Page 79 of Punishing His Runaway Bride

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"You sure?" I asked.

She froze.

"What?"

"You sure it's my child?"

Those few seconds of silence cut the air like a knife.

Bianca's face changed. Not a dramatic change, but that subtle, almost imperceptible stiffness. Then she smiled, that smile carrying just the right amount of hurt.

"Ezio, how can you ask that?" Her voice trembled slightly. "We've known each other all these years. Don't you know what kind of person I am? How could I—"

"You'd better not be lying to me. When the child's born, I'll do a paternity test. If it's real, I'll take responsibility. If not, you know what happens when you lie to me."

"You don't believe me?" Her eyes reddened. "You'd rather believe someone who ran away than me?"

She stood up, tears pooling in her eyes.

"I know you're upset. I don't blame you." She sniffled, turned toward the door. "When you've calmed down, we'll talk."

The door closed.

I sat in the chair, clutching that sweater.

Replaying that moment in my head—the instant she froze. That almost imperceptible but definitely real pause.

I'd known her all these years.

What kind of person was she?

I thought I knew.

But now, I wasn't sure.

My phone rang. I answered immediately.

"Talk."

"Boss, we found it. Mrs. Visconti left the manor this morning, bought a ticket to Philadelphia, ten o'clock train."

Philadelphia.

"Then what?"

"Then..." The voice on the other end paused. "Then we lost track. We checked all the hotels in Philadelphia, all the stations. No record of her. No exit records either. She..."

"She what?"

"She vanished into thin air."

I hung up.

Stood up, grabbed my jacket, walked out.

Still clutching that sweater.

I followed that bus route, town by town.

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