Chapter 45 Gabi
GABI
My stomach turns as I clutch my phone, dread washing in hot flushes through my body.
“Gabi?” Dominic’s voice sounds through the phone. “Are you still there?”
“Yes. I—” I break off and drag in a breath, my chest constricting with the pain that comes from restraining a sob.
What if they came for Chiara? Somehow linked her to me and tortured her for information she doesn’t have? She knows nothing.
I’d like to think it’s impossible, but I just learned I don’t know half of what’s going on in this mess, as if I’m standing in the eye of the hurricane.
Someone needs to find Chiara and make sure she’s safe. If she isn’t dead already. Tortured. Torched. Because of me. It’s too much. I won’t be able to live with myself.
“Nicky,” I croak, knowing I will forgive him everything and more if he does this one thing for me.
“Yes, cara?”
“I have a friend…it’s a long story, but I need you and Ariana to find her. To make sure she’s safe. Find out who the four murdered women are and make sure she isn’t on that list. I beg you—” I break off to bite my knuckles, to transfer my pain to something I can control.
“Who is she?” he asks.
“A friend from the convent in Potenza, Chiara Bellini,” I choke on my hand.
“She went into the porn industry in Rome. Got a small apartment in Tiburtino. Don’t ask.
Please. Just find her for me and get her to safety,” I say, not pausing long enough for him to ask how I, the sweet, protected sister they all thought they had in the bag, straight from the convent, knows someone who works in the adult entertainment industry. “I know you know how to find her.”
All the strings he pulled to get me out of Italy in just two weeks showed me the underground power my brothers wield. I have no doubt he has the know-how, influence, and connections to make this happen.
“Consider it done, Gabi,” he says, not even questioning. “Anything for you. I’ll get on it immediately and let you know everything I find out. Keep your phone close. If this will help you to forgive me—”
“There’s nothing to forgive, Nicky, honestly. Just get her safe.”
“You know I will.”
We end the call, and I throw myself to my knees, praying that she’s alive, begging to God to keep her safe. I can hardly breathe with the anxiety over her safety pressing on my chest, and for the first time in a long time, I find solace in God’s gentle hand that seems to sweep over my hair.
I break down and sob into my bedding, for I’ve been torn to pieces in my life.
I’m still grappling with everything that’s happened to me, confused by religion, not understanding why God can watch from above, unaffected, letting my life’s water flow down this cruel route He mapped out long ago.
It never made sense, but here I am drinking from His cup as I reach for my Bible, nothing else able to anchor me.
And then the shift comes, even as it chills me to the bone. My quiet rebellion against this arranged marriage to Ivan dies, blown out like a candle in one swift breath.
That Russian isn’t going to find me in another Russian stronghold.
I’ll marry Ivan to stay hidden, but as his wife, I’ll have demands.
From my brothers, too. Fuck this whole mess with Randazzo, Franco Fiore, and the whole sick business I was processed through like a piece of meat.
I no longer care what the Petrov Bratva has on Il Consiglio, but I won’t rest until Randazzo’s human trafficking network in Europe is destroyed.
Until I’ve figured out who the fuck the Russian is and come for him, before he can come for me.
With Il Consiglio and the Petrov Bratva behind me, anything is possible. Running is in my past. I have no clue how to do it, or where to even start, but this cage will work for me.
I slowly stand and straighten my clothes. For now, I need to keep pretending, mask back on, a bride of death.
I have precious minutes of privacy left and I battle my indecision to call Ivan and tell him everything before we exchange vows.
He must know that he’s marrying another Russian’s chosen bride—one marked at thirteen with ownership I’ve never been able to remove from my body.
A Russian who is hunting me down, killing innocent people in his quest to find me.
When Irisha and Katya’s excited shrieks sound up the stairs, I’m out of time. The enthusiasm in their voices is at bursting point, something about princess dresses. If it’s up to them, nothing is going to stop this wedding. I have about ten seconds to gather myself before they burst into my room.
Little girl chaos ensues, and I’m plunged head-first into preparations for two last-minute weddings with two little girls in tow.
The day passes in a blur. Milana shoots me several wary, questioning looks, but I’m on pins and needles, too worried about Chiara to even care about all the little details of the happiest day of my life.
With Yuri always looking on, I can’t tell her anything. I might have been privy to some of what happened this summer with Franco Fiore and Il Consiglio, but I know that’s just a fraction of what’s been going on here.
When Ivan sends me a message, letting me know he’ll be spending the time before the wedding at the apartment near his offices, I let it go.
He’ll have his reasons; maybe he wants to give me space and let me stick to being a good Catholic, saving myself for the wedding night.
Maybe he truly has too much work on his plate.
Whatever his reasons, it’s somehow irrelevant.
I check my phone a hundred times, raising suspicion with Yuri but not caring anymore.
I’m anxious for news from Dominic and Italy, but so far, there has only been one notification from him: no names have been officially released in Italy of the women killed by the ‘serial killer,’ but his underground sources confirmed a Chiara Bellini isn’t one of them. He’ll keep me posted.
It’s hope in a casket. The noose is around her neck, and she doesn’t even know she’s being strung up. It’s just a matter of time.
I can’t be responsible for her death, too, but gale-force winds have swept up in my world, and there are a thousand fires burning around me. I don’t know which one to kill first just to stay ahead of the blaze.
I should have come clean on that first day with Dominic, but I chose to comply with rule number one: never show them who you really are.
The only thing I’ve learned since leaving the convent is that secrets are currency.
Nobody has been honest from the start, and we’re all going to pay the price for our little secrets and big lies.