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The light fades from my phone, and darkness surrounds us again. Cold, sharp metal slices my cheek, leaving a sting in its wake as wetness trickles down my face.
He cut me! The motherfucker cut me!
I try to sit up, but his knees bruise painfully into my legs. I can't move. I can't see it. There is no escape. He laps his tongue over my cut, licking at the fresh wound like an animal. Gasping, I turn my head away from him, but it only adds fuel to the already raging fire. Letting go of my hands, he takes my chin in his palm, gripping it firmly and turning it back towards him. Wet blood-stained lips bite into mine hard, smearing it over them, forcing me to taste my own blood. There's nothing sweet about his kiss. It's punishing and full of malice.
He leans over me, switching on my night lamp, dimly illuminating the room.
The fabric on my tank top tears from his blade, exposing my bare chest. His tongue swirls over my nipple, sending shivers right down to my core. I let out a moan, and the bastard chuckles.
"Scarlet has a dirty little secret." He pinches my nipple between his teeth as his hand runs up the inside of my thigh. His finger traces the outside of my panties, and God, I feel so ashamed when I hear his growl, knowing it's his reaction to the wetness he feels there. Why? Why am I so turned on right now? There is something seriously wrong with me! I must be sick. This is not normal. As his fingers slip into my panties and through my slick folds, another moan escapes me.
How is it possible I am aroused by the hands of a killer? He is about to have his way with me and then kill me. I should be fighting for my life, not surrendering my body to him. How will he do it? Will he drive his knife through my heart? Strangle me? Or, maybe he will slit my throat?
Arching my back, I throw my head back when his thumb massages my clit. His other hand cups my breast. I want to yell stop, but my body won't allow me. It has disgraced me, betrayed me. At least I will die satisfied, I think to myself, trying to make light of the fact I am about to meet my maker.
Hot lips devour my mouth, claiming all my breath as he plunges a finger inside me. He continues to rub my swollen sensitive clit, as he works his magic finger in and out. I am so close, so damn close. Leaning into my ear, he whispers, "Are you ready to die, Scarlet?"
Beep. Beep. Beep.
I jolt upright in bed, covered in sweat and disorientated.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Rubbing my eyes, I look around the dimly lit room and realize it's my alarm going off on my phone. I quickly turn it off and then touch my cheek. No cut. No blood. I look down, relieved to see I am still wearing my tank top.
Thank God! It was just another nightmare. I have been having them every night since I got back from Italy. Honestly, I couldn't believe how easy it was to leave the wedding. The security team was so distracted with the earlier security breach, and the catering staff was busy preparing for the reception that no one seemed to notice me slip away.
Back at the hotel, I made quick work of packing my things and getting on the first plane back to the United States. I didn't have the opportunity to even look at the footage from my camera until I was back in my apartment in Georgia.
One phone call was all it took to my old chief editor at the New York Times, and I am now sixty-five thousand dollars richer and feel satisfied with the small victory over the Valsetti's for now. I swear the adrenaline is still pumping through me from that day—the reality of how close I was to getting caught has yet fully sunken in. Everywhere I go, I am so nervous, anxious, and expectant to see him, even though I know the notion is ridiculous. He couldn't possibly know it was me. Just to be on the safe side and to curb my paranoia, I had my name changed again. No longer, Scarlet or Laura, I am now Meghan Price. I have moved into a new apartment and purchased a car with my newly acquired funds, so I do not risk being cornered on the subway, in a taxi, or in an uber. I quit my job at the Atlanta Times but have been doing some freelance work and working on my photography. I’ve always loved photography and took it as extra credit in college.
There is something incredibly satisfying about being able to capture the beauty of people and objects in a single frame. I love to walk the city and take photographs of random people doing normal everyday things. I feel a little guilty stealing their moment for my own satisfaction but, at the same time, also feel grateful for being able to share it.
Quickly getting out of bed, I get changed and head to the kitchen only to discover the milk has expired, and I am fresh out of coffee. I grab my coat and keys, ready to head to the store. As I close my door behind me, I jam a piece of paper into the side of it, so I know when I return if someone has opened it. I do this every time I leave my apartment. It might be ridiculous to be so over-cautious or just plain paranoid, but either way, one person is the driving force of my constant fear. Luca Valsetti, and I know he is coming for me.
Five
Luca
"What the hell is this?" My brother Nicolai throws a newspaper across his desk to me. "Alessio is going to lose his shit when he finds out about this."
Picking up the newspaper, I flip it open to see a two-page spread on Alessio and Eden's wedding. The heading reads Enemies to Lovers. New York's former Mob boss's daughter, Eden Kastrati, marries her father's enemy. The story tells intimate details of the wedding ceremony, guest list, and even the fucking menu. What's worse is there are dozens of photographs backing up each claim.
My nostrils flare, and blood pressure rises as I scrunch up the paper in my hand.
Nicolai narrows his eyes at me. "You were responsible for the security at the wedding! First, it was a security breach scare, and now this! How the hell did this happen, Luca?"
The security breach at the wedding he is referring to ended up being a false alarm. A catering truck was trying to gain entrance to the vineyard, but the driver did not have any security clearance paperwork. Sam, my head of security, detained and questioned him, thinking he was someone from the media trying to get in. It put all my men on edge and delayed the reception. It should not have happened on my watch, but I was also the best man, so my duties were not only to the security but to Alessio too.
Shaking my head, I slam the paper onto the table. "Goddammit!" I let out a long exhale, sitting forward in my chair. "I will have her fucking head."
"Her?" Nicolai cocks his head. "You know who did this?"
"I believe so," I answer, placing my head in my hands and rubbing my temples. I feel a big fucking headache coming on. Argh! I knew she looked familiar. It was her eyes. I could tell there was something off about them.
"Who is it?"
"Laura Jones, or better known as Scarlet Reed."
