The resulting slap of paper against wood lingers in the room.
“So”—Salvatore leans back in his chair, causing the leather to creak—“you’re married.”
I suppose the words are aimed at both of us, but his gaze doesn’t leave mine.
“Yes.”
“Are you happy?”
That question is exclusively aimed at Carina.
She nods. “Yes.”
Salvatore nods, too, as his eyes return to me. “Then we have other matters to discuss.”
WAR OF HEARTS
Unlike during my last visit, Tre Limoni is bustling and busy this afternoon. I smile at the man who holds the restaurant’s door open for me, scanning the occupied tables once I’m inside. Isabella is seated right beside one of the lemon trees. I head that way; she rises from her chair as I approach. I beam at her as I skirt around other patrons.
When I ran, I thought I’d never see her again. If there’s one thing I’ve learned since, it’s that home, for me, is people instead of places. Isabella was my safest harbor for the longest time. The closest to a mother I’ve ever had.
I know her well.
So, I notice how her smile falters and how her fingers twist the cloth napkin she’s holding.
I walk faster, wondering what’s wrong. She sounded normal on the phone. I called her shortly after Lev left with my father and brothers for lunch at Salvatore’s vineyard, bored alone at the villa. I planned to swim, then decided I’d rather wait for Lev to return. I want Isabella to meet him, but figured it’d be better if I had a chance to explain everything to her first.
Isabella is still fidgeting with the napkin. Does she think I’m back in Italy against my will?
I want her to know I’m okay, that all the years we spent together didn’t culminate in a miserable existence, married to a monster. Everyone seems to have heard—and drawn the worst conclusions—about my new last name. Being back here, comparing it to my last visit, it’s exceptionally evident how much happier I am.
There are obvious differences from my new life. I understand all the surrounding chatter. I knew the route to Tre Limoni—drove myself here, which I’ve never done in Russia. Lev would insist I were accompanied by security. He’d probably have insisted here, too, if I’d told him?—
The dull jab of a barrel prods against my lower back.
I freeze, a cold sweat prickling my skin. Dread and fear trickle through me like a melting icicle. Incredulous laughter threatens to spill out of my mouth. The fucking irony, of this happening while I was appreciating how it felt to be out in public and at ease, like I could retain some slice of my former life of anonymity. Even if I can’t, this is Caruso territory. I should be safe here.
A few feet away, I watch as blood drains from Isabella’s horrified expression.
She looks scared. She doesn’t appear surprised.
A hood is dropped over my head, muffling sounds and limiting my vision to an endless stretch of darkness. I hear distorted commotion, but there’s no gunfire.
I’m pulled along, outside, then shoved into the trunk of a vehicle. There are at least two of them. I’m able to distinguish the different timbres to their voices, but not much of what’s being said. The fabric covering my head is thick, and blood is pounding in my ears as my heart circulates adrenaline.
This was planned, not spontaneous. Someone is making a statement, taking me from Salvatore’s restaurant, and they were bold enough to use Isabella as bait.
I close my eyes, which looks exactly like having them open, and focus on taking deep breaths. They took my purse, which has my phone, and likely left it at the restaurant. There are cameras there. They couldn’t have been wearing masks, or I would have noticed them as soon as I entered. And we didn’t walk far to reach the car. License plates can be tracked and?—
The car stops moving. The men are talking. I hear a door open.
It’s only been a few minutes. We can’t be far from the restaurant. I raise my shaking hands, feeling around my neck until I find the clasp of my necklace. The chain and charm fall into my hand. I shove it into one corner right as a gust of fresh air fills the trunk.
I’m yanked unceremoniously, pulled in a series of stumbling steps, and shoved again. Hope sinks as I land somewhere solid.
They’re changing vehicles. And based on the utter lack of commotion, they’re doing it somewhere with no cameras to capture it.
Hot tears trickle down my cheeks and wet my lips. At least the hood hides them.
