MIA
The sharp click of a door closing yanked me from a restless, sweat-soaked nap. In my dreams, skyscrapers burned and their flaming husks sent dark smoke billowing across the horizon.
I untangled my legs from the skirt of my dress and sat up slowly, eyes landing on a tray of food by the door.
I didn’t want it. The tight knot in my stomach had nothing to do with hunger. Just stress and a desperate, gnawing need for answers.
All I wanted to know was if Romolo was still alive. If that one casualty the doctor mentioned was him.
Being kept in the dark like this was cruel. But maybe that was the point—to hurt me as much as possible. To make me pay for daring to defy them. Or maybe just for existing.
But I wouldn’t lose hope. It was the one thing that kept me from spiraling into despair.
Swallowing past the ball in my throat, I walked to the window. Outside, the Met’s grand facade was bathed in dramatic light. A few people were sitting on the steps, their phones glowing in their hands.
I’d never been more desperate to trade places with anyone. They had what I longed for—freedom and the ability to reach out to the world beyond. My palms pressed against the cool glass, my breath fogging up the surface.
Just then, a wispy tendril of a memory appeared at the edge of my awareness.
The news of the explosion hadn’t triggered my loss of consciousness.
Neither had my father finding out about Romolo and me.
Something else had done it. Something so outlandish that it seemed utterly impossible.
Just before I’d passed out, I’d wondered if my dad had anticipated the explosion.
My spine straightened.
How else would he have known to post guards at the campaign office? Why else would he and Jenny have followed me when I fled the party?
It was like they were waiting—waiting to see how I’d react. To see if I’d be upset. If I’d panic.
If I’d immediately try to contact the man I loved.
I began to pace.
Romolo’s words echoed in my mind. “My mother suspects your father has a secret backer, someone with a vendetta against us who’s pushing him to go after us aggressively.”
At the time, I’d dismissed it. But now? Now, I wasn’t so sure.
What if my dad was working with someone who hated the Ferraros?
Hated them enough to plant a bomb?
My stomach dipped.
I’d met most of the people who’d donated large sums to the campaign—or at least, I thought I had. But my father could have taken money from someone in secret. It’s not like I had access to his financial records. I wouldn’t know.
My dad isn’t capable of that.
That’s what I would have thought if I wasn’t currently being held prisoner in his own home.
No, I was done being naïve. Done jumping blindly to his defense.
If the Ferraros were right about my dad, I wanted to know. I deserved the truth about who I’d been helping all this time. What was I complicit in?
I bit on my nail. Would he lie straight to my face if I asked him directly?
Yeah. Possibly.
But it was worth a try.
My gaze swept the room. It was a small, sparse space—one bed, an armchair, and a desk. I opened the drawers, rifling through remnants of my childhood: colored pencils, erasers, old notebooks. The bottom drawer was a chaotic mess of cords, toys, and forgotten objects. I sifted through it, untangling wires and brushing off dust. And then I found it—a voice recorder.
I remembered using it years ago during long walks in Central Park, recording ideas for outfits or creative projects.
It didn’t turn on, so I swapped out the batteries. The red light blinked to life.
A breath escaped my lungs. This would work.
I didn’t know if Dad would tell me his secrets. But if he did, I’d be ready.
It was past nine p.m. when I heard the sound of footsteps—sharp, rhythmic clicks of dress shoes echoing on the hardwood floor. They grew louder, closer then they stopped outside my door.
“How is she?” I heard my father’s voice.
“We served her dinner at seven,” one of the guards replied.
My heart began to race. I had a plan now. It hinged on my ability to lie convincingly, but I had no choice. This was my best shot at getting the truth.
There was a long pause. Was he going to come in or leave me here like some discarded piece of luggage?
“I’d like to speak with her.”
I darted back to the bed, turned on the recorder, and wedged it between the mattress and the wall just as the lock clicked and the door creaked open.
My father stepped inside, briefcase in hand, his mouth set in a flat line. He looked older than he ever had before, and for a brief second, something like pity scraped at my chest, but just as quickly, it vanished.
My stepmother had tried to pit him against me. As far as I could tell, his resistance only stretched to the times when I could still be useful to him.
Maybe he loved me in his own sad way, but it wasn’t enough. I was done begging for his scraps.
He set the briefcase on the floor and eyed the untouched dinner on the floor. “You didn’t eat.”
I shrugged. “Didn’t feel like it.”
He nodded like he understood. “The doctor told me you’re fine. We were worried for a second. There was a lot of blood.”
I rolled my lips at the flicker of concern in his eyes. If I wanted him to confide in me, I had to pretend like I was starting to come around to seeing his side. So I stayed silent, waiting to see what he’d say next.
“I’m sorry we had to do this, cariño.” He sat down on the edge of the bed, some distance away from me. His cologne, usually a comforting scent, now turned my stomach. “But you’re not in the right state of mind. That man clearly managed to trick you. You were always too trusting, Mia.”
Yeah, and you know that well, don’t you? You used it to your advantage.
