Chapter 27
KARINA
The grounds behind the Bellanti offices have been tastefully decorated for Jessica’s memorial service today.
Large urns of flowers sit beside the podium, a string quartet plays soft classical music, and a large print of her professional headshot rests on an easel.
The Bellantis arranged the event so people could pay their respects, but no one has mentioned Jessica’s family or friends…
if she had any. From the conversations I’ve picked up passing by the small groups that talk amongst themselves, I’ve gathered that most of these attendees were her coworkers.
Despite the friction that Jessica and I had, I’m glad the Bellantis are honoring her life here.
It’s not just that she put in years of service to the winery, either.
I’m still convinced that—intentionally or not—her life was somehow a trade for Marco’s.
And who among the guests could say they really knew her, deep down?
She was clearly a complicated person with her own secret motivations and dreams. I really do respect that, even if I didn’t agree with her choices.
She deserves to be remembered well.
A large white tent has been set up to house a buffet and a selection of drinks for guests after the service.
Marco informed me that Jessica had already been laid to rest, which is a relief since I don’t know how I would feel if her casket were here.
The service is already more than enough of a reminder of what Marco went through with the shooting.
I don’t need a visual of Jessica’s body to drive it all home.
The loss is tragic enough. And God, she was so young.
The memorial doesn’t start for a little while yet, and guests are still filtering in.
Frankie wanders over to me with a comment about needing more chairs and then heads off to find someone.
I’m surprised that she’s here and not at home with her sisters, but I suppose she wanted to present a unified front with her husband in front of their employees and guests.
I know she and Jessica didn’t have a pleasant history either, but I’m glad Frankie is here.
Maybe she feels the same way about Jessica that I do—torn in different directions emotionally, but ultimately saddened at the loss of life. The loss of potential.
Glancing down at my left hand, I can’t help admiring the wedding set flashing in the sunlight.
The jewelry is pretty, of course, but it means so much more than mere decoration—it’s a symbol of my bond to Marco.
I wish I could just relax and bask in the glow of our new happiness, but even after the way we connected last night, I can’t shake the nagging feeling that some disaster is looming just over the horizon.
Something intent on taking our love away.
I shake my head and take a deep breath, trying to let go of those worries.
I need to stop letting my mind wander into dark places just because I’m not used to having anything good in my life.
Maybe it’s just the memorial service that’s sending me on this fretful spiral.
It’s only natural to think the worst during a time like this, right?
Marco’s voice reaches me and I turn to see him making his way through the crowd, shaking hands with people, talking quietly.
Dante and Frankie trail behind him. I haven’t seen Armani yet today, but I’m sure he’ll be here.
He’s not one to shirk his personal or professional responsibilities, even if he has some interesting ideas about what exactly those are.
Speaking of which, I’d better go find my seat and wait for Marco to join me.
Smoothing the front of my dark navy dress, I start heading toward the row of chairs reserved for the Bellanti family. That’s when a man in khaki coveralls walks up to me carrying an arrangement of deep orange tiger lilies.
“You Mrs. Bellanti?” he asks.
I notice the patch on his overalls says Branson Floral. He must be a delivery person.
“I’m one of them, yes,” I say. “Can I help you?”
“I was told to speak to you about where to put these flowers.” His voice is thick with a New Jersey accent. “The address on the order is for the office building over there, but I didn’t think that was right.”
I frown. “Yeah, that had to be a mistake. The services are here. Maybe the office was just the closest mailing address?”
He shrugs. “There’s a bunch of other flowers there, sitting out front—wasn’t just our mistake. Why don’t you come take a look and tell me what you want me to do? There’s quite a few arrangements been left, but I could try to load ‘em up in the van and bring ‘em over.”
Crap. How did this happen? I’ve had absolutely nothing to do with organizing today, but I can’t imagine the Bellantis wanted the flowers anywhere but at the site of the service.
“Maybe we should double-check with the other Mrs. Bellanti,” I say helplessly.
I look in Frankie’s direction, but she, Marco, and Dante have been swallowed by the crowd.
She’s too far ahead for me to politely call out her name.
I check my watch and realize there are only minutes left until we begin the memorial.
Well, I suppose if Frankie trusted me to choose the wine for the family dinner, she’d probably trust me to take a look at a few flowers and move them around.
And if she’s going to give me a job soon, I can at least show some initiative.
“Okay, can you show me? We need to be quick, though, the service is starting soon.”
“Yeah, of course. I’m sorry about all this,” the delivery man says.
He leads the way, walking slightly in front of me, chatting about Napa being much easier to navigate than Jersey. Less traffic and something about crazy drivers. I’m not really paying attention. I’m anxious about getting to my seat as soon as possible, and I know Marco will be wondering where I am.
We go down the slight incline and move around the side of the office building. As we round the hedges at the corner of the building, I say, “I’ll just take a quick peek from here.”
The worker looks over my head toward the crowd at the service. “’Fraid I’m gonna need you to take a closer look than that, sweetheart.”
“What—”
Before I can get a word out, he grabs me and slaps a sweet-smelling rag over my mouth and nose.
I struggle in his grip, trying to scream, but it only comes out in a whimper as my limbs go weak.
Darkness clouds my vision, panic surging in my veins.
My struggle is futile. No one will see me back here, getting dragged toward a van with a florist’s logo on it.
That doesn’t stop me though, and I flail in his arms with every ounce of waning strength I have.
Dizzy and fading fast, I go limp, hoping to take him off guard so he’ll drop me.
