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Alessio
I knew this was coming. As soon as they escorted me into the dungeon, I braced for the worst.
Three of Ravazzani’s men, overseen by Marco, took turns hitting me. It started with fists, and when I could no longer stand they switched to kicks. I curled up into a ball and tried to protect my head, but it was pointless. There was pain everywhere, each breath agony. Definitely some of my ribs were broken.
And I had no one to blame but myself. I ruined the only good thing in my life, the only person I’d ever wanted. The greatest love I had experienced. A beating was the least of what I deserved.
“What is wrong with that boy?”
My father’s voice echoed as I retreated inside my head. He was always there, ready and waiting to remind me of how broken I was, how no one—except for my nonna—had ever loved me. I prayed for the blackness to overtake me, longed for the oblivion I knew would eventually come.
Maybe then I could forget.
I could forget his smiles and lingering touches. The promises and the kisses. The sweet words he gave me, the plans we made. It was all gone, and I never, ever wanted to remember.
Dizzy, I barely noticed when they strung me up from a hook in the ceiling. I was limp, panting, the room tilting around me. For a second, I thought I would be sick. But then Marco Ravazzani grabbed my face. I gasped through the blistering agony, nearly positive my jaw was broken.
“He saved your miserable life. If it were up to us, you’d be dead on this cold stone floor right now.”
I lost track of time after that, drifting through a haze of pain as I dangled, my toes barely scraping the floor. I couldn’t focus or hold my eyes open. Blood streaked down my face. My shoulders were on fire.
I came to as I crashed into a heap on the floor, pain robbing me of the ability to breathe. I whimpered. Blood rushed back into my arms, the feeling like needles being shoved under my skin.
I heard Marco’s voice as if from a great distance. “Get him into the car.”
Hands lifted me and the edges of my vision swam. I didn’t know where they were taking me and I didn’t care. I just wanted the unconsciousness back.
My wishes were answered, because the next thing I knew I was on the floor of a private plane. The engines rumbled beneath me, the vibrations absolute hell on my injured body. I panted through the pain. My right arm was laying underneath me at an unnatural angle, and I knew it had been broken. A gift from Ravazzani’s men, no doubt.
Did Giulio know what they did to me in that dungeon? Would he even care?
“You are dead to me, Alessandro Ricci.”
Not Alessio. Not amore. Not even assassino.
I floated in and out, the misery in my chest far worse than any physical aches. How was I supposed to not follow him? Try not to explain? I wasn’t sure I could bear a future without him in it. I would rather he killed me.
I woke up with a start when the plane touched down. The wheels bounced along the runway, each hitch and dip like a knife in my joints. Sweat broke out on my skin, my broken arm throbbing under my weight.
We came to a stop. Minutes later, I heard the plane’s door depressurize and open. Footsteps drew closer, then I was being carried. More like dragged, actually. I heard my shout as my broken arm twisted, and I grabbed it with my good hand, cradling the limb close to my body.
Many hands got me to the bottom of the stairs, then released me. I couldn’t open my eyes, my full concentration on not throwing up at the moment. When the nausea passed I peeked through swollen lids to see Ravazzani’s plane slowly rolling away from me. Blue skies soared overhead, the asphalt hot beneath me.
I didn’t know how long I was there, but it felt like eons before someone approached me. I recognized the Arabic exclamation right away.
A man leaned over me and asked. “Do you need a doctor?”
I licked my dry lips. I answered back in his native language. “Please. A phone.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Giulio
I wasn’t proud of the way I handled the next few days.
The Ravazzani estate was vast and full of places to hide. I knew this from my childhood, when I wished to escape from my responsibilities. My favorite place had always been in the winery, a room the vintner used as living quarters way back in the day. Our current vintner had his own home, and so this tiny space hadn’t been occupied in a long time.
