Chapter 47
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
FIONA
The moment the boat surges forward, fear—sharper than anything I have ever felt—pours through me.
The engine thunders, the distance widens, and Aleksei becomes smaller and smaller until the darkness consumes him completely. I keep searching for one last glimpse, but he’s gone, and something cold and heavy drops inside me like a stone.
“Sit down.” A rough hand clamps around my arm and yanks me backward with no effort at all.
I hit the bench with a thud while another man steps in front of me with a sack hanging from his fist.
My pulse kicks up. “What the hell are you doing with that?”
He doesn’t bother answering. The sack comes down over my head, thick fabric smothering the first bit of daybreak.
The boat slams against the waves, rocking hard enough to send my body to the side. I lock my fingers around the first solid thing I find until my knuckles burn. I don’t know where they’re taking me or what they want, but I know enough to realize nothing good waits on the other end.
Dread strengthens inside my chest, and even in the darkness, I can still see Aleksei sprinting down the pier the moment he realized I was being taken.
The horror carved into his face as he dove into the water after me.
How he cut through the waves like he would have rather drowned than let me slip away.
What if this is the end? What if I never see him again?
My mind races through all the things I didn’t say, all the moments I thought we had more time for.
I think about the look in his eyes when he begged me to forgive him, how much love I felt even when it hurt.
I think about how badly I wanted him, how desperately I still do, and how unbearable it is to imagine a life that doesn’t involve him.
I stay like that for what feels like forever, lost in my own thoughts and trying to convince myself this can’t be how everything ends.
The boat keeps moving beneath me, the sound of the water against the hull turning into a slow, relentless rhythm that makes it impossible to tell how much time has passed.
When the boat finally jerks to a stop, the sudden shift hits me hard enough to flip my stomach. Hands close around my arm before I can catch my balance, dragging me upward and pulling me toward solid ground.
With the sack still over my head, I can only guess what is actually happening. All I feel is the rough grip and the cold air brushing past my skin.
“Where are you taking me?”
A hard shove between my shoulder blades answers before any words do.
“Shut up and move,” a man snaps, his Russian accent thick.
We walk for what might be a minute, maybe longer, and I sense the exact moment the ground beneath my feet shifts and the crunch of gravel is replaced by a hard, flat surface that echoes faintly under each step.
A door creaks open somewhere ahead, like metal grinding against metal, and a faint generator hum vibrates through the air.
The outdoor air disappears, and in its place is something musty.
Fingers stay locked around my arm, dragging me forward even as my knees threaten to buckle from fear and exhaustion. I consider trying to run, but I know it’s pointless. I can’t see. I can’t fight. I can’t even tell how many of them are surrounding me.
The only thing keeping me from losing all hope is knowing Aleksei can track me. Having a psycho husband does have its advantages.
Russian voices rise from somewhere to my right, and then I’m shoved again and forced to sit. Before I can brace myself, the hood is yanked off my head and the sudden light sears my eyes, blinding me with sharp, white pain. When my vision finally clears, I almost wish it hadn’t.
Three masked men stand around me, each one dressed in black. One of them holds a small, thin handheld device while a steady beep slices through the air, and the sound alone makes shivers crawl over my arms.
Oh, fuck. No. Nononono…
If that’s what I think it is, they’re going to find it.
The man steps closer and begins to move the device along my body. It sweeps over my chest, down my arms, across my legs. I sit frozen, barely able to draw air. When he lifts the device to the back of my neck, everything inside me twists.
A sharp, shrill sound pierces the room, and my gut caves in.
Oh, God. No. If they figure it out, I might as well sign my own death warrant.
The man pauses, his dark eyes glaring, and when he presses a button, running the scanner again, it makes the same sound at the back of my neck. The blood instantly drains from my face.
He turns toward the others. “Uniyo shtota yest.”
The second man flings a hand toward me, his tone cold and impatient. “Nu davay, vitishi.”
Terror claws up my throat. What the hell are they saying?
The man with the scanner slips a hand into his pocket, and my heartbeat slams so hard against my ribs, it feels like it’s trying to claw its way out.
When he pulls out a small flip knife and snaps it open with a click, the room tilts, my stomach pitching as fear rushes through me so fast it makes my skin go cold.