But he only squeezes his arms around me tighter.
My heart beats wildly, adrenaline flooding through me so strong that I feel like I might burst out of my skin.
I wriggle and kick and scratch and twist, but nothing makes any difference.
The van door slides open from inside and suddenly I’m dropped onto the hard floor of the vehicle.
The man climbs in with me and slides the door shut again, trapping me in darkness.
My body still feels weak and off-balance, my stomach wracked with nausea.
I try to scramble away from him, but he quickly and efficiently presses a knee into my chest, pinning me still.
As he replaces the chemical-soaked rag I’ve been huffing with a bandanna gag, he tells me, “Gotta say, this is the easiest five grand I’ve ever made.
You fell for that so easy, I almost feel sorry for you.
” Then he calls over his shoulder to a man who is buckling himself into the van’s driver’s seat. “Let’s go, Jimmy.”
All I can do is weep silently as my hands are tied behind my back and the van pulls away.
My head bounces hard on the metal floor as we drive over grass and gravel and finally onto the asphalt of the main road.
The man joins his colleague upfront and I lose sight of him.
There is no light back here. The windows are blacked out and there’s a partition between the back and front of the vehicle.
My mind is racing, flashing with images of worst-case scenarios.
I can’t think a single coherent thought except that I need to get out of here.
At least I’m no longer inhaling chemicals. My brain fog is starting to lift.
We don’t go far before the van comes to a squealing stop. The side door slides open again and two men grab my arms and yank me out onto my unsteady feet.
Gasping, panting, I glance at my surroundings, trying to glean anything of importance that I might be able to relay if I get the chance to contact Marco in some way.
We appear to be in an industrial area, parked between huge buildings or warehouses that look old but mostly in good repair.
Footsteps crunch on the ground behind me.
The men suddenly spin me, and I see him.
Pietro.
Standing before me in a dark suit and gleaming leather shoes. His hands are in the pockets of his slacks, his eyes as hard as the asphalt beneath my feet.
Why is he doing this? He can’t possibly want me still after everything that’s happened.
We barely even knew each other. Is this really just a matter of wounded pride, or keeping to the terms of a bargain?
The deal he made with my uncle for our marriage must be a lot more significant than I thought if Pietro is still chasing me.
I thought it was just a matter of power and money, but maybe there’s more at stake here.
“Take off her gag,” Pietro commands.
He says it so blandly, as if I’m nothing but slightly damaged goods he’s receiving.
The man who gagged me does as Pietro asks. I cry out as he rips a chunk of my hair out with the knot of the bandanna.
Pietro sighs. “Scream all you want. Go ahead. No one in this neighborhood will do a damn thing about it.”
I yearn for nothing more than to claw my ex-fiancé’s eyes right out of his skull, but I can’t because my hands are tied behind my back and I’ve got a goon holding me up on each side.
“What do you want?” I practically spit.
“Karina, bella mia. What kind of question is that?” Pietro simpers.
He saunters toward me as if he has all the time in the world. Narrowing my eyes, lifting my chin, and channeling all my rage and disgust straight at him, I force myself not to look away. I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing my fear.
He licks his lips and dips his head, his breath hot against my face. Nausea burns in my throat. I want to back up, but there’s nowhere to go. The men hold me tighter. He’s going to kiss me. I’m going to be sick.
“Maybe I’ve missed you, my darling. Maybe my bed has been cold without my little bride,” he says.
“Fuck you.”
The words spear out of me with all the bitterness in my heart. He recoils as if I’ve slapped him. Our eyes lock and my body takes that moment to begin to ache in protest at all the scrapes and bruises I collected while rolling around in the back of that van.
“No. I don’t think I will.” Pietro smiles a dead smile.
He’s slipped back into that cold, distant persona of his.
It’s probably the same one he uses when he’s torturing somebody or pulling a trigger.
“You see…your only purpose was to fulfill an obligation to your family. But you’re tainted now, Karina.
You’re a whore. No woman who spreads her legs for a Bellanti can ever be redeemed.
You’re nothing to me, and nothing to the Brunos. Nobody wants you.”
Pietro grabs me from my captors and drags me toward a blacked-out Mercedes. He clicks a button on the fob and the trunk pops open.
No! I twist and fight him, but I can’t get any leverage, while Pietro is cool and collected, as if he does this sort of thing every day. Does he really think that his words hurt me? I’m scared, yes. But he won’t tear me down. Never again.
He picks me up like I weigh nothing and dumps me into the trunk.
As he lifts his arm to slam it shut, I cry out, “What did he promise you, Pietro? What was the bargain you made with my uncle?”
He smiles and leans down, and I brace myself for the ugliness of whatever his response is going to be.
But instead of answering me, he pushes me onto my side and grabs my left hand in a crushing grip, twisting and prying at my wedding rings.
With my wrists bound, I can’t stop him. This feels like more of a violation than any assault I’ve endured so far.
“No! No!”
Pietro ignores my struggling as he works my rings free. I clench my hand into a fist, and he nearly has to break my finger to get what he’s after. But in the end, all I get for my effort is a skinned knuckle and what feels like a painful sprain.
“You bastard.” I spit at him, but he’s too far away.
“Goodbye, Karina,” Pietro says.
I smile prettily. “My husband is going to enjoy killing you for this.”
One of the men steps forward and shoves the gag back in my mouth.
The trunk slams closed, leaving me in darkness, my finger bleeding and bare.