Chapter 17 Found Her
Emma's POV:
I sliced through another wave, the cold water spraying across my face as I carved a sharp turn on my custom purple surfboard. The other surfers at Catania beach kept their distance, giving me a wide berth as I attacked each wave with reckless abandon.
The sky had darkened considerably in the last half hour, angry clouds gathering above Sicily's coastline, but I didn't care. When the first crack of thunder sounded, most people scrambled for shore. Not me. I paddled deeper, waiting for the bigger waves the storm would bring.
"Hey lady, you crazy? Storm's coming!" A local surfer yelled as he paddled past me toward safety.
I ignored him, catching sight of a monster wave building in the distance. Perfect. I positioned myself, feeling the surge of water lift my board as I paddled hard. Rising to my feet in one fluid motion, I dropped into the wave's face, letting gravity and momentum carry me through the barrel. Inside this watery tunnel, nothing else existed—not Alexander Sterling, not Sophia Rossi, not my rushed marriage. Just me and the ocean's raw power.
When I finally dragged myself to shore, my muscles burned with exertion and my wetsuit clung to me like a second skin. The beach was deserted now, rain coming down in sheets. I felt lighter somehow, like I'd left my problems out in the water.
I hummed to myself as I drove my twilight purple Cullinan through the rain-slicked streets of Castello. The windshield wipers worked overtime against the downpour.
As I approached my apartment building, a solitary figure caught my eye—a man standing in the pouring rain, scanning the street with an intensity that was visible even through the storm. He wore what had once been an expensive suit, now completely soaked through, his white shirt translucent and clinging to his torso. The top two buttons were undone.
My heart skipped a beat. Alexander.
I slowed down, debating whether to drive past and pretend I hadn't seen him. He wouldn't recognize my car—it was registered under a different name. But as I watched him standing there, completely drenched yet refusing to seek shelter, something inside me softened.
I pulled up beside him and lowered my window. Rain immediately spattered the interior.
His eyes locked with mine, relief washing over his exhausted features. "Emma," he said, his voice hoarse. "I finally found you."
The defeat in his voice hit me harder than I wanted to admit. I pressed the button to open the trunk.
"Get in," I said flatly.
Alexander hesitated only briefly before walking around to the back. He sat on the edge of the trunk, using the lid as shelter from the relentless downpour. Neither of us spoke as I drove the short distance to the underground parking.
Inside my apartment, I headed straight for my bedroom, pulling out a loose Oxford shirt and basketball shorts from my drawer.
"Here," I tossed them at Alexander, who caught them reflexively. "Go take a warm shower before you catch pneumonia. Bathroom's that way."
He looked like he wanted to say something, but then just nodded and disappeared into the bathroom. I heard the shower start as I paced around my living room, trying to process the fact that Alexander was in my apartment in Sicily.
When he emerged ten minutes later, my loose clothes fitting his muscular frame surprisingly well. His face had regained some color, but his eyes were still tired. He coughed twice, a deep, congested sound.
"You're sick," I observed, stepping closer to press my palm against his forehead. "Shit, you're burning up. Sit down."
"I'm fine," he protested weakly, but sank into my couch anyway.
I retrieved some fever reducers from my medicine cabinet and a bottle of water from the fridge. "Take these," I ordered, dropping the pills into his palm.
Alexander dutifully swallowed them, then looked up at me. "Emma, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel—"
A sharp knock at my door cut him off.
"Move," I whispered urgently, pushing him toward a barely visible panel in the wall. "Through there. It connects to the next apartment."
The panel slid open silently, revealing a narrow passage. "Don't make a sound."
Once Alexander disappeared, I approached my door, opening it just enough to lean against the frame, arms crossed over my chest.
"You must have a death wish," I said coldly to the two men standing in the hallway.
The men—one fat, one thin, both in expensive suits—shifted uncomfortably.
"Miss North," the fat one said respectfully, "we don't want trouble. We're just looking for James Knight."
"And you thought he'd be in my apartment?" I raised an eyebrow. "How fascinating."
"Look," the thin one stepped forward, his hand twitching near his jacket. "We know he's your second-in-command. We just need to talk to him about a small... misunderstanding."
"A misunderstanding that required you to knock on my door at night, during a storm?" I kept my voice ice-cold. "You know who I am. You know the rules of Castello."
The fat one cleared his throat nervously. "We don't want to cause problems for you, Miss North. Just tell us where James is, and we'll be on our way."
"You don't get to make demands of me," I said, my voice dropping dangerously low. "Now get the fuck away from my door before I decide that you're violating the peace of Castello."
The thin one made a move toward me, but the fat one grabbed his arm. "We apologize for the disturbance," he said quickly. "We'll be going."
"Smart choice," I replied. "And don't come back. Next time, you won't be leaving." I tilted my head slightly. "I don't need to remind you why I'm allowed to live in this building, do I?"
They backed away, nodding nervously. I slammed the door in their faces.
After a while, another knock came at the door. I recognized James's signature knock and opened the door. Behind him was Alexander.
"Emma," James said with a respectful nod, then lowered his voice with a playful tone, "I was just getting to know someone better when you suddenly sent a visitor to my apartment."
"You weren't handling those guys, so they came looking for you at my place," I replied matter-of-factly.
James gave me an apologetic smile. "Next time, a heads up would be appreciated. Though I'm always at your service." He gestured to the bag he was carrying. "I brought a few bottles of that wine you like. I'll put them in the fridge."
James gave me a slight nod before heading out. As he left, Alexander stepped inside, closing the door behind him.
"Emma, I'm sorry."
"For what? You didn't do anything wrong," I said. "Did you sign the divorce papers?"
His jaw clenched. "No. And I won't."
"Why not?" I demanded. "I'm not asking for anything. I don't want your money or property. I just want this to be over so you can go back to Sophia."
"I don't want to go back to Sophia," Alexander said firmly. "Whatever was between us ended five years ago."
"She's still in love with you. She's sick and needs you."
Alexander ran a hand through his damp hair. "I'm not in love with her anymore, Emma. It's been five years. That relationship is over. I don't like dwelling on the past—when something's done, it's done. I told you I'd take responsibility for our marriage, and I meant it."
"I don't need you to take responsibility for me," I shot back. "I can take care of myself. Why can't you just make this clean and simple?"
Alexander rubbed his temples, his eyes growing unfocused. "Can I... can I just sleep for a while? I haven't slept in days."
The vulnerability in his admission caught me off guard. I felt a pang of something—guilt? Concern?
"Fine," I said, softening despite myself. "You can use the bedroom."
"You won't leave again?" he asked, and for a moment he looked almost boyish in his uncertainty.
"This is my apartment," I pointed out. "If anyone's leaving, it would be you."
That brought a small smile to his lips. "Right. Of course."
Alexander practically collapsed onto my bed, his eyes closing almost immediately. Within minutes, his breathing had deepened, and I knew he was asleep. I watched him for a moment, taking in the dark circles under his eyes, the slight furrow between his brows that remained even in sleep.
Back in the living room, I pulled out my phone and dialed a number.
"Luca," I said when he answered. "I need to know everything that happened after I left."
Luca's deep voice came through the speaker. "Alexander's been looking for you non-stop. He only went to the hospital once to see Sophia, despite her trying to get him to stay. When he found out you'd flown to Italy under a different identity, he came straight to me."
"And you told him where I was?"
"He would have found you eventually," Luca replied calmly. "And he hasn't done anything wrong, has he?"
I glanced toward my bedroom, where Alexander lay sleeping. "No," I admitted. "He hasn't."
