Chapter 22
Isabella
Being blindfolded, gagged and bound, then shoved into the trunk of a car should have left me terrified. Instead, Paolo and his henchmen have done me a favor. They’ve given me time to compose myself.
Once I got over the initial terror of being abducted, I was able to get my breathing under control. I calmed my thoughts and realized if I want to find a way out of this situation, I need to have my wits about me. Panicking won’t do me any good. Perhaps if I’d kept a cool head when Rico started pawing at me that day, all of this could have been avoided.
It feels like we’ve been driving for hours. With only a little room to wiggle around in, my limbs have become increasingly stiff and my muscles ache. The coarse rope they bound my wrists with is irritating my skin. Despite the intense discomfort, I can’t help thinking I’m better off than Dante. While I escaped the car wreck unscathed, he looked to be in pretty bad shape. He might not be my favorite person, but I’d hate for him to die. My husband’s inner circle is small. There are few men apart from his brothers he trusts. Dante is a man Antonio can rely on. I hope he survives.
When the car finally stops, one of the men comes and pulls me out of the trunk. A cool breeze whispers over my skin as he deposits me on my feet. At some point, I lost my shoes and I feel concrete beneath me.
My captor doesn’t give me a chance to get the feeling back in my legs before dragging me along a path. I can’t see where we are, but my other senses are on alert. The first clue to our location is the familiar squeak of a wooden gate whose hinges need to be oiled. Then I catch a scent I know well. It’s the delicate aroma of roses mingling with the fresh, salty smell of the sea. I’m almost certain we’re at the beach house. I listen carefully for the gentle sweep of waves against the shore. Yes, there it is, a final confirmation of where we are.
I wonder why they’ve chosen to bring me here. It seems risky to come to a property my husband owns. Then again, I suppose the house is empty since Antonio took me back, and the isolated spot makes it ideal for killing someone. I know that all too well.
Maybe the Mancinis suspect this is where Rico died and that if I’m forced to revisit the scene of the crime, I’ll be more likely to reveal what I know. They no doubt imagine my feminine sensibilities will cause me to break down and tell them everything if they apply a little pressure. They may be right. There’s no guarantee I won’t crumble and admit to what I did.
As we come to a stop, I hear what sounds like someone trying to force the front door open. It’s lucky there isn’t a neighbor for miles around because the noise would definitely attract attention. I’d be sick to my stomach if an innocent bystander got caught up in this. Made men are ruthless animals. They don’t leave witnesses.
After a while, there’s a crack as if the wood in the doorframe has splintered.
“No alarm?” From the gruffness in his voice, I think it’s Paolo who asks.
I’m pretty sure there is a silent alarm to alert Antonio’s men if someone enters the property, but I’m not helping these guys out with information about the security system. I don’t want them to know what Antonio told me, about there being cameras inside.
“Antonio didn’t think we needed one way out here.”
“Arrogant asshole thinks he’s untouchable.” There’s no mistaking Gianni Mancini’s voice. He sounds so much like Rico, it makes my skin crawl.
We walk inside and move along the corridor, heading toward the kitchen. Unease crawls down my spine, making me feel ill. Then we stop and move back again. The men’s hesitation about where to go brings me to a realization. I know the house and they don’t. That gives me an advantage. If I can get away from them, I can make a run for it.
As that thought gives me hope, I’m shoved to my knees on the carpeted floor of the living room. The blindfold is torn from my eyes. I blink three times to adjust to the light. The large, tattooed asshole I’m sure Paolo referred to as Max is standing behind me. In jeans, a battered black leather jacket, and scuffed biker boots, he’s dressed more casually than the other two. It makes me think he’s a street-level thug. Anyone higher in the organization tends to dress better. For most of them, impressing the boss is a full-time job.
Gianni Mancini leans against the wall beside the door, arms folded over his chest. He looks so much like Rico with his bulbous nose and piggy eyes, I want to vomit. Paolo, who’s a gray-haired version of his sons, is sitting on my favorite armchair like it’s his throne. I’m kneeling a mere yard from his feet.
“My boy is dead.” Paolo stares coldly at me. “I know you had something to do with it.”
Shaking my head, I mutter furious denials through the gag. Paolo signals for Max to remove it so he can hear what I’m saying. The gigantic brute yanks the gag down, jarring my bottom teeth, and leaves the strip of fabric hanging around my neck. I don’t like that. It would be easy to strangle me with it.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t even know Rico was dead until he told me.” I tilt my head toward Max.
Paolo snorts derisively. “Don’t lie to me, whore. I know my son was fucking you and your husband killed him for it.”
Did Rico tell him we were having an affair? I wouldn’t put it past the greasy little fuck. “That’s not true. There is no way I would ever let that…”
“That what?” Gianni pushes off the wall and storms across the room. He grabs my hair and forces me to look up at him. “What were you going to call my brother, you fucking slut?”
If I had any sense of self-preservation, I’d keep my mouth shut, but my blood is boiling and I can’t contain myself. “That pig,” I spit. “That fucking disgusting pig.”
