35. CHIARA
Stepping off Killian’s private jet onto the tarmac in France is surreal. How the hell is this my life? Last night I was in the center of a human trafficking ring, being gang raped and sold, and tonight, I’m in France.
What are the chances?
Killian meets me at the bottom of the stairs, and as he places his hand on my lower back, the soft breeze sends my blood-red silk gown blowing behind me. Can’t deny it, the moment he told me I could dress for the occasion, I took full advantage.
My gown is everything and makes me feel like the woman Killian deserves. The gown I wore to the dreaded family gala was dazzling in all the right ways, but this one is sexy and makes me feel alive. It plunges deep between my breasts as the slit in the side trails right up to my hip. Every scar those men left on me is visible, but I don’t feel the need to cover them up, not around Killian.
The deep red of the gown seems fitting considering what we’re here to do, and after bunching my thick hair into a high ponytail, I paired the dress with combat boots and a knife strapped to my thigh. Because what kind of mafia wife burns the world to ashes any other way?
Killian helps me into the car and explains that it’s almost a two-hour drive into the countryside to the bunker, and as the driver hits the gas, Killian takes my hand. His thumb is soothing against my skin, gently roaming back and forth across my knuckles.
He’s had no issues touching me since bringing me home, but he always allows me to determine how much I’m comfortable with. Though he should know where he’s concerned, I don’t ever want to hold back. I don’t know how that relates to sex yet, but the idea of not being able to be physical with Killian kills me more than the memories of what those men did to me.
I gaze out at the picturesque view, taking in everything around me. It’s still so surreal.
This is France! But not only that, I came here in a silk gown on a private jet with a man who looks at me as though I’m his entire world, as though everything could be burning to ashes around him and all he would see is me. This just doesn’t happen for girls like me.
The drive to the bunker goes by faster than I could imagine, and as the driver rolls to a stop, I stare out the window and scrunch my face.
We must be lost.
All I see are rolling hills covered by the late afternoon sun. Don’t get me wrong, it’s one of the most stunning landscapes I’ve ever seen, but there’s no bunker here. Not that I’ve ever been in a bunker or know what to even look for, but surely there’d be some sign, right?
Killian opens the door and gets out before striding around to my side and offering me his hand like a perfect gentleman. I get out, combat boots and all, and before I know it, we’re marching out into the long grass.
There are lots of ways I pictured this going, but a trek through the countryside wasn’t exactly on the bingo list.
For forty-five minutes, we walk over the rolling hills while Killian holds on to me, making sure I’m doing okay on the rough terrain, but as long as he’s by my side, I’ll always be okay. “Whose brilliant idea was it to build this thing so far away?”
“Mine,” he states. “It’s a safe house. The idea is that it is safe. If anybody were able to locate it, it wouldn’t be so safe, now would it?”
“Don’t you try and use logic with me mid-trek, bossman,” I mutter. “Besides, I thought it was an underground bunker, not a safe house.”
“Same thing.”
“Same thing?” I scoff. “They are so not the same thing. To me, an underground bunker is an oversized shipping container dropped into the earth. Add a shitty cardboard bed, a scratchy blanket, and non-perishable food. But a safe house . . . I uhmmmm . . . I actually don’t know what to expect out of a safe house, but I can assure you, it’s not the same thing.”
Killian rolls his eyes. “If you’re done droning on about safe houses and bunkers, we’re here.”
“We’re where?” I ask, looking around.
He lets out a heavy sigh, and as he cuts through the long grass, I begin to see the concealed opening cut into a hill. “What the fuck?” I breathe as we walk straight into the dugout and come to a huge metal door that looks capable of protecting the people inside from a missile strike.
Killian steps right up to it and leans in, and I watch in surprise as his eyeballs are scanned like some kind of entry code. “Okay, James Bond. Are we about to walk into your secret headquarters?”
Killian grins as the massive door begins to open. “One can never be too careful.”
“One can definitely be a little too extravagant though,” I mutter as we stride through the entrance into what I can only assume is the massive lobby area of what seems to be more of a safe mansion as opposed to a safe house. “I thought we were walking into some fancy bunker, not an underground estate.”
“Wait until you see the pool.”
I roll my eyes. Why am I not surprised? Though, I can’t help but note how fucking moronic Sergiu must be to use one of the DeLorenzo safe houses in order to hide from the head of the DeLorenzo family. Bad move on his part.
A seriousness comes over him, and it occurs to me that both Sergiu and Monica are here somewhere, and at any moment, they could jump out at us. “Do they know we’re here?”
“No, the surveillance cameras were looped before we arrived, and the alarm will only sound if the retina scanner is activated by anyone other than me. We’re good.”
