Chapter 8
“He was talking about eleven years ago.”
“I never chose Mateo over Luca.”
“Maybe you did without realizing it.”
I looked at her.
And suddenly remembered.
The week before Luca disappeared, he had accused Mateo of lying about a shipment that vanished from one of our warehouses.
I had called them both into my office.
Luca had been furious.
Mateo had been calm.
Mateo brought paperwork.
Witnesses.
Schedules.
Everything neat.
Everything logical.
Luca brought instinct and anger.
I told my brother to apologize.
He refused.
We barely spoke again before he vanished.
My knees felt weak.
I sat.
Sophia watched my face.
“You remember something.”
“Yes.”
“What?”
I told her.
When I finished, she said nothing.
She didn’t need to.
I had chosen Mateo before.
Long before Sophia.
Maybe Mateo had learned exactly what evidence I required in order to stop trusting someone.
Not proof.
Appearance.
Enough facts arranged in the correct order.
My phone rang.
Viktor.
I answered.
“Tell me.”
“Mateo’s gone.”
“Gone where?”
“No idea. The sedan is still here. His coat is inside.”
“He left his coat?”
“Yes.”
“What about his phone?”
“Found it under the passenger seat.”
I looked at Sophia.
That made no sense.
Mateo never went anywhere without his phone.
“Anything else?”
“There’s an envelope in the glove compartment with your name.”
My stomach tightened.
“Don’t open it. Bring it upstairs.”
“Already coming.”
I ended the call.
Sophia sat beside me.
“Dom.”
“What?”
“I need to ask you something.”
I waited.
“If Mateo really did all this… what are you going to do?”
Four months ago, I would have answered immediately.
Everyone around me would have known the answer.
Maybe Sophia did too.
That was why she looked afraid.
Not of Mateo this time.
Of me.
Of what rage might turn me into.
I stared at our daughter.
Elena slept peacefully.
I thought of Gabriel.
Ten years old.
Missing.
I thought of Luca spending eleven years believing his disappearance had protected us.
I thought of Sophia asking me one simple question at breakfast.
If I told you I was afraid of someone you trusted, would you believe me?
I had answered like a man who thought being powerful meant never doubting his own judgment.
“I’m going to find the truth,” I said.
“And after?”
“I don’t know.”
She studied me.
“That’s different.”
“From what?”
“From the man I left.”
The words stung.
“You didn’t leave me.”