“Wait.” I scramble back as far as the chair allows. “Please. Don’t.”
Sudden footsteps echo from the hall, getting louder, and the men turn toward the sound as though waiting for whoever is coming to give them an order.
An older man appears in the doorway a moment later, tall and lean, black hair streaked with gray, a soft smile resting on his face as he takes me in. It should look kind, almost welcoming, but there’s something menacing in his eyes that turns my stomach.
Is he their boss?
“It is so good to finally meet you,” he says, his voice accented in Italian, maybe Sicilian.
“Who are you?”
But he ignores me when the Russian men approach.
“We found tracker in her.” The man gestures toward me.
“In her? What do you mean?”
“In back of neck.” He points to the back of his own.
The old man sighs, shaking his head. “Ah. That is very unfortunate.”
As soon as he says that, my heart races.
He raises a single finger, and two of the men seize my arms, pressing me back against the chair.
“No, please, don’t do this!”
Panic slices through me, and when the third moves forward with the knife, I fight them, kicking, screaming, trying to get their grip off.
But it’s no use. They’re too strong.
The older man pulls a chair across from me, lowering himself with unhurried ease, as though this is entertainment. When the blade lands at the back of my neck, his gaze stays locked on me, a small, satisfied grin tugging at his mouth.
White-hot pain bursts through me as soon as the knife slices into me, spreading like fire beneath my skin. I scream until my voice cracks, the sound almost animalistic.
“There, there,” he says, almost like he’s soothing a child. “You’re fine.”
Blood runs warm down my shoulder, the knife scraping, digging. When they’re through, one shows him a small circular device, the size of a rice grain.
“It seems your husband enjoyed tracking you like you’re his property. You should thank me for fixing that for you.”
When he gets to his feet, stepping nearer, the scent of his woodsy cologne makes my stomach turn. I can’t stop shaking. Tears stream down my face, my breaths coming in short broken gasps. One of the men presses gauze against my neck, so hard it hurts.
“What the hell do you want from me?” I spit out between clenched teeth.
The man’s eyes soften. “Ah, so direct. I like that very much.” He pulls his chair forward until it’s right in front of me. “My name is Elio. But before we talk about what I want, perhaps I should tell you a story.”
My vision swims as pain throbs in jagged waves at the base of my skull, but I force myself to look at him, to show him I’m unafraid.
“You see, my dear Fiona…” He folds his hands in his lap like a priest about to deliver last rites.
“Our families have been connected for a very long time, and I was so happy when I finally found you.” He shakes his head.
“Then that pezzo di merda had to kill one of my men before he could deliver you to me properly. But what can we expect from a savage, right?” He tosses a hand in the air.
“We’re together now. So I choose to forget the past.”
My world turns upside down.
The break-in. The man Aleksei killed…
Oh my God.
But why did this man send someone after me? What am I missing?
The room suffocates me, as if the walls themselves are creeping inward with every breath I take.
“Who are you?” I whisper, already afraid of the answer.
“I am not finished with my story.” He tsks. “I have to get to the best part.” When he realizes I’m not going to interrupt again, his smile sharpens. “A long time ago, a woman was told she had to marry a man she did not want.”
He leans back, his features tightening like the memory of it is pissing him off.
“I did not blame her. The Russians can be…not very nice. But you should know all about that, no? Of course, you were in bed with the wrong Russians. History does love to repeat itself.”
What the fuck is he talking about?
“Can you just tell me whatever it is you’re dying to say and stop with this cryptic bullshit?”
He laughs. “I really like you. You’ve got that spunk, like someone I used to know.”
The more he talks, the more I wish he’d just get to the damn point.
“Are you going to kill me or not?”
He clutches his chest like I wounded him. “Of course not. I am only here to tell you a story. To make you understand why I had to do this. It is necessary for you to listen. Then you can talk.”
My God. I’ve dealt with men like him before. The ones who think charm is a weapon. Who smile while bleeding you dry.
And he has all of it. The charisma. The calm. The messiah complex woven into every syllable, like I should thank him for whatever horror comes next.
I dig my nails into my thighs, glancing around the large warehouse-type space, trying to find any chance of an exit. But there’s none. If I run, I know they’ll kill me.