Part 2

“Where's Adrian?”

“In his office.”

Leo started toward the hallway, then stopped.

“Mara, there's been a shooting.”

My stomach tightened.

“Who?”

“Daniel Moreno was attacked outside his restaurant.”

I recognized the surname immediately.

Then Leo said the words that would eventually end my marriage.

“Sofia was with him.”

Sofia Moreno.

The woman Adrian had once intended to marry.

I knew about her because Adrian had told me her story before we became engaged.

When his mother died, Adrian was seventeen and his father was struggling with grief and alcohol.

Sofia's father, Rafael Moreno, owned a small restaurant in South Philadelphia and had offered Adrian work, food, and a place to sleep whenever home became unbearable.

Rafael became the father figure Adrian desperately needed.

Sofia became his closest friend.

Eventually, friendship turned into love.

They planned to leave Philadelphia together and build a life somewhere far from the violence and business rivalries that surrounded their neighborhood.

Then Rafael was murdered.

Adrian believed the people responsible would never face justice unless he made them pay himself.

Sofia begged him to leave with her.

He refused.

She disappeared from his life, and Adrian spent the following years building the power he once believed he needed to protect everyone he loved.

When he told me that story, I asked whether he still loved her.

He looked at me for a long moment.

“I'll always regret how things ended.”

It wasn't the answer I had wanted.

But then he took my hand.

“My future is with you, Mara.”

I believed him.

Now, standing in our kitchen nearly a decade later, I watched Leo hurry toward Adrian's office.

A moment later, my husband emerged with his phone pressed against his ear.

His expression had changed completely.

“Get a security team to the hospital,” he ordered.

He listened briefly.

“No, I don't care what it costs.”

Then he saw me.

“Mara.”

I put down the bakery receipt.

“Leo told me.”

Adrian dragged a hand through his hair.

“Daniel survived the ambulance ride, but nobody knows whether he'll make it through surgery.”

“And Sofia?”

“She's terrified.”

He grabbed his jacket from the back of a chair.

I could already see what was happening.

His shoulders were rigid, his eyes distant, and his mind had moved somewhere I couldn't follow.

“Adrian, tomorrow is our anniversary.”

He stopped.

“I know.”

For a second, I saw genuine conflict cross his face.

Then his phone vibrated again.

“I need to make sure they're safe.”

I swallowed the disappointment rising in my throat.

“Then go.”

He stepped toward me.

“Mara, I promise I'll be back.”

“You don't know that.”

“I'll do everything I can.”

He kissed my forehead, then my lips.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Those were the last words we spoke face-to-face before everything changed.

That evening, Adrian called around nine.

Daniel had been taken into surgery, and Sofia had been moved to a private waiting area under security protection.

I asked whether Adrian had eaten.

He said he hadn't thought about food.

I reminded him to drink water.

He thanked me.

Then he hung up.

At 2:37 Saturday morning, my phone rang again.

I answered before the second ring.

“Adrian?”

“Daniel made it through surgery.”

Relief washed over me.

“Thank goodness.”

“Sofia's still in shock.”

“Of course she is.”

“We're moving her somewhere secure.”

I looked at the clock beside our bed.

“How long will you be staying?”

Silence filled the line.

“Adrian?”

“I don't know.”

I stared at the empty side of our bed.

“Today is Saturday.”

“I know what day it is, Mara.”

His sharpness surprised me.

I lowered my voice.

“I wasn't trying to argue.”

He exhaled.

“I'm sorry, sweetheart.”

Then, after another pause, he added something that stayed with me long after the call ended.

“Sofia doesn't have anyone else right now.”

I wanted to remind him that Daniel was alive, that Sofia had relatives and friends, and that trained security professionals were already protecting her.

Instead, I said nothing.

Because I knew Adrian's history.

I knew what Sofia represented.

And I didn't want to become the kind of wife who demanded that her husband abandon a frightened woman simply because they had once loved each other.

By Saturday evening, I had dressed in the midnight-blue silk gown Adrian bought for my birthday.

I wore the diamond earrings he gave me after our first successful hotel opening.

Our dining room glowed with candlelight.

The florist had arranged white roses along the table, and the chef had prepared Adrian's favorite dinner.

At seven, I checked my phone.

At eight, I asked the staff to keep the food warm.

At nine, I dismissed everyone for the evening.

At ten, the candles had burned low.

Adrian sent a message shortly afterward.

“Sofia is having a difficult night, so I can't leave yet.”

I read the words three times.

There was no apology for our anniversary.

No question about whether I had eaten.

Not even a simple acknowledgment that I was sitting alone.

I typed, “I hope she's okay.”

He replied with a heart.

That tiny red symbol almost made me laugh.

I sat down in the chair opposite the empty place setting and stared at our wedding photograph on the sideboard.

In the picture, Adrian was looking at me as though I was the only person in the world.

I wondered when that had stopped being true.

At eleven-thirty, I blew out the candles.

At midnight, our ninth wedding anniversary ended.

I carried the cake into the kitchen without cutting it.

Sunday morning brought another message.

“Sofia barely slept, and we're reviewing the security situation.”

Sunday afternoon brought another.

“Daniel is improving, but the doctors are cautious.”

Sunday evening brought one more.

“I need to stay until everything settles down.”

Each message told me what was happening in Sofia's life.

None asked what was happening in mine.