Considering his brother was a violent asshole, I should have predicted Gianni’s response. He draws his arm back and slaps me, hard, across the face. He releases his grip on my hair and I fall to the floor. Pain reverberates along my cheekbone and tears fill my eyes. Fear spikes my pulse as Gianni comes at me again, but Paolo gets to his feet.
“Gianni!” He shakes his head at his son, then looks at me. “Here’s what’s going to happen, you little bitch. You are going to call your husband and tell him to hand himself over. Then I’m going to make him watch while we take turns fucking your sweet little cunt over and over again. When we’re done, I’m going to slit your throat.”
“Nothing to say about that, cunt?” Gianni demands.
I glare defiantly at him, but I’m not stupid enough to say something that will make him hit me again.
“Get her up.”
Max immediately obeys Paolo’s command, grabbing my shoulders and getting me back onto my knees. Paolo holds out a cellphone to me. “Call Antonio.”
I hold my hands up, and he shakes his head. I guess they’re not going to untie me. With a bit of struggle, I take the phone and stare at the home screen.
“Can you get his number for me?”
Paolo frowns. “Don’t you know it?”
“Who knows phone numbers by heart?” I try to suppress a sly grin as I realize something. Only the chosen few get Antonio’s direct line. “Don’t you have his number?”
“No, I fucking don’t.”
He looks at Gianni, who shrugs. “I report to Dante.”
“Oh, no.” I can’t keep the amusement out of my voice. “Not the Dante you left unconscious when you ran his car off the road?”
“You smug little bitch!” Gianni slaps me across the face again, but this time I manage to stay upright.
“Get her out of my sight,” Paolo tells Max. “But don’t touch her until Antonio gets here. I want him to witness us beating the defiance out of her.”
Max grabs me and hauls me to my feet. I wince as his fingers bruise my upper arms, but I don’t protest. It would probably amuse this asshole to know he’s hurting me. I let him drag me from the room and upstairs. Behind us, I can hear Paolo and his son bickering about their next move.
There’s an unpleasant tang of blood in my mouth, but that last slap was worth it because I learned a couple of things about these men. The first is that Gianni is the overly emotional type. He acts without thinking. A man so easily triggered is bound to make mistakes. The second thing I learned is that they’re winging it. I thought forcing Dante’s car off the road was part of a carefully drawn-up plan. Now I’m certain it isn’t.
They’ve already made stupid errors. They brought me to a place that’s unfamiliar with no clue their every move is probably being watched. I mean, they just accepted it when I said there was no alarm. That’s beyond careless.
They also have no idea how to get in touch with Antonio to lure him here. I can think of a dozen different ways to get a message to my husband, but I’m not about to share them. Right now, Paolo and his son are in panic mode. I know they’ll figure out eventually that there are ways to reach Antonio, but the longer it takes them to get their heads straight, the better. Their haplessness buys some time for Antonio to get here and save the day. Assuming, of course, I’m right that the security system here is still active, and he knows where I am.
Max opens the first door we come to. It leads to a guest bedroom. He pushes me inside. He sits me on the edge of the bed then goes to the window. Apparently satisfied it’s not a potential escape route, he grunts and moves off into the bathroom. He emerges a moment later with a pair of nail scissors. Waving them in front of me, he grins as if he’s just confiscated a prize from me. I guess someone with the right skills could use them as a weapon, but I wouldn’t have been able to do much damage with them.
He walks from the room and I breathe a sigh of relief, but he’s back a moment later. My heart thumps furiously as he unbuckles his belt and slides it from the loops of his jeans. Paolo told him not to hurt me, but that might not stop him.
I shriek as he grabs my bound wrists and forces my arms up over my head, dragging me toward the top of the bed. He loops the belt through the rope binding my wrists and then uses the long leather strap to tie me to the headboard. A couple of tugs convince him it’s secure.
“You can’t leave me like this!” I protest as he heads for the door. “What if I need to pee?”
He shrugs. “Then pee.”
Chuckling at his own assholery, he walks out, closing the door behind him. Immediately, I set to work on trying to free myself. I rub the rope against the edge of the leather belt but can’t get the right amount of friction going to cut through. I change tactics and try to wriggle my wrists out of the rope, but it’s too tight. Giving up on that because I’m hurting myself, I grab the belt with both hands and try to pull it free from the headboard. That doesn’t work and I can’t risk wearing myself out, so I give up for now.
I close my eyes and consider what will happen when Paolo gets hold of my husband. Surely he won’t come here alone. He’ll have an army at his back. Will they storm in guns blazing, or take out my captors by stealth? The longer I lie there, the more doubt creeps into my mind. What if Antonio doesn’t come for me? He was sending me away when Dante and I were ambushed. He might not want to rescue me. No, scrub that thought. He said he loved me. Aargh! This situation is messing with my mind.
