Chapter 53 Giovanni
Giovanni
Isla
The pain in my eyes zinged straight into my temples. Was I blind? I was on my stomach, lying on something soft with lots of give. The light peeked through my eyelids, and I finally opened them to see that I was on a small bed in a tiny room.
I reeled back, panic surging through all of me. I wasn’t home. I wasn’t at Roman’s; I had no idea where I was.
Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck!
My whole body ached, like it had been bruised and beaten with a bat. It hurt to breathe, to move my neck, and to sit up, but I jumped off the bed and whirled around. Was this a hotel room? But then I looked down and realized I had no shoes.
I remembered…I was outside, wearing a coat and scarf, and I had a tote bag filled with books and my phone and some chocolates even…because Roman was coming tomorrow.
Where was all that?
The room was barren—a small bed, one large window, stone floor, and a tiny hallway. There were two doors at the end of it; one led to what looked like a small bathroom, and the other…was probably the exit.
I stood in the middle of the unknown room in my white t-shirt and blue jeans and held myself back from hyperventilating. This…this was not good.
The door.
I was down the hallway in two large strides, pulling on the handle, but it didn't budge. I pulled harder, turning the locks every which way, but it was like it was glued to the doorframe.
Roman…
My heart nearly stopped when I realized he had no idea where I was.
On the verge of tears, I cautiously approached the large window and moved the yellow curtain out of the way, only to be stunned by the beauty of the landscape outside.
Green mountains and tall hedges intertwined in a peaceful and gorgeous scene bathed in sunlight.
But there were bars on the window. Steel bars.
Oh God, oh God, oh God! What the fuck did I get myself into?! As soon as the thought crossed my mind the memory flashed bright and obvious in my mind.
I got into John’s car.
Cold sweat broke out on my palms. What else did I remember? Not much. John’s smiling face, a foreign and sharp pain in my thigh. And something else—his hand. I remembered his fist on my thigh. The weight of it, like he pierced my skin with that sharp pain.
And now…this room.
Trapped, I paced back and forth, screaming at the door. I kicked it. I pounded on it until my fists were bruised, but there was no one. There were no sounds anywhere around except for the singing of the birds. There was no one outside, not a car, not a bicycle, not even an airplane.
There was nothing. Just me, in a tiny room, with no way out.
The sun was replaced by darkness outside, the moon illuminating only the sky. I tried to peek down in the hopes of seeing a light anywhere. But there was nothing.
Lost in my thought spiral and drained from my useless tears, I slumped down beneath the window and stared at the opposite wall, pulling myself back from a panic attack every few minutes.
I must have passed out at some point, because the next time I opened my eyes, it was bright again, and…silent. I was still on the stone floor, sore and freezing. I climbed onto the bed and wrapped myself in the blanket, hoping this was just a bad dream. I would wake up soon.
I would wake up soon.
But I was awake. I was wide awake listening to the deafening silence. There were no footsteps, no voices, no sounds. No signs of life. Like I was dropped here and abandoned, left to rot. Were these people trying to break me? Drive me crazy?
I threw the blanket off and rushed to the door again, screaming to open it until my throat was raw.
Nothing. There was just nothing.
Fuck. I had no idea what to do. No shoes, no phone, no purse. Not even water. Water. I was so fucking thirsty. But just as I’d fantasized about a cold glass of water, keys jingled in the door.
I backed away quickly, pressing myself into the opposite wall right by the foot of the bed, deathly afraid of whoever was on the other side.
The handle turned, and the door swung open slowly to reveal…John.
John fucking Clemens. My father’s work partner and lifelong friend, the man who served me birthday cake in his backyard, stood on the other side of the door, a small and calm smile on his face.
I was shocked. Stunned. Floored. Flabbergasted to have my tiny suspicions proven correct. I got in his car.
“I know you’re scared, Isla,” he said softly, like he was trying to soothe me. “But I’m not going to hurt you. I’m sorry I had to do this.”
What. The. Fuck.
I couldn’t move. There were no thoughts in my mind anymore, and I had no idea what to say. My tongue might as well have been glued to the roof of my mouth.
"You're probably hungry and confused. I brought you some food and some clothes. Take a shower, have breakfast, and I will come in a few hours and we will talk. Okay?"
