Chapter 85
ALEX
I woke up to the sound of water splashing against the side of the boat.
Thunder boomed so loudly that my heart raced at the sudden bolts striking the water, one after another.
I rolled onto my side, surprised to find my hands and legs free from the shackles—no more blindfolds or bandanas around my mouth.
Someone tapped me on the shoulder, whipping me out of my drug-induced sleep. “Hey,” a woman said. “Are you okay?”
I blinked a few times, attempting to focus on the dark-haired woman in her early twenties.
She had black streaks under her wide blue eyes, but I could tell she was beautiful on a good day.
She had straight hair, whereas mine was curly and wild.
And after days of being drugged and tortured, I must have looked like an animal.
“Where am I?” I sat up and leaned back against the wall.
Like me, she had bruises on her arms and legs. Instead of cuts and deep lacerations, she had welts on her inner thighs and arms from being struck. She looked as if she’d been through the same fucked up shit as me, drugged and thrown around like trash.
“We’re on a ship,” she said.
I rubbed the pain from my sore thighs, avoiding the worst of my cuts. “Yeah, but where are we going?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Men kidnapped me from my house in the middle of the night. It happened so fast. They knocked me out cold.”
“Who are these men?”
“They’re criminals.”
“I got that much,” I shot back. “Have you overheard their conversations? Anything that can help us get out of here?”
She shoved her long hair behind her ears. “No, nothing. They dropped me onto this mattress and locked the door.”
“Have they fed you? Come back to check on you?”
She shook her head.
“How long have you been here?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe a few hours or a few days? They injected me with something right after they left me here.”
“Same for me.”
“I’ve never done drugs,” she muttered as she picked at the rip in her dirty mattress. “I don’t like the feeling of being high.”
“Me too. I feel like shit.” My throat was raw and scratchy as I spoke. “My head is pounding from all the drugs.”
“What’s your name?”
“Alex. What’s yours?”
She forced a smile. “Rhiannon.”
“You must be important to someone if you ended up on this boat.”
“My dad is a bad man with a lot of enemies.” She tucked her bare feet under her butt, eyes on me. “How about you?”
“I’m Luca Salvatore’s fiancée.”
Not officially . He still hadn’t gotten down on one knee and presented me with an engagement ring.
She gasped. “You’re Alexandrea Wellington?” Rhiannon’s face illuminated. “I live in Beacon Bay. I know the Salvatores.”
My mouth dropped in shock. “What’s your last name?”
“O’Shea.”
I’d heard all about the O’Shea family. Her father was the leader of the Irish Mob. Originally from Dublin, Conor O’Shea was a badass motherfucker who ran guns and drugs. They had ties to the Italian Mafia and other criminal organizations and were allies of the Salvatores.
My eyebrows rose at her confession. “You’re Sonny’s cousin?”
“Unfortunately.” Rhiannon laughed. “He’s such a pain in my ass. Sonny calls every Sunday to check on me and tells me I’m not allowed to date.”
I laughed. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-five.” She shook her head and smiled. “He’s an overprotective idiot. If you ask Sonny, I’ll never be old enough to date.”
“I’m guessing your family is looking for you.”
She covered her mouth with her hand and yawned, looking as if she were seconds from falling asleep. “Knowing my dad, he’s already started a war to get me back.”
“I overheard the men discussing getting rid of Luca and their associates. I think we’re here because these men are trying to lure our friends and families to the auction to kill them.”
Her pale blue eyes widened. “Are you sure that’s what they said?”
I nodded. “I thought I was here because Luca killed the wife of an Albanian crime lord. But the men who brought me here stole me from them. The men on this boat are from New York.”
She bit her lip. “If it’s someone our families know, we’re not getting out of here unless they come for us.”
“Luca told me they don’t hold the auction in the same place. He called it Il Circo . It means The Circus in Italian.”
“I’ve heard of it,” she chimed. “My dad was arguing with his men about it the night before they took me.”
“Luca and Marcello will come for me,” I assured her.
She grinned. “Marcello is good at his job.”
I nodded in agreement. “Do you know him well?”
Rhiannon rolled her shoulders against the wall. “We go way back. There’s a long history between us.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “What kind of history?”
“He saved me once.” She blew out a deep breath between her teeth. “But it’s complicated. Our families would never approve of us.”
“You dated Marcello?”
“Nah.” She waved her hand and chuckled. “Nothing that serious. His dad would never allow him to date someone like me. Arlo only pretends to like my father and uses him for favors.”
“Someone like you?”
“A mobster’s daughter,” she clarified.
“Arlo and his sons aren’t exactly on the up and up.”
She snorted. “Yeah, but they’re old money.”
“Not really. The Wellingtons are old money. Luca and Marcello are only the third generation.”
“Compared to my family,” she sighed. “Anyway, Marcello is way out of my league. I knew it would never work between us.”
I leaned forward, dying to know more about Marcello’s past. “How did you meet Marcello?”
He’d told me about his mother, Luca, and his childhood. Even the name of the girl who’d taken his virginity. He never mentioned anyone named Rhiannon. Was she his dirty little secret? Maybe she was right about Arlo not allowing his son to date her.
Rhiannon bit her lip. “He would kill me for telling you this… But who knows if I’ll ever leave this boat alive?”
“Is it that bad?”
She shook her head. “Marcello refused to tell Sonny about us. He said it was a conflict of interest since he’s best friends with my cousins.”
And members of the same secret society .
“Sonny and Marcello are like brothers. Like I mentioned, Sonny is protective of me.”
“I don’t understand why Sonny would care. Marcello is one of the best men I know. He’s loyal and trustworthy.”
