17. Five-Star Cult Retreat
CHAPTER 17
Five-Star Cult Retreat
ALISTAIR
Despite the bombshell that’s just mind-fucked me, I feel strangely calm. Ivy is looking at me like I’m an undetonated explosive device. Perhaps I am.
I thank the doctor and stride into Ariana’s room, where she regards me with sparkling, defiant eyes.
Fuck this.
Fuck avoiding confrontation.
Fuck Ari.
“Let me get this straight.” My speech is slow and clear, my tone is icy. A calm, freezing lake. “You not only came to our family home to kill us— to kill you own mother and father and siblings —but you did it risking not only your own life, but the life of your baby.”
Ariana’s mouth is a small gash. The sparkle fades, and her face begins to crumple.
I repeat myself. “Your. Own. Baby.”
Her eyes well up, and she shakes her head. “I didn’t know,” she mutters. “I didn’t know until yesterday.”
“Who are you?” I ask.
“I’m a De Luca,” she replies. “I’m Ari De Luca.”
I sense imminent violence. My repose cannot continue, not in her company, anyway. I stalk out before I say something I’ll regret. I dial Sandringham, my fingers feeling fat and numb as I scroll to find her name.
“Are you near the hospital?” I demand.
“I’m not,” the psychologist replies. “But I can be. Is there an emergency?”
I sigh and squeeze the bridge of my nose. “Emergency? No. Just a … development.”
“I have to back-to-backs till three. I’ll come in as soon as I can. If you need me sooner—if it becomes an emergency—let me know and I’ll re-shuffle.”
“Thank you.”
“I still have two minutes before my next meeting. Want to chat?”
I glance at my watch. “I don’t want to impose. Your schedule?—”
“I’m happy to chat. How’s Ariana?”
“She’s … pregnant.”
There’s a stunned silence. “Oh.”
“Yeah. She didn’t know till yesterday. They’ve just checked on the baby and all’s well.”
“Okay,” says Sandringham. “I’m sure this is a bit of a shock for everyone.”
“You could say that.”
“I find this extremely concerning, to be honest. I’m assuming Sebastian is the father?”
“I didn’t ask, but I’d say it’s highly likely.”
Dr Sandringham sighs. “This is going to make our jobs a lot more difficult. Not only are we adding a sexual element to the manipulation, possibly a romantic love element, but Ariana is literally part of the De Luca family now. It’s not just psychology, it’s blood.”
“Yes,” I say, stomach churning at the thought.
“The case was complex to begin with, but now … now Ariana will feel a new and intense drive to reunite with her abductors. It’s not about what happened in the past anymore. It’s about what’s happening right now.”
“I’m at a loss here,” I admit. “Can you advise a plan of action?”
“The plan of action remains the same,” she replies with conviction. “But now it’s urgent. You need to get her into a facility now.”
What she doesn’t say, but I hear anyway: or risk losing her forever.
I don’t need further encouragement. I jog back to Ariana’s room, where she and Ivy are chatting quietly. I see a flash of how things could have been if Ariana hadn’t been taken from us, with her and Ivy being great friends and enjoying spending time together.
“All right,” I announce. “We have a plan.” I’ll have to put a spin on it.
“Oh?” says Ivy, looking surprised. I hadn’t consulted her.
“I’ve just been on a call with Sandringham. She said we’re going to fast-track getting you out of here.”
Ariana sits up, bitterness fading. “Really?”
“You’ll spend a few relaxing days at the ‘five-star cult retreat’—is that what you called it?—then you will decide what comes after that.”
“No,” she spits out.
I grind my teeth. “Ari. Hear me out, please. Just a few days of pedicures and feeding horses carrots or whatever. It’ll be a great way for you to … convalesce.”
“I don’t need to convalesce ,” she hisses. “I need to get back to Sebastian.”
“Why?” I ask. “And … where is he? Has he even checked up on you since you’ve been here?”
