Chapter 2 - The Morning His Wife Disappeared
Vincent Moretti had been awake for thirty-six hours when he finally understood Claire had truly left him.
At first, he convinced himself she was at a hotel.
Claire became quiet when she was angry.
She needed space.
She would sleep.
Cool down.
Come home.
That was how Vincent explained it to himself while standing in their bedroom at four in the morning.
Her perfume still lingered near the vanity.
Her slippers were beneath the chair.
Half of the closet remained full.
To anyone else, the room might have looked normal.
Vincent saw the missing pieces.
Her passport was gone.
Her laptop.
The leather folder containing her university records.
Her mother’s necklace.
The blue sweater she always wore on airplanes.
He called her again.
Straight to voicemail.
He called the security gate.
“When did Mrs. Moretti leave?”
The guard hesitated.
“Approximately two twenty-five, sir.”
“With whom?”
“A hired driver.”
Vincent went still.
“She ordered a car?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And nobody stopped her?”
The guard sounded terrified.
“You didn't instruct us to stop her.”
Vincent closed his eyes.
Of course he hadn’t.
Because never in five years had he imagined needing to prevent Claire from leaving.
By seven in the morning, he knew she had boarded a flight to New York.
His security chief, Marco DeLuca, delivered the information cautiously.
“United. Six thirty departure.”
Vincent stared out the windows of his office.
“Return?”
“No return ticket.”
Something cold settled in Vincent’s stomach.
“Why New York?”
Marco did not answer immediately.
Vincent looked at him.
“Say it.”
“She had a call last night with Alexander Hayes.”
Vincent turned around.
“Hayes?”
“Yes.”
Vincent knew the name.
Everyone in corporate finance knew the name.
Alexander Hayes had attempted to hire Claire years earlier.
Vincent remembered disliking him instantly.
Tall.
Educated.
Old money.
Smooth.
The type of man who smiled while taking a company apart.
He also remembered Claire coming home excited after Hayes offered her a position in New York.
Vincent had convinced her to decline it.
At least, he had always described it as convincing.
Now a memory surfaced.
Claire sitting on the kitchen counter.
“You really don’t want me to go?”
“I want my wife here.”
“It would only be three days in New York most weeks.”
“That’s three days too many.”
She had smiled.
Kissed him.
Then declined the job.
Vincent had felt victorious.
Now he felt sick.
“Find out where she is.”
Marco hesitated.
Vincent noticed.
“What?”
“Boss, with respect, she left voluntarily.”
Vincent’s stare hardened.
Marco continued anyway.
“If you start tracking her too aggressively, she’s going to hear about it.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
“You think I care?”
“I think she might.”
Silence.
Marco had worked for Vincent for eleven years.
Almost nobody spoke to him like that.
Vincent turned back toward the window.
“Just confirm she's safe.”
Marco nodded.
“That I can do.”
At nine fifteen, Rebecca Lang arrived at Moretti headquarters.
She wore a gray suit and carried a leather envelope.
Vincent knew before she sat down.
“No.”
Rebecca raised an eyebrow.
“I haven't said anything.”
“You don't need to.”
She placed the envelope on his desk.
“Claire filed a petition for dissolution of marriage at eight oh three this morning.”
Vincent stared at it.
“She has been in New York less than three hours.”
“She signed electronically before boarding.”
His chest tightened.
“That fast?”
“Your wife appears quite certain.”
Vincent stood.
“She’s angry.”
Rebecca remained seated.
“Yes.”
“She’ll change her mind.”
“Perhaps.”
“You don’t believe that.”
“My personal opinion is irrelevant.”
He planted both hands on the desk.
“What does she want?”
Rebecca opened the folder.
“Nothing.”
Vincent frowned.
“Explain.”
“She is not requesting the house, your businesses, vehicles, jewelry, or spousal support.”
His frown deepened.
“She’s legally entitled to more.”
“She knows.”
“Then what does she want?”
Rebecca looked directly at him.
“The divorce.”
The answer landed harder than Vincent expected.
Claire did not want money.
She wanted freedom.
“Where is she staying?”
“I am not authorized to disclose that.”
Vincent laughed without humor.
“You’re standing inside my building refusing to tell me where my wife is.”
“Your estranged wife.”
His eyes flashed.
Rebecca did not blink.
Vincent suddenly understood why Claire hired her.
By noon, he had canceled every meeting.
At one, his mother called.
At one fifteen, his younger brother Matteo walked into the office without knocking.
“What did you do?”
Vincent looked up.
“Get out.”
Matteo closed the door.
“Mom is furious.”
“Good for her.”
“Sophia posted another cryptic message online.”
Vincent’s expression darkened.
“What?”
Matteo held out his phone.
Some people will punish you for being cared about because they never understood your bond.
Vincent swore.
“Tell her to delete it.”
“You tell her.”
“I’m not talking to Sophia.”
Matteo paused.
“That’s new.”
Vincent looked up slowly.
Matteo leaned against the wall.
“You really screwed this up.”
Vincent stood.
“Careful.”
“No.”
His younger brother folded his arms.
“Everybody careful around Vincent. Everybody tells Vincent what he wants to hear. Maybe that's the problem.”
“I said get out.”
Matteo’s expression changed.
“You know what Claire did for you?”
Vincent said nothing.
“She sat beside Mom every day after her surgery.”
“I know.”
“She handled charity audits when the accountants screwed up.”
“I know.”
“She convinced Catherine Donnelly not to testify against your hotel group after that discrimination lawsuit.”
