. "For the gala next week. If you'll still let me go."

I lied.

I didn't want a dress, and I didn't want his black card.

Next week, I wouldn't be at the gala; I would be in Australia.

His eyes softened, filling with a profound sense of relief.

He thought I had accepted my role as a mistress, willing to be bought off with haute couture.

"Of course," he said, his voice husky. "Buy whatever you want. Wear red."

He leaned down and kissed my forehead.

I didn't pull away.

I stood still as a statue, letting him believe I was his.

"Get some sleep, Dante," I said softly. "You look tired."

He nodded.

He stripped down to his boxers and climbed into the massive bed.

He fell asleep almost instantly, exhaustion finally taking over.

I stood in the dark, watching him.

I memorized the rise and fall of his chest.

I gently traced the line of his cheek with my fingers one last time.

"Goodbye, my love," I whispered into the silence.

He shifted.

He buried his face in my palm, seeking warmth.

"Sofia..." he mumbled in his sleep, the name plunging into my heart like a dagger. "Stay..."

I yanked my hand back as if I had been burned.

A bitter smile touched my lips.

That was the closure I needed.

I grabbed my purse.

I walked out of the bedroom, down the hall, and into the elevator.

I exited onto the street through the service door.

I pulled the SIM card out of my phone and dropped it down a storm drain on Fifth Avenue.

I hailed a cab.

"JFK Airport," I told the driver.

I watched the city blur past the window.

New York had been a cage of steel and glass.

For the first time in seven years, the door was wide open.

I used a burner phone I had bought at a bodega to call Donna Isabella.

"It's done," I said the moment she picked up. "I'm leaving."

"Good girl," she replied, her tone cold but approving. "Don't look back."

I hung up and snapped the phone in half.

I didn't look back.

I looked at the flight information board.

Melbourne. One-way.

Dante Vitiello's POV:

I woke up feeling like I was suffocating.

Darkness pressed down on my chest like a boulder. For a terrifying second, I thought I had gone blind again.

I reached out.

"Elena."

My hand met only cold sheets.

I sat up, my heart hammering. The room was empty. The bathroom door was open, pitch black inside.

"Elena?" I called out.

Silence.

The quiet in the penthouse wasn't peaceful; it was wrong. It was the silence of a tomb.

I got out of bed and checked the closet.

Her clothes were still there. The red dress I bought her. Her shoes. But something was missing.

The air felt thin.

I walked into the living room. A maid was dusting the mantelpiece.

"Where is she?" I asked.

The maid jumped. "Sir?"

"Elena. Where is she?"

"I haven't seen Miss Rossi since yesterday, sir," the maid said nervously. "Her bed hasn't been slept in."

Panic, cold and sharp, hit me in the gut.

She said she was cleaning. She said she was buying a dress.

My phone rang on the kitchen counter.

I snatched it up, expecting to see her name.

It was Sofia.

"Dante!" she shrieked. "There's someone in the hallway! The power's out!"

I rubbed my temples.

"Sofia, call security."

"I can't! The keypad is dead! Dante, please, I'm scared!"

I looked around the empty apartment. Elena was probably just out getting coffee. She did that sometimes when she was upset.

"I'll be there," I muttered.

I drove the ten minutes to Sofia's apartment.

The hallway lights were working perfectly fine.

I pounded on her door.

She opened it immediately. She was wearing black lace lingerie under a silk robe that was slipping off her shoulders.

She threw herself at me.

"Oh, thank God," she sobbed against my chest. "I heard footsteps."

I peeled her off me.

"Sofia, the power is on," I said, pointing at the lights behind her.

"It just came back on," she lied. Her eyes were dry.

Her hands trailed up my chest.

"Stay," she whispered. "Just for a little while. I'm shaken up."

She pressed her body flush against mine.

It felt wrong.

Her body didn't fit mine right. Her perfume was too sweet.

I looked over her head, out the window. The sky was grey.

An overwhelming sense of dread hit me like a physical blow.

It started in my stomach and spread to my fingertips. Something was about to happen. A disaster.

Sofia was unbuttoning my shirt.

"Dante, look at me," she commanded.

I looked down.

But I didn't see her.

I saw Elena standing in the rain, blood on her arm.

I saw the look in her eyes in the music room.

It wasn't anger.

It was nothing.

She had looked at me with completely empty eyes.

I pushed Sofia away.

"Dante?" she asked, shocked.

"I have to go," I said.

I turned and walked out.

I didn't wait for the elevator; I took the stairs two at a time.

I had to get back to the penthouse. I had to see her.

I needed to make sure the bird hadn't flown the coop.

But as I drove back, running red lights, the emptiness in my chest turned into a scream.

I knew.

Before I even opened the door, I knew.

She was gone.