With a small smile, he wheeled in a little table with a tray of food on top and a bundle of clothes on the bottom. But the only thing my eyes latched onto was a bottle of water. A cold, large, sealed bottle of water.
As quickly as he came, John backed out of the room and shut and locked the door, leaving me alone once more. I snatched the bottle off the table and, like a feral animal, gulped down the cool and delicious liquid until there was nothing left.
So…John, then. John? The kind man whose house we would go to for dinner? His wife made the best tiramisu in the world. Why the fuck would John do this? What did he even do? Obviously kidnapped me and locked me up in a tiny room. We weren’t in New York anymore; that was obvious by the landscape.
I paced the room and eyed the food and clothes on the table. I was starving, yes, but what if it was poisoned or laced with something? Instead, I pulled the clothes out—a pair of olive green silk pajamas and white fluffy slippers.
The outfit didn’t put my mind at ease in the slightest. Was he expecting me to relax? Settle in?
But I showered and changed into the pajamas…a tiny bit grateful to have a change of clothes.
God-fucking-damn it, why did I get in his car?! First rule of safety—never get into anyone's car! What the fuck was I thinking?!
But then I thought about how I saw him. He was merely coming out of a convenience store, surprised to see me. It was an accident that I ran into him…unless that’s exactly what he had planned.
I left the food untouched, but through the bars, I unlocked the window and pushed it open, letting in a warm and fresh breeze. It was beautiful outside. Too bad that I was in prison.
Right then three soft knocks sounded again. I approached the little hallway and looked toward the door, genuine fear creeping into my limbs. “Come in,” I spoke quietly, and there was John again, just as promised, keys in hand.
"Come.” He nodded. “Don't be scared." He turned and started walking. Anxiously, I followed him out of the door, like a bird finally set free from a cage. I walked out into a cold and dark landing, following him down a small set of stairs, which led to a much wider and longer hallway.
Stone floors, ancient chandeliers, and paintings of landscapes accompanied us down the hall until we reached a large staircase, opening up to the main floor.
Everything was grand and luxurious in this place, but old, like it had lost the luster of its true beauty.
It was freezing, and the silk pajamas did nothing to keep me warm, but I trudged behind John until he walked into a sitting room with two plushy couches and an ornate Persian rug.
The biggest stone fireplace I’d ever seen warmed the room but not enough to still my internal shakes.
“Drink?” John pointed to the couch and picked up a decanter. Apprehensively, I slowly sat down on a soft cushion and shook my head to decline his offer, but he passed me a glass anyway.
With his own drink in hand, he walked over to a large armchair and took a seat. His kind smile was back, but this time I could tell he was playing a very well-rehearsed role.
“Don’t you have any questions?” he asked, amused, swirling the caramel-colored liquid in his glass.
Fuck, yes, I have questions, John!
"I have a million questions, John. Just start from the beginning. What—what on earth is all this?” I tried and failed to sound unbothered. He scoffed, taking a small sip of his drink, but never looking away from me.
"Life is mysterious, Isla. There are certain things that happen in your life that seem truly unbelievable, like they're not a coincidence."
Couldn’t argue with that...
"I had no expectations the day you came to see me. I figured you just wanted to talk about your mom and dad. That was the first time you reached out in all these years. But then…then you told me you knew who Roman was, and it shocked me to my very core."
My stomach dropped into my feet. This was about Roman. This wasn’t about me or my father. What could John possibly want with Roman!?
"I didn't tell you I knew who Roman was." I spoke quickly, trying to reject it, but John’s smile widened.
"I admire you trying to protect your man, but we’re in too deep now.
I know everything.” Violent chills accosted all of me at his words.
I know everything. The glass trembled in my shaking hand, and John noticed, reaching behind me for something.
“It’s cold here. Cover yourself so you don’t get sick. ”
He tossed the wool blanket in my lap and sat back down, perfectly at ease.
"What were the chances that you would meet him, hm? Like one in a billion, and yet, here you are, with a ring on your finger, hoping to marry your parents' killer." John pointed to my hand that held the glass, but I couldn’t look anywhere but at him, lost for words and thoughts.
My intuition was telling me that this was bad. It was already bad when I had been locked up in that room for all this time, but now…now something terrible would happen, I was sure of it.