Tone
The boat was relentlessly fast as it cut through the water. The engine roared beneath my feet as Italy slipped further and further into the distance behind us—reduced to a dark smear on the horizon.
Salt air whipped against my face, sharp enough to sting, dragging strands of my hair loose as I stood near the railing, wrists still raw from where they’d been bound.
I stared at the water as it churned beside the boat, dark and violent.
For a moment, I contemplated jumping.
One step forward. One breath. And I’d go over the edge.
The idea curled around me, tempting in its simplicity. A clean escape. A final act of control in a situation that had stripped me of everything else.
Because I knew what waited for me if I didn’t jump. I wasn’t stupid enough to believe Michalo Machado had good intentions. Men like him didn’t take women like me for kindness.
They took. They reshaped. They claimed. And if he got me on that plane… My throat tightened, knowing that I might never see Italy again.
Never see my family. Never see—
Archie.
His name was an open wound. One that wouldn’t heal, no matter how I treated it.
The past few weeks without him had been a slow kind of torture. Quiet. Lingering. The kind that didn’t scream, but hollowed you out piece by piece until there was nothing left but absence.
I’d told myself it was temporary. That eventually, Raze would cool off. That time would do what time always did—soften edges, blur lines, make the impossible feel manageable again.
I’d held onto that hope. Clung to it in the quiet moments like it was my only salvation.
Because somewhere, buried deep beneath pride and anger and everything that had come between us, I believed we’d find our way back.
We felt unfinished. Like something cut short before it had the chance to become what it was meant to be.
And now—my hand drifted to my stomach. Careful. Protective. Now there was something more tying us together forever. Something undeniable. Ours.
A future I hadn’t planned, hadn’t expected—but one I already knew I wouldn’t give up. Not for anyone. Not even to save myself.
My fingers pressed a little firmer against my abdomen, grounding me.
If I jumped—that was it for me. For the life growing inside me.
The thought fractured something in my chest. Because for a split second—I’d almost chosen the easy way out. Let the sea take me instead of the devil standing a few feet away. Let it end before it could become a living nightmare.
My gaze lifted, scanning the endless stretch of water ahead, toward the island in the distance.
And the terrifying certainty that every second this boat moved forward, I was being pulled further away from everything I’d ever known.
Further away from the life I was supposed to have.
My throat tightened, something thick and painful building behind it.
Because I knew that if Machado succeeded in getting me onto that plane…I might never make it back.
I’d never see Raze again.
Never hear Gianni’s stupid commentary or Atlas’s quiet authority.
I’d never stand in a room with Archie and feel that charged, dangerous pull between us again.
Never—
My breath hitched.
No.
I clenched my jaw, forcing the thought down before it could consume me. I wasn’t done yet.
I dragged my hand away from the railing, fingers curling into a fist at my side. Because as easy as it would be to step forward—to let the sea take me—I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. Not when I had something worth living for.
Them. Him. Us.
Even if it was fractured and it felt like it had been ripped out of my hands—it wasn’t gone until I was gone.
Hope lingered. Stubborn and unreasonable. But it was there nonetheless.
I swallowed hard, lifting my chin as the wind whipped against my face, drying the threat of tears before they could fall.
I wanted this baby. I wanted to live long enough to meet him or her. To hold my child in my arms and look down at it’s little face and check off all the features it got from me, and those from Archie.
I desperately wanted to see what came from something that had felt so inevitable, even when everything else had been chaos.
Mine. Ours.
And somewhere, deep down, in a place I refused to let fear touch—I believed we’d find our way back. Somehow. Some way. Even if it took everything I had.
“My family will skewer you once they find you.”
Machado turned his head slightly, watching me with interest.
He smiled. Quiet. Knowing.
“I know my place in Italy,” he said.
The wind carried his words cleanly across the deck.
“They could annihilate me there.”
My jaw tightened. He didn’t sound afraid. He sounded like a man who had done his homework and thought of every contingency before he put his plan in motion.
“But in Spain,” he continued, “I am untouchable.”
My eyes narrowed.
“Even by men as powerful as your brothers.”
There it was, his stupid confidence. Arrogant monster.
“You shouldn’t have run from me, Antonella.”
The way he said my name curdled something in my stomach.
Antonella.
It sounded wrong coming from his mouth. Like it didn’t belong to him.
Only one man had ever said it in a way that made it feel like something more than a name.
Archie.
I swallowed it down his image as it formed in my mind, but it didn’t go anywhere.
I wondered if he knew.
The question surfaced before I could stop it.
Had word reached him yet? Had he already torn through the city looking for me? Or—a colder thought slipped in. Would he just walk away, even knowing I was missing, because he simply didn’t care enough?
My throat tightened.
Would he come? Would he know where to look? Would he ever—
My hand moved without permission, pressing lightly against my stomach. It was a small, instinctive gesture. Protective. Mine.
Machado’s gaze dropped to my stomach immediately, sharp and suspicious.
“What is it?” he asked, stepping closer. “Are you in pain?”
My pulse spiked.
Idiot.
I forced my hand away casually, like it meant nothing.
“Just sick,” I said, brushing it off with a small grimace. “Your dramatic kidnapping didn’t exactly agree with me.”
His eyes lingered too long, no doubt looking for signs of deception.
I held his gaze, steady, unflinching.
“Stomach,” I added, tapping lightly just below my ribs. “Nerves. I’m not fond of water.” I wrinkled my nose faintly.
A flicker of irritation crossed his face. After a moment, his posture eased slightly and he seemed to accept my excuse.
“Understandable,” he said.
I exhaled slowly, masking the tension that still coiled tight in my chest. Careful. Every move had to be careful now. Because this wasn’t just about me anymore.
I straightened slightly, shifting the conversation before he could circle back.
“You don’t want to do this.”
He tilted his head, amused. “No?”
“You’re stepping over a line you can’t come back from,” I said, voice low, deliberate. “You think my family won’t find you? That they won’t burn through whatever safe haven you think Spain gives you?”
He huffed a quiet breath, almost like I’d said something mildly entertaining.
“I’m aware of the risks.”
“Then stop,” I pressed. “Now. Before this turns into something you can’t control.”
His gaze sharpened. For a second, frustration flickered there.
“With you?” he said. “That was never going to be an option.”
My stomach tightened.
“Why me?” I demanded. “What is this really about?”
He looked at me then. Mesmerized. Like he was seeing something that wasn’t entirely there.
“You’ve been in my head since Spain,” he said quietly.
A chill slid down my spine.
“That’s your problem,” I said flatly.
He ignored it.
“Believe me,” he continued, “if I could have erased you, I would have.”
That didn’t comfort me. Not even slightly.
“But I couldn’t.”
His voice shifted. Lower.
“Because you reminded me too much of her.”
I stilled.
“Of who?”
“My first wife.”
The words hung heavy between us. Everything about this was wrong.
“You’re her doppelg?nger,” he said.
The deck seemed to tilt slightly beneath my feet. Not from the movement of the boat, but from the weight of that.
My mind moved fast. Piecing it together. Obsession. Projection. Replacement.
This wasn’t about me. It was about a memory he couldn’t let go of. Which made my situation infinitely worse.
My options narrowed in real time.
“You’re not going to like how this ends,” I reminded him quietly.
His lips curved faintly.
“On the contrary,” he murmured. “I think I will.”