“I know.”
“She learned Italian because Nonna hated speaking English at family dinners.”
Vincent’s jaw flexed.
“I know.”
“Then how the hell did you leave her alone on her anniversary?”
Vincent had no answer.
Matteo shook his head.
“You thought she’d always be there.”
Then he left.
Across the country, Claire Moretti walked into a Manhattan office wearing a navy suit she had not worn in four years.
Alexander Hayes stood when she entered.
His office occupied the forty-third floor overlooking Midtown.
“Claire Bennett.”
She smiled.
“That name is going to take some getting used to.”
Alexander studied her.
“You look tired.”
“I slept forty minutes.”
“And you still came.”
“You told me Monday.”
“It is Monday.”
“I hate disappointing employers.”
He gave her a pointed look.
“Only employers?”
Claire’s smile faded.
Alexander immediately raised both hands.
“Too soon.”
“Much.”
“Understood.”
He moved around the desk.
“Your position is Senior Director of Strategic Acquisitions.”
Claire stared at him.
“That is higher than the original offer.”
“You’re better than you were three years ago.”
“You haven't worked with me.”
“I've watched what you did with Moretti Resorts.”
Claire blinked.
“That wasn't public.”
“The turnaround was.”
She had reorganized the entire hospitality division after two locations nearly failed.
Vincent had received the newspaper profiles.
Claire had smiled beside him.
Nobody mentioned she created the plan.
Alexander handed her a folder.
“Your first client is in trouble.”
Claire opened it.
Westbridge Medical Systems.
Three billion dollars in debt.
Two threatened lawsuits.
Activist investors.
A hostile buyer.
Her pulse quickened.
For the first time in years, excitement had nothing to do with Vincent Moretti.
“You still enjoy impossible problems?” Alexander asked.
Claire looked up.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
She closed the folder.
“Because this one is ugly.”
“I can handle ugly.”
Alexander smiled.
“I know.”
For the next twelve hours, Claire worked.
She forgot Chicago.
Almost.
At nine thirty that evening, she returned to the furnished apartment arranged by the firm.
There were seventeen missed calls.
Eight from Vincent.
Three from his mother.
Two from Matteo.
Four unknown.
She ignored them.
Then a message arrived from Vincent.
I know you're in New York. We need to talk.
Another followed.
I'm coming tomorrow.
Claire finally replied.
Do not come.
The typing indicator appeared instantly.
Claire—
She turned off notifications.
The next morning, Vincent came anyway.
He entered the Whitmore Hayes lobby wearing a black overcoat and the expression of a man unfamiliar with being denied anything.
Claire saw him through the glass conference room wall.
Her heart betrayed her.
One hard beat.
Then another.
Vincent looked exactly like the man she had loved for five years.
Maybe more tired.
Definitely angrier.
Alexander noticed her expression.
“Is that your husband?”
“Soon to be ex-husband.”
“He looks friendly.”
Claire nearly laughed.
Vincent approached reception.
The receptionist stood.
“May I help you?”
“I’m here to see Claire Moretti.”
Claire stepped into the lobby.
“Claire Bennett.”
Vincent looked toward her.
His entire body stilled.
She had forgotten what his gaze could do.
How intense it was.
How personal.
“Claire.”
“Why are you here?”
“We’re talking.”
“No.”
He moved closer.
“Five years and I don't deserve ten minutes?”
She almost answered.
Then remembered the restaurant.
The rain.
Sophia collapsing.
Get yourself home, Claire.
“You had five years.”
His face tightened.
Employees had begun pretending not to watch.
Claire lowered her voice.
“This is my workplace.”
“I know.”
“Then respect it.”
Vincent looked beyond her.
Alexander stood inside the glass room.
Something dangerous entered Vincent’s expression.
Claire saw it immediately.
“Oh no.”
“What?”
“Do not turn this into some jealous Mafia nonsense.”
His eyes snapped back to hers.
“You came to New York for him.”
“I came to New York for me.”
“Were you sleeping with him?”
Claire slapped Vincent.
The sound cracked across the marble lobby.
Everyone froze.
Vincent’s head turned with the force.
Claire’s hand shook.
“You do not get to humiliate me for months and then accuse me of adultery.”
Vincent slowly looked back.
His cheek was red.
“I didn’t mean—”
“Yes, you did.”
His voice dropped.
“I’m losing my mind.”
“That is no longer my responsibility.”
“You’re my wife.”
“For now.”
The words hit him visibly.
Claire stepped back.
“If you ever come to my workplace uninvited again, I will make sure every financial newspaper in America knows Vincent Moretti can't understand the word no.”
He stared at her.
Then something unexpected happened.
Vincent nodded.
Once.
“I’m sorry.”
Claire froze.
Vincent Moretti rarely apologized.
He reached into his coat.
For one terrifying second, the receptionist ducked.
Vincent removed something small.
A silver cufflink.
The engraved anniversary cufflink.
Claire stared at it.
“You took it from the trash?”
“Both of them.”
Her chest tightened.
Vincent held it in his palm.
“I was wrong.”
Claire looked at him.
“It took me leaving Chicago for you to realize that?”
“Yes.”
He did not defend himself.
That hurt more.
“I want to fix it.”
“You can't fix something by saying you want to.”
“Tell me how.”
Claire swallowed.
“For once, Vincent, figure something out without making me do the work.”
Then she turned and walked away.
He did not follow.
May you like
That evening, Vincent flew back to Chicago alone.
And for the first time in his life, power did not help him.
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