“How is he supposed to do that?” she demands. “He doesn’t know I’m here. He doesn’t even know if I’m alive! I’m a prisoner here.”
“Ariana!” I scold.
“Don’t call me that!” she shouts back.
“You are not a prisoner here. You were about to die and Ivy,” I jab violently in Ivy’s direction. “Ivy saved your life. Then the surgeons fixed you up. What would you have had us do? Leave you to bleed out on the panic room floor? The panic room that you broke into to kill your own family?”
I feel like shouting FUCK YOU, but I restrain myself.
Prisoner. Honestly.
“Yes!” she cries. “I would have preferred that!”
I place the heel of my palm on my forehead and close my eyes. I tell myself to keep calm. I remind myself that she doesn’t know what she’s saying. That she’s not herself. But god, it’s not easy.
“Ariana,” I try again. No more spin. No more sugarcoating. “You are not currently of sound mind.”
“Fuck you!” she yells.
I thought that would hurt, but it glances like an arrow off armor. If Ariana wants to play hardball, I’m game.
“Given that you cannot be trusted to make the right decisions for you or your baby right now, I will be committing you to the facility that your psychologist recommends whether you want to or not.”
“You can’t do that,” she cries. “I have rights!”
I feel like punching something. Instead, I curl my fingers into fists.
“You lost your rights when you breached our walls and attacked my family with semi-automatic weapons. If we hadn’t taken care of you, if we hadn’t medevacced you, you’d be dead; your baby would be dead. Or in jail. You’d give birth to that baby in prison. Is that what you want?”
Ariana sneers. “The De Lucas were right about you.”
“Right about what?” I demand. “That we care about you? That we want to do what’s best for you?”
“That you’re evil!”
I can’t help snorting at this. “Evil?” I demand. “Really?”
“Yes!” Ariana yells. “Evil! And that you have to control everything! From the fucking Granite train line to the market cost of cocaine to the bodies of your women! Well, you can’t control me, because I’m not your property.” Her face is wet with tears. “I’m a De Luca. ”
I want to punch something. No, I want to punch Sebastian fucking De Luca. I pace and growl. “Ivy. Do you think you can talk some sense into this woman?”
Ivy looks at me with soft eyes and an apologetic expression. “I can’t.”
“What?” I reply. It comes out harsher than I mean it to.
“I’m sorry, Alistair. I can’t. I don’t think we have the right to force Ari to do anything. She’s a grown woman.”
“Oh my god!” I fume. “I didn’t realize that Stockholm Syndrome was fucking contagious.”
Ivy winces, but my anger hardens my heart toward her.
“Well, is it?” I demand. “You know that she’s under the thumb of the De Lucas. That she’s their pawn. That they don’t care about her. That she literally tried to murder us.” I scrub my hair with my knuckles. “Ivy! That bullet missed your head by an inch. An inch. And you’re saying we should trust her to make the right decision? Really?”
Ivy narrows her eyes at me. She looks at me in a new way that I hate—a mixture of disappointment and sadness. Her voice is soft, but she stands her ground. “We can tell Ari what we would do, and the doctors can give their opinions, but at the end of the day, unless you press charges, your sister gets to decide. Her life, her body, her baby.”
“She’s unhinged!” I yell, gesturing with a flat hand at my impossible sibling.
Ivy flinches as if I’ve slapped her. Her eyes dart to the exit, an instinct to escape. I feel terrible. There’s anger, and then there’s abuse, and with Ivy’s history, I have to be especially careful with staying on the right side of that line.
I shake my head. “I’m sorry.” I take a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“It’s okay,” she replies, ever gracious even though I can still see the hurt in her eyes. “You’re only angry because you care so much about her.” She turns to face Ariana. “Your family—the Ravenscrofts—have never stopped loving you. Never. No matter what you’ve been told, no matter what you currently believe, they have never stopped loving you.”
I nod and grasp the bottom rail of the bed. My knuckles turn white. “We can’t lose you again, Ari. We can’t.”