Behind us, doors slammed. I looked up. And finally noticed the convoy. At least a dozen SUVs. Maybe more. Black. Armored. Dark windows. Every single one filled with armed men.
An entire army waiting patiently behind their devil king. Waiting for me.
The realization made my stomach turn.
This wasn't impulsive. This wasn't madness. This wasn't some spontaneous act of obsession. This had been planned. Every second. Every route. Every vehicle. Every man. Every escape path. Everything. The realization was somehow worse than the murder. "You planned this."
Santino reached up and adjusted my veil. The gesture felt horrifyingly intimate. His fingers brushed my hair. My shoulder. My neck. "Yes."
One word. No apology. No shame. No hesitation.
My throat tightened. "How long?"
For the first time, something dark flickered behind his eyes. Something possessive. Something that made my pulse skip. He started the motorcycle. The engine roared to life beneath us.
The vibration shot through my body. Through my thighs. Through my spine. Through him. His chest pressed firmly against my back. Solid. Warm. Immovable. Then his mouth brushed my temple.
The exact same place he'd kissed me inside the cathedral. "You didn’t leave me with much time after we met."
My stomach dropped. Because deep down, I already knew. The moment he'd looked at me in that club. The moment he'd first spoke. The moment he'd smiled. The moment he'd kissed me. None of it had been chance. Not one second. I swallowed hard.
My voice came out barely above a whisper. "What happens now?"
For the first time since the shooting, Santino smiled. Slowly. Possessively. Terrifyingly. Then one arm wrapped around my waist and pulled me tighter against him. "So many things, Aurora."
The motorcycle launched forward. I gasped. The city exploded into motion. Wind tore through my veil. The cathedral vanished behind us. Buildings blurred into streaks of gray and gold. My wedding dress spilled over both sides of the bike like liquid moonlight.
And behind us, the convoy followed. Escorting me toward whatever nightmare waited at the end of the road.
I should have been thinking about Sergio. About the blood. About Chiara. About Matteo. About Sienna. About Leo. About escape. About survival.
Instead, against all logic, against all reason, against every sane thought left inside my head… I became aware of one horrible thing. I could feel Santino's heartbeat. Steady. Strong. Relentless. Directly against my back. And somehow it felt exactly like the look he'd given me across the cathedral.
Certain. Absolutely certain. Like he wasn't taking me somewhere. Like he'd already arrived. Like this wasn't a kidnapping at all. Like he'd spent a week hunting something he'd lost.
And now that he finally had me in his arms, nothing on earth was ever going to make him let go.
The city disappeared slowly. Not all at once. Not in some dramatic movie moment. Little by little. Glass towers became office buildings. Office buildings became neighborhoods. Neighborhoods became winding roads lined with ancient trees. Then even those disappeared.
The farther we rode, the quieter the world became. The roar of the motorcycle swallowed everything. The wind stole every thought before I could finish it. My veil vanished somewhere behind us. One second it had been wrapped around my shoulders. The next it was gone.
Lost to the highway. Lost to the wind. Lost like everything else.
I didn't ask him to stop. Didn't ask him to go back. What was the point? Sergio was dead. My wedding was over. My life had exploded. A missing veil felt insignificant compared to the rest of the disaster.
The leather strap remained tight around my waist. Every bump in the road shoved me harder against Santino. Every turn forced me closer.
I hated it. Hated the warmth of him. Hated the steady strength beneath my palms. Hated that his heartbeat never changed. Not once. Not after the shooting. Not after the kidnapping. Not after dragging me halfway across the state.
The man wasn't nervous. Wasn't worried. Wasn't second-guessing himself. And somehow that terrified me more than anything. Because sane people panicked. Sane people hesitated. Sane people wondered if they were making a mistake. Santino acted like he'd simply picked up dry cleaning.
Eventually iron gates appeared ahead. Massive black structures stretching nearly fifteen feet high. My stomach tightened. The gates opened before we reached them. No security guard. No code. No waiting. Just immediate access. As if everyone inside already knew we were coming.
The realization sent another wave of unease through me. Of course they knew. This had all been planned. Every second of it.
The motorcycle rolled through. I stared. Then blinked. Then stared harder. Because the estate beyond the gates didn't look real. The mansion rose from the hillside overlooking the ocean. Floor-to-ceiling windows reflected the dying sunset. Stone terraces spilled downward toward private gardens. Fountains glittered. Palm trees swayed. The entire place looked like something pulled from the pages of an architecture magazine.
Beautiful. Elegant. Perfect. The kind of place people dreamed about owning. The kind of place kidnappers apparently lived in.