My eyes spring open suddenly as a strange roaring sound fills the air. It takes me a minute to realize it’s a helicopter. It’s not unusual to hear them overhead as the coastguard employs them in search and rescue efforts out at sea. This sounds incredibly close, though. When the entire house begins to shake and the windows rattle, my pulse kicks up a notch. Is the helicopter coming in to land?
The bedroom door flies open, and Max runs into the room, gun in hand.
“Your fucking husband’s here.” He loosens the belt and pulls me up from the bed. “Let’s go.”
As he pulls me along the corridor, I hear gunfire. I don’t know what weapons the Mancinis brought with them, but it sounds like war has broken out there. Then, suddenly, everything goes quiet.
“Bella?” Antonio roars.
Max slaps a hand over my mouth before I can answer. He bands an arm around my shoulders, using me as a shield. We reach the top of the stairs just as Antonio appears at the bottom. He holds his hand up as if telling someone else to stay back. Max lifts the gun to my forehead as Antonio raises his weapon.
“Drop it or I’ll kill her.”
Antonio doesn’t waver. “Then what?” His calm is impressive. It keeps me from freaking out. “You’re not walking out of here.”
“You’d let me shoot your wife?” Max challenges him. “I don’t think so.”
He presses the gun harder against my temple and I whimper. As Max tightens his grip on me, I screw my eyes shut.
“Bella, look at me.”
Even now, when I’m terrified of what will happen next, Antonio’s command is impossible to resist. I open my eyes and meet his steady gaze.
“I love you, Isabella Volante.”
“I love you too.”
With as much force as I can muster, I kick back against Max’s leg. His grip on me loosens just enough that I’m able to slip out from under his arm. I dive forward and tumble downstairs as a deafening crack splits the air.
“Bella!” Antonio yells as I manage to stop my fall halfway down the staircase. He runs to me and drops to his knees, frantically checking me for any injuries.
“I’m okay,” I assure him. “Just a bit shaky.”
Antonio helps me to my feet and keeps his arm around me as we come down the last few steps to find Leo and Piotr Reznov standing in the hallway. I hold up my bound wrists. “Can someone?”
“Oh, fuck, yes.” Antonio holds his hand out to Leo, who produces a knife from the back of his belt and passes it to him. He saws through the rope and rubs my poor chafed wrists.
“Are they all dead?” I ask.
Leo steps around us and looks up to where Max is lying with half his face missing. “Afraid so.” He sounds as if that pains him. I guess he was looking forward to torturing someone.
“Thank you for coming for me.” I offer Leo and Piotr a warm smile, which neither of them returns.
“It’s nothing,” Piotr replies. “We’ll soon be family, after all.”
“Get your girl out of here.” Leo goes and throws his arm over Piotr’s shoulder. “Cousin Pete and I will deal with the mess.”
Piotr’s jaw twitches in annoyance, but he allows my brother-in-law to steer him back into the living room to assess whatever carnage they’ve created in there.
“Cousin Pete?” I ask as Antonio takes my hand and leads me outside.
“Leo’s developed a death wish.”
“Hmm. Does that mean Ava and Boris are getting married?”
“Let’s think about that later,” Antonio says. “I just want to get you home.”
He leads me out toward the field at the side of the house where a sleek white helicopter is sitting.
“Are you allowed to land that thing there?”
Antonio shrugs. “Don’t give a fuck.”
He helps me get into the back and fastens my safety belt before going to speak to whoever’s piloting this thing. He climbs in, pulls the door shut, and sits beside me on the incredibly comfortable padded seat. I’ve flown in helicopters before, but this one is next level luxurious with its thick carpet and walnut trim.
“It’s Reznov’s,” Antonio answers my unvoiced question.
“Nice of him to let you borrow it.”
“Nice, my ass. He’ll extract his pound of flesh for this at some point.”
I’d like to tell Antonio he’s being too sceptical, but I know how this world works. Nobody does something for nothing.
“How’s Dante?” I ask as the rotors whir above us.
“Alive and kicking.”
“You won’t punish him for letting them take me?”
Antonio shakes his head. “No. It’s as much my fault as his.”
I swallow hard as I swivel around in my seat to face my husband. “Are you going to send me away again?”
Antonio grabs my hands. “Never again, Bella. I was an asshole tonight, but I am going to spend the rest of my life making it up to you.” He brushes the hair back from my face. His lips curl into a snarl as he sees the bruises forming there. With a tenderness I didn’t know he was capable of, he kisses me. Then he pulls back and gazes almost reverently at me. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” I lay my head on his chest and he wraps his arm around me.
“When I saw that bastard Mancini hitting you, it was the worst moment of my life.”
“I wondered if you were watching the house.”
“I was.” He kisses the top of my head. “I am so proud of you for holding your nerve, Bella. Most women wouldn’t have handled themselves as well as you did.”
Sitting up, I prod his chest. “I am not most women. I am Antonio Volante’s wife.”
“No, Bella.” He smiles softly. “You’re my queen, and I am going to worship at your feet every single day for the rest of my life.”
Laying my head back down on his chest, I sigh in satisfaction. I’m going to hold him to that.