Page 93 of The Voicemail

Alex crosses the rest of the room slowly and sits on the edge of the bed, leaving space between us.

“I want you,” he says. “I want the baby. Not as leverage. Not as an heir or as a possession. As my family. Our family. If you want that too.”

My chest aches. I look at him, at the bruises on his knuckles, the dried blood near his cuff, and the exhaustion he’s too stubborn to admit.

“Okay,” I whisper.

It isn’t forgiveness. It isn’t trust. Not yet. But it’s a place to start.

Alex lifts my hand and presses his mouth to my bruised knuckles. “Okay,” he answers.

28

ALEX

Elena wakes me at three in the morning. She stands in the doorway of my bedroom with bare feet, wearing one of my shirts and a stubborn look.

I sit up too fast, worried something’s happened. “What’s wrong?”

“I remembered something.”

I’m out of bed before she finishes the sentence. Her eyes drop to the gun in my hand, then come back to my face.

“Of course you sleep with a gun.”

I put it down on the nightstand beside me. “Force of habit, sorry. What did you remember?”

“The file,” she says, like she’s telling me she forgot to mention we’re out of coffee. “I think I know where it is.”

“Where is it?”

“My tote bag. I left it at Maya’s apartment like three months ago. She probably put it in the front closet. It should still be there unless someone moved it.”

I reach for my phone.

She shifts in the doorway.

“I meant to tell you earlier.”

“You were kidnapped, beaten, and went through a trauma. I’m willing to forgive a delayed update.”

Her mouth twitches, then immediately tightens because smiling still hurts.

I call Luca.

He answers on the second ring, voice rough with sleep but already alert. “What happened?”

“We think we’ve located the file. It’s at Maya’s apartment. Front closet. Elena’s tote bag.”

“I’ll send DeSantis,” he says, voice thick, probably already rolling over to go back to sleep.

“No. You go.”

“Understood,” he grumbles.

I end the call. Elena is still in the doorway; one hand braced against the frame. She’s trying to look steady. She isn’t. Her face is too pale, and she’s tilted to one side like her ribs are giving her trouble.

“Come sit down before you fall down.”