The underground safe mansion certainly isn’t anywhere near as luxurious or big as his home that I’ve become accustomed to, but it’s certainly nothing to turn your nose up at. The finishings are exquisite, and it’s clear that whoever was in charge of building this masterpiece did so with every bit of their heart. I could only dream of affording a home like this.
The polished marble and gold hand railing on the staircase are stunning, and the seating area that’s centered around an open fireplace is jaw-dropping. Homes like this simply don’t exist, and yet Killian has it basically unused, sitting here under a hill.
Killian goes quiet, and instead of giving me verbal directions around the mansion, he points to where he wants me to go, and I can only assume we’re getting close.
I’m not sure what the plan is, and to be honest, I doubt Killian knows either. We’re just making it up as we go, but what I do know is that one of the occupants of this mansion poses a significantly larger threat than the other. And while they both deserve a horrific ending for what they’ve done to me, I think it’s safe to assume that one of them will receive a much quicker death than the other.
As if on cue, we turn into the open living room, and sitting right there, completely immersed by The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills is the woman who beat me in a bathroom and hired a hitman to take me out, only I suppose she didn’t anticipate everything becoming this messed up.
There’s no telling if she was the one behind the idea of sending me back to Ezekiel to be sold, but it’s clear that Sergiu was the one who had the connections to make it happen.
Killian pulls out a gun, and I arch a brow, not having realized he was carrying it, but I suppose it makes sense. A man like Killian DeLorenzo doesn’t go anywhere unarmed. Even when he’s in bed, there’s always a weapon close by.
He pulls something from his pocket, and I watch as he twists it onto the top of his gun, and I realize it must be a silencer, which makes me realize that if I’m going to be a part of Killian’s life, I need to learn this shit . . . and fast.
Killian motions for me to follow him deeper into the living room, and as I do, he hands me the gun. My eyes widen as I take it from him in shock. I didn’t realize that he wanted me to play any kind of role in this. I thought I was just along for the ride. Though, maybe I am. There’s no telling what plans are pulsing through that wicked brain of his.
We stop a few feet away from Monica as she continues watching her show, completely unaware that she only has moments to live. Killian moves in behind me and adjusts my stance, widening my legs and lifting my arms until the gun is pointed directly at the back of her head. “If she tries to run,” he murmurs into my ear. “Shoot.”
I swallow hard and nod as the nerves creep in, but all I can do is watch as he strides around me and brazenly approaches her. He sits right on the back of the couch as though he were invited for lunch, and only after he clears his throat does she realize she’s not alone.
Monica whips around, her eyes wide as she takes in Killian sitting a foot away from her, and when she turns her gaze to take me in, the horror on her face makes everything worth it. “No,” she breathes, making it clear she didn’t expect me to last the night with Ezekiel.
Killian lifts a single finger and holds it to his lips, warning her to remain silent and as she visibly swallows and her eyes fill with terror, she does as she’s asked. That finger moves, indicating for Monica to stand, and like a trained robot, she lifts herself off the couch, not capable of moving her stare from his.
She’s his captivated audience, and it only goes to show the kind of power he wields. It’s both fascinating and terrifying, but I wouldn’t want it any other way. A man in his position needs to be. He needs to terrify the very people he rules over so things like this don’t happen. But Monica and Sergiu got too comfortable, and they foolishly believed they were above Killian’s law.
Killian stands and slowly walks around the couch until he’s standing right behind her, and now that he’s stepped out of her line of vision, her gaze settles on me, and for the first time, I know what it’s like to look directly into the eyes of death.
“You see my beautiful wife?” Killian murmurs, his voice barely sounding over the TV. “Do you know what happens to people who harm those I love?”
Monica’s body visibly shakes, but she doesn’t dare try to run. She knows her fate, and while she might be terrified, she’s also accepting of it.
Then, being the kind man I know him to be, he raises his hands—one curled around her chin and the other at the back of her head—and with a violent twist, he puts her out of her misery, refusing to drag it out any longer than necessary.
A horrendous crack sails through the room, and just like that, Monica’s lifeless body falls to the ground.
Killian’s gaze comes directly to mine, making sure I’m okay. This death wasn’t like the others I’ve witnessed so far. This was different. It wasn’t bloody and reckless. There was nothing wild or brutal about it, just . . . simple. It was a woman, and while she did terrible things to me and deserved a million deaths, it sits uncomfortably inside my chest.
My gaze falls to her lifeless body as Killian comes to stand at my side. “It’s over, Angel,” he murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to my temple. “She can never hurt you again.”
I swallow over the lump in my throat and nod, and just like that, we turn and walk out of the living room. Because while Monica might be dead and gone, her husband certainly isn’t, and until he takes his final breath, we won’t stop searching for him.