My gaze fell to my lap. “I know. I’m sorry.” Lie. I hoped I was selling it. “I’ve been thinking over the last few hours since I’d talked to Aris.” I picked at a nail. “I… She said some things that upset me. But now…I can see that she was right. I made a huge mistake, Dad. I don’t know how it happened.”
“How did you meet?”
Is Romolo alive?
I had to bite on my tongue to stay silent, to breathe through the urge to ask the one question consuming me.
“At a party. It was an accident.”
He scoffed. “It’s just as likely it was all planned from the beginning.”
“Maybe you’re right.” I lifted my gaze to his. “But I never told him anything about you. I swear, I didn’t.”
Some of the lines in his forehead softened. “Good. That’s good.” He sighed. “Romolo wanted to use you to hurt me. And he succeeded. Even if you told him nothing, he still managed to fool someone very important to me.”
Important? I guessed you could say I was important—the way an expensive painting is important, there to impress and be shown off at the right moments.
“Knowing he compromised you hurt me.” Dad’s voice hardened. “But what awaits him once I’m in power will be a thousand times worse.”
My eyes fell shut.
The wave of relief that swept through me rattled at my heart.
It took everything I had—everything—not to let my expression show it.
He was alive. Somewhere out there. Heart still beating.
“It will be easier now, with Gino Ferraro dead.”
My eyes shot open. Gino. Rom had lost his dad. “He was the single casualty?” I asked, lifting my gaze.
Dad nodded. There was a smirk on his face. “My first campaign promise came true before I’m even elected. But I’m not done. We’ll focus on his sons next.”
Focus. What did that mean? At this point, I wasn’t sure if he wanted to launch an investigation or if he just wanted to take them out, guilty verdict or not.
Ask him. Do it now.
“Dad, how did you know the explosion was going to happen?”
A flicker of shock passed over his expression.
I thought of the recorder and hoped I hadn’t accidentally blocked the mic when I shoved it behind the bed.
“You were waiting to see my reaction to the news,” I continued when he stayed silent. “The guards were ready to stop me from leaving. How did you know?”
He looked down at his hands.
I licked my lips. “You know who’s behind the explosion, don’t you?”
Silence.
“Dad, I’ve worked tirelessly for you this past year. I want you to win. Even if I’ve made mistakes, I still want you to win.” My nails dug into the palms of my hands. “Romolo told me his parents suspected you have a connection to some of their enemies.”
His head snapped up, and his eyes hardened.
“Is that true?” I asked.
The words hung there, thick with tension.
I waited.
Waited.
Waited.
He swallowed, then he reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “It’s just a temporary arrangement.”
My heart pounded in my chest. It was working. “With who?”
“Rena Santoro. A friend from college.”
Santoro. I racked my brain. Then it hit me like a bolt of lightning. Two years ago, when Dad sold the family grocery chain business…
“Weren’t they one of the investors who bought the business?”
He cleared his throat. “Yes. The business was bankrupt.”
What? I didn’t know that. “You said you sold it because you wanted to do something new.”
“Also true. But we were in trouble, Mia. The market had turned against us. We lost money for years. Rena Santoro approached me two years ago with an offer that she’d find investors to buy the business at a premium price, and in exchange, I’d run for mayor on a…certain platform. It was a good deal. If I hadn’t taken it, my father’s business—one he built from the ground up—would have died.”
I was reeling. So this—his entire campaign—wasn’t about service. It was about salvaging a mess he’d made with the business that had been handed to him.
“A certain platform?” I forced out. “To hunt down the Ferraros?”
“It’s a platform I wholeheartedly agree with. The Ferraros killed your uncle. In the decades since, they amassed excessive power in this city. They are due for a reckoning.”
“But these people… the Santoros…” I swallowed hard. “Dad, if they’re behind that bomb, they’re criminals too.”
My dad’s mouth flattened. “I can’t control the Ferraros, but I can control the Santoros. They helped fund the campaign, but once I’m in office, they’ll fall in line with my agenda.”
My breath caught. Fall in line? The people who planted a bomb in a residential penthouse? I stared at him, stunned. “You made a deal with exactly the kind of people you condemn the Ferraros for being.”
He gave me a dismissive glance. “I don’t expect you to understand.”
Hot shame and rage battled in my chest. This was the man I had defended. The man I’d tried so hard to see as good. My father, who I’d believed was guided by principle and integrity. But I’d been clinging to a lie. Shielding myself from truths I didn’t want to see.
Not anymore.
I rose to my feet. “You’re right. I don’t understand it even a little. That explosion could have killed a lot of people.”
“But it didn’t.’ His voice was cold. ‘It only killed one don, and he deserved it. He was an awful, awful man.”
“You’re no better,” I whispered.
The door burst open behind me.
I spun, heart hammering. When I saw who it was, tears seared my eyes and my chest hitched on a ragged breath.
Romolo.
He stood in the doorway in a leather jacket, chest heaving, fists clenched, eyes wild.
Our gazes collided.
“Mia,” he rasped.
A sob tore from my chest, and I ran to him, a burst of frantic energy propelling me straight into his arms.
He’d come for me.
He’d found me.
This nightmare was over.
With him, I was finally safe.
