Chapter 74 The hours that didn't move.
At first, Alessandro didn’t move.
He stood in the hallway, exactly where he had stopped, Isabella’s name still lingering in the air like it refused to leave.
“Isabella.”
This time it wasn’t a call.
It was quieter.
More dangerous.
The house answered him with silence.
Not the soft kind.
The kind that pressed against his ears.
He exhaled slowly and forced himself to move.
One step.
Then another.
Control first.
Always control.
He walked into the kitchen.
The flowers sat on the counter exactly where he had left them, still wrapped, untouched. The small teddy bear leaned against the paper, its head tilted slightly as if it had been waiting patiently for someone to pick it up.
His chest tightened.
“She’ll laugh at that,” he murmured.
The words sounded wrong.
Too hopeful.
Too late.
His eyes moved across the room.
Her notebook.
Open.
A line half-written.
The pen resting beside it.
Not dropped.
Not abandoned.
Paused.
He stepped closer.
Read the line.
Numbers.
Routes.
Her handwriting neat, focused.
Alive.
She had been here.
Recently.
Not hours ago.
Not long enough.
He picked up his phone.
Called her.
It rang.
And rang.
And rang.
Voicemail.
His jaw tightened.
Again.
Straight to voicemail.
Again.
Nothing.
“Pick up,” he said quietly.
Not angry.
Not yet.
Again.
Nothing.
He lowered the phone slowly.
Then turned.
Back door.
Locked.
Windows.
Closed.
No broken glass.
No forced entry.
No sound of struggle echoing in memory.
Nothing violent.
Nothing obvious.
Which made it worse.
He moved through the house again.
Slower this time.
Looking harder.
Seeing more.
Her shoes by the door.
Still there.
The light in the hallway still on.
A glass in the sink.
Half-rinsed.
She hadn’t left.
Not properly.
“Isabella.”
Now it was a demand.
He took the stairs two at a time.
Bedroom.
Empty.
The bed still slightly creased.
Her side.
A faint indentation where she had sat that morning.
Bathroom.
Her brush.
Still tangled with strands of her hair.
Closet.
Nothing missing.
Nothing packed.
No sign of preparation.
He stood in the middle of the room.
Listening.
Waiting.
As if the house might correct itself.
As if she might walk out and say his name like nothing had happened.
Nothing.
He went back downstairs.
Faster now.
Less controlled.
The phone was in his hand before he realized he had picked it up.
Rafael.
“Have you seen Isabella today?”
“No.”
Immediate.
Too immediate.
A pause.
“Why?”
Alessandro turned slowly, eyes scanning the room again.
“She’s not here.”
Silence.
“For how long?”
“I just got back.”
“She might be out.”
“She didn’t take anything.”
That changed it.
Rafael didn’t respond immediately.
“I’m coming,” he said finally.
Time started moving differently after that.
Alessandro checked the house again.
Then again.
Then again.
Each time finding the same thing.
Nothing.
And everything.
He checked the cameras.
Rewound.
Played.
Paused.
There.
She left.
Late morning.
Alone.
No hesitation.
No fear.
Just walking.
Normal.
Too normal.
His eyes narrowed.
“Where were you going?” he murmured.
Rafael arrived twenty minutes later.
He didn’t speak when he entered.
He just looked.
And understood.
“Show me,” Rafael said.
Alessandro stepped aside.
They watched the footage together.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
“She left on her own,” Rafael said.
“That doesn’t matter.”
No hesitation.
No doubt.
“She didn’t come back.”
Rafael nodded.
“You call her?”
Alessandro didn’t answer.
He just dialed again.
Voicemail.
Again.
Nothing.
“She would tell you,” Rafael said carefully.
Alessandro’s jaw tightened.
“I know.”
An hour passed.
Then another.
The light in the house shifted.
Gold.
To grey.
To something colder.
Calls started.
Quiet ones.
Controlled.
Hospitals.
Nothing.
Private clinics.
Nothing.
Traffic.
No incidents.
No reports.
No unidentified patients.
“She’s not in any system,” Rafael said.
Alessandro nodded slowly.
That was worse.
His mind started racing then.
Faster.
Sharper.
More dangerous.
Accident.
No.
She would be somewhere.
She would be found.
Voluntary.
No.
She wouldn’t.
Not without telling him.
Not like this.
Someone.
His chest tightened.
He turned suddenly, walking back into the kitchen.
The flowers.
Still there.
Waiting.
Mocking him now.
“She had something for me.”
Rafael looked up.
“What?”
“This morning,” Alessandro said, voice distant. “She said she had a surprise.”
Rafael didn’t speak.
Because now—
This wasn’t random.
“What kind of surprise?” Rafael asked.
“I don’t know.”
And that was the worst part.
Night fell slowly.
Painfully.
The house grew colder.
Quieter.
Heavier.
Alessandro stood in the center of the living room.
Phone in hand.
Listening.
Waiting.
Still expecting the sound of the door.
Still expecting her voice.
Still expecting something to make sense.
Nothing came.
“She didn’t leave me.”
The words came out low.
Final.
Certain.
Rafael didn’t argue.
He couldn’t.
Because now—
There was only one possibility left.
Alessandro lifted his phone again.
This time his hand didn’t pause.
His voice didn’t hesitate.
His eyes had changed.
Completely.
“Rafael.”
“Yes.”
“Get everyone.”
A pause.
“Everyone?”
Alessandro didn’t look at him.
Didn’t need to.
“Yes.”
Because this wasn’t confusion anymore.
This wasn’t delay.
This wasn’t a mistake.
This was something planned.
Something precise.
Something that had walked into his life—
and taken it.
And Alessandro De Luca—
was done being patient.