“We’ve had our issues,” she said with a forced smile. “Your version of Marcello sounds great, but the one I know is… complicated.”
“So, how did you meet him?”
“At his father’s Midsummer Night’s Dream party.”
I laughed at the irony. “That’s how I met Luca.”
“My dad had begged my uncle for years to get him a meeting with Arlo.”
“Sonny’s dad?”
She nodded. “Of course, Arlo considered my dad beneath him and wasn’t interested in doing business with him. He made it clear his sons were not to associate with me.”
“I understand why Arlo wouldn’t want you with Luca. Our families arranged our marriage. But I thought he only cared about the bloodline of his heir.”
“Arlo expects all of his sons to marry into elite families.”
“I’m the only female from a Founding family of marrying age. Marcello, Damian, and Bastian can marry whoever they want.”
She shook her head. “Not according to Marcello. He’s told no one about us.”
“I’m surprised he would hide this from Sonny. He tells him everything.”
“Usually, yeah. But not about me.” Eyes downcast, she played with the frayed seam of her shirt. “I think Marcello was holding out for you. Just in case you ended it with Luca.”
“How do you know about that?”
“Marcello told me about what happened with you and Luca last year. I’m sorry about your brother, by the way. I heard he was missing.”
“I found him right before I got kidnapped. Talk about the worst timing ever, huh?”
She frowned. “I hope you find your way back to him.”
“You must hate me,” I muttered.
“Not at all. I care about Marcello, but it’s not meant to be. We have too many obstacles to overcome.”
“If we ever get out of here, I could talk to him for you. We’re pretty close.”
“Yeah, I know. Marcello ditched me when he thought he had a shot with you.”
My mouth dropped. “I think it had more to do with his father pushing him. I wouldn’t take it personally.”
“I have plenty of baggage,” she said with sadness in her tone. “I don’t blame him. It was never that serious with us, anyway.”
Her words said one thing, but I got a different impression from Rhiannon.
She seemed upset about Arlo not accepting her family and Marcello keeping her a secret.
I was dying to hear this story from Marcello’s mouth.
He didn’t keep things from me, not even when Luca forced him to stay quiet.
So why did he omit Rhiannon from his life, as if she weren’t significant enough to tell me about her?
“You said Marcello would kill you for telling me. Why?”
“Because the night we met, he killed someone to save me.”
My eyes widened at her confession. “Who?”
“A guy who tried to rape me in the bathroom at the party. He was from a Founding family. His parents are still looking for his body. If anyone ever found out, the Salvatores would lose everything.”
“Who did Marcello kill?”
She chewed the inside of her cheek. “I can’t tell you. I already said too much.”
“So that’s how your dad got into business with Arlo? You used the information to help your father.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers and stretched out her long, thin legs.
“I know it was a shitty thing to do after Marcello saved me from getting raped. I still regret the decision I made. But he was such a jerk afterward. Marcello would always come around, threatening me not to tell anyone. He scared the shit out of me. I never thought I would grow to like him. Besides, my dad needed something from Arlo. I told my dad about what happened. He used the information to his advantage.”
“Marcello is protective of his family. You are a threat to their legacy.”
“Pretty much,” she groaned.
I glanced around the room in search of water. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. My lips were chapped and cracked from dehydration.
Footsteps pounded the deck above us. I wished someone would bring us water or something to eat. It had been too long since my last meal. How could they sell me if I were dead?
I heard a disturbance outside the room. Several men argued so loudly their deep voices sent a chill down my spine. My anxiety intensified with each second that passed. Fear shook through me, the adrenaline commanding control of my body.
The door swung open, and two men stepped inside.
One man carried a food tray, the other dressed in all black with his hands shoved into his pockets.
I flattened my back against the wall as they entered the room.
The man with the food handed Rhiannon a sandwich wrapped in plastic and a bottle of water.
He held out his hand to me. Confused by his gesture, I stared at him and sat still.
“Get up before I throw you over my shoulder.”
He helped me from the mattress and hooked his arm around my back. I glanced at Rhiannon. She peeled back the plastic wrap and bit into the sandwich, her eyes filled with concern. One man stayed behind, while the other forced me to climb a ladder.
He gripped my shoulder and pushed me forward, moving me down the long hall. Hardwood lined the floors, a perfect cherry color that shone when the recessed lights hit it just right. The walls were bright white and decorated with expensive paintings.
At the end of the long hall, we stopped in front of a wooden door.
He knocked, and a man on the other side told him to enter.
Dressed in a black suit, crisp white shirt, and blue pinstripe tie, a handsome middle-aged man sat in an oversized armchair.
He ran a hand through his short, dark hair and smiled when he gazed upon my body.
He held out his hand, gesturing at the table in front of him, full of seafood and different plates of pasta. My stomach rumbled.
“Have lunch with me,” he said.
The man behind me pulled out the chair and forced me to sit. I stared at the man across the table, sizing him up. Powerful men all had the same air about them. They sat with their shoulders squared, their faces full of determination.
He poured a glass of wine and slid it across the table. “Drink up.”
I sipped from the glass, hoping he wasn’t poisoning me. I was so thirsty I didn’t care. The grapes were divine, pure perfection as they hit my tongue.
“Where are you taking me?”
“ Isola del Diavolo ,” he said with a creepy grin.
It translates to Devil Island in Italian.
Heart pounding out of my chest, I choked out, “Who are you?”
He shoved a plate in front of me, lifted two steak knives from the table, and rubbed them together as if trying to sharpen the blades. “My friends call me The Carver,” he said with a crooked grin that sent a shiver down my arms. “Eat, Alexandrea. You’ll need your strength for the finale.”