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Chapter 41
BETH
I held my breath, waiting for Marco to answer the phone. A wave of panic washed over me when it became clear he wasn’t going to. His voicemail came on, an automated voice telling me to leave a message.
My eyes stayed on the unconscious creep on the floor, frightened he might wake up. Chiara stood over him, the golf club held ready, looking terrified.
I closed my eyes in sheer desperation, dialled Marco’s number again, praying, please Marco, please pick up. He did not.
My voice trembled as I left a frantic voicemail, whispering, “Marco, we’re in your house. Please, please come. Men are here stealing your gold. They have guns. It’s Jacob. I’m with—”
I screamed as the creep jolted to life, his hand lashing out and knocking the phone from mine, sending it flying.
Panic surged through me, but Chiara’s quick reflexes thrust her into action. She swung the golf club into his head.
To my horror, the creep dodged the swing and wrenched the club from Chiara’s grip. In a brutal motion, he backhanded her, sending her crashing into a rack of wine bottles.
He came for me, eyes filled with menace. Instinctively, I grabbed the golf club from where it had fallen and swung it at him.
He dodged again, and wrenched a dazed Chiara up by her hair from where she had fallen.
I tried to hit him, but I couldn’t. He held her as a shield, wrapped his thick forearm around her throat. A choke hold.
A nasty smile curled on his lips. “Drop it or I’ll kill her.”
Time seemed to stand still. I didn’t know what to do. My mind went blank. My breath heavy, panting, desperate.
I raised the club high over my head and swung it down with all my might, terror filling me as I saw it descend towards them both almost in slow motion.
It connected with his skull. A sickening thud echoed through the room as he crumpled to the ground.
Chiara wrenched herself away with a cry.
“Oh God, is he dead?” I gasped, a mix of relief and fear coursing through me.
“Bastard,” Chiara cried.
Caught in the grip of a panic attack, she began kicking his unmoving form. Cursing him over and over.
I rushed to her side, wrapping my arms around her. “It’s going to be okay,” I whispered in her ear.
“He killed Nicky,” she wailed. “Shot him in the head. He killed him!”
“Oh God, baby, I’m so sorry you had to see that. Poor Nicky. But please hush now. They’ll hear us. It’s going to be okay. We’re going to get out of here. I left Marco a message. He’s going to come for us. He has to.”
Maybe it was the thought of her brother that did it. Her gasping sobs eased.
“You okay?” I asked.
She nodded, hands trembling as she determinedly wiped her pouring tears, looking ashamed of herself.
I left her briefly to grab the phone and gave a cry of frustration. The screen was shattered and useless.
“What shall we do?” Chiara gasped.
I looked around the wine cellar, but it was a minimalist space with nowhere to hide.
“Where’s his gun?” I asked.
