They’ll look for me. My father … my brothers … Lev—they’ll all look for me. But I’m on my own for now.
I have no sense of how long we drive for. I attempt to track turns, to judge from the car’s speed how far we’re traveling, but I eventually give up. I pretend I’m back in the water with Lev, floating. Last night. Twelve years ago, as a drunk teenager. The details of our surroundings or our ages don’t matter. I just want me and him and the serenity of being adrift like Velella. The lack of direction no longer strikes me as scary. It feels like opportunities. Like freedom.
Freedom I may never experience again.
We stop again. I’m pulled upright again.
We walk for longer. There are voices. Varying smells. Someone laughs as I pass, and my shoulders stiffen. This doesn’t feel like another stop. It seems like a destination.
The hand guiding me jerks me to a sudden halt. Momentum nearly makes me fall. More laughter.
I grit my teeth as the hood is pulled up, blinking at the burst of light like a blind bat.
I’m in a house. A very nice, very large house. Nothing like the proverbial shack in the woods where kidnapped women are stashed in horror films. Armed men swarm around, their overlapping voices and angry eyes especially overstimulating after my time in the dark. I sway a little, and the grip on my arm tightens. I glance up at the man holding me. I don’t recognize his stoic face.
We’re waiting for someone.
I swallow hard, trying to get my breathing under control. We’re still in Italy. They didn’t take me far. They chose not to, which makes me uneasy because that suggests confidence and connections. But it also means I’ll be easier to find.
A side door opens, and a man enters.
I stiffen, immediately recognizing him. I’ll never forget that face. Would recognize him anywhere, minus the suit and sandwich, happily snuffing out what I’d thought would be my only shot at escape. He smiles coldly, recognizing me, too, before stepping aside so a second man can enter. I know who it’ll be, which makes it easier to school my reaction. But it’s still an unpleasant shock as I watch Nico Morello stride toward me. Realizing this nightmare is only just beginning.
“Where is the other one?” Nico asks the guard holding me.
“In the garage,” he answers.
“Get her.”
The man from the shuttle replaces him as my captor. “Nice to see you again,bella,” he whispers in a menacing tone that makes me want to shudder. Spit and insult him.
I remain silent and still.
It’s the smartest strategy, until I better understand what is happening. It’s harder now than it was in Dublin. I’m capable of more. I’m not restrained in any way. I could grab his gun and shoot at least one of them before the rest reacted. I know how to duck and punch, where to hit to inflict the most damage. But I’ll only have one chance to surprise them with my abilities. I can’t squander the opportunity.
So, I wait, watching Nico converse with two of his men like I’m not even here.
Then I hear Isabella’s voice. The high pitch of terror as she pleads for answers. She appears a second later, led by the guard who left. Her wide, worried eyes meet mine, and they soften with relief. She apologizes over and over again?—
Bang.
I go rigid, like I was the one hit. Stare in stunned disbelief at the dead woman who spent the past twenty-eight years of her life taking care of me. Who played some unknown part in my abduction.
“Take her downstairs,” Nico orders, holstering his gun.
I’m steered left by the man from the shuttle. The other guard, the one who retrieved Isabella and led her to her death, follows us.
I go willingly. I’d like to get as far from that room—from Nico and from Isabella’s body—as possible. The numbness spreading through me is almost a relief. A respite from the fear and the betrayal.
Will I ever find out why? I can’t stomach asking Nico or the men escorting me for answers. They must have threatenedsomeone else Isabella loves. Her parents or possibly her sister. Forced her to make an impossible decision.
If Lev were taken, what—who—wouldn’t I trade for his return? It’s not a long list. It’s not actually a list at all.
Buried beneath grief and shock is the growing realization that there are only two of them and one of me. Unless more men are waiting downstairs, those are decent odds.
We reach the bottom of a stairwell and walk along another hallway. It’s dim and quiet, almost like being back under the hood. Neither man says anything as they lead me along.
We reach a door. It doesn’t match the older building. It appears to be made of metal, heavy and industrial-looking. A keypad is attached to the wall next to it. One of the men punches in the code, not bothering to hide the series of numbers, and my apprehension grows. Should I act now? This is the only door I’ve seen. The sole exit seems to be back the way we came, upstairs, where my odds are much worse than two-on-one.
