Page 5 of King of Greed

I barely noticed any of it. We wouldn’t live here forever; I already had my eye on a bigger, even more expensive penthouse that was currently under development by the Archer Group. It didn’t matter that I spent only a fraction of my time at home. Real estate was a symbol, and if it wasn’t the best, I didn’t want it.

I opened the doors to the master suite. I expected to see Alessandra curled up in bed or reading in the sitting area, but they were as empty as the living room.

My eyes landed on the suitcase by the closet. It was the one I usually took for short trips. Why—

My blood turned to ice.

DC. Anniversary. Six p.m.No wonder I’d been walking around with an impending sense of dread all evening. I’d forgotten our goddamned wedding anniversary.

“Fuck.”I pulled out my phone only to remember it was dead.

A fresh litany of curses spilled out as I yanked open various drawers, searching for a charger while our conversation from Wednesday night replayed in my head.

Dom. It’s important.

I won’t forget. I promise.

Thick, slimy dread gnawed at my stomach. I’d missed dates before. I wasn’t proud of it, but last-minute emergencies were the nature of my work, and Alessandra always seemed to take it instride. I had a sinking feeling this time was different, and not only because it was our anniversary.

I finally found a charger and plugged my phone in. After what seemed like an eternity, it gained enough charge to blink on.

Six missed calls from Alessandra, all received between five and eight p.m. Nothing since then.

I tried calling her back, but it went straight to voicemail. I bit back another curse and pivoted to the second-best option: her friends. I didn’t have their numbers, but luckily, I knew someone who did.

“It’s Dominic,” I said brusquely when Dante picked up my call. “Is Vivian there? I need to talk to her.”

“Good evening to you too,” he drawled. Dante Russo was a friend, a longtime client, and the CEO of the world’s largest luxury conglomerate. Most importantly, he was married to Vivian, whom Alessandra had gotten quite close to over the past year. If anyone knew where my wife was, she did. “Tell me why, exactly, you need to talk to Vivian this late on a Friday night?”

A hint of suspicion leaked into his voice. He was fiercely protective of his wife, which was ironic considering he hadn’t wanted to marry her at all when they initially got engaged.

“It’s about Alessandra.” I didn’t supply any further details. My marriage was none of his damn business.

A short pause greeted my answer. “Hold on.”

“Hello?” Vivian’s elegant, dulcet tones floated over the line two seconds later.

“Is Alessandra with you?” I skipped the niceties and cut straight to the chase. I didn’t care if she thought I was rude; I only cared about finding my wife. It was late, she was upset, and New York was filled with unsavory people. She could be lost or hurt right now.

My gut twisted into knots.

“No,” Vivian said after way too long. “Why?”

“She’s not at home, and it’s not like her to be out this late.” I skipped over the wedding anniversary part. Once again, our marriage was no one else’s business except ours.

“Maybe she’s with Isabella or Sloane.”

Isabella and Sloane.Alessandra’s other friends. I didn’t know them as well as Vivian, but it didn’t matter. I’d talk to the goddamn cat lady who was always falling asleep in our lobby if she had an inkling of where Alessandra was.

Unfortunately, Isabella and Sloane were also clueless to Alessandra’s whereabouts, and my calls after I hung up with them went to voicemail again.

Dammit, Ále. Where are you?

I headed downstairs again and nearly crashed into Camila.

“Mr. Davenport!” Her eyes widened. I’d forgotten she was back from vacation. “Welcome— ”

“Where is she?”

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