Chapter Four
Alessia
Marco turned twenty-five today. The evening air was cool as we sat in the backyard of his sprawling beach house.
He had insisted on an intimate celebration with just the two of us.
The backyard glimmered with soft lights and flickering candles.
The glow reflected off the sleek black dress I’d chosen to wear at the last minute, a gentle breeze brushed against my legs, adding to the serene atmosphere.
Marco had put effort into making this special.
Yet, beneath the charm of the setting, something felt off.
He sat across from me, his expression strained despite the elegance he exuded. His brown hair, tousled from his restless fingers, framed a distracted face. His floral-patterned sleeveless shirt hinted at ease, but his tense demeanor said otherwise.
The tension hung thick in the air, broken only by the clink of his wineglass. He drained his second glass in less than ten minutes. I set my glass down, deciding to speak.
“The food is amazing,” I said, gesturing to the gnocchi and gelato served by his chef.
Marco offered a faint smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it.” His gaze drifted to the bag at my feet. “Is that my birthday present?”
It wasn’t his gift, but the red dress he sent earlier. I didn’t wear it.
“No, I—” My words were cut short by the sudden chime of his phone.
We both froze. I expected him to silence it, but instead, he pushed his chair back.
“Excuse me,” he murmured, disappearing into the house.
Left alone, I pulled out the small black box from my handbag and placed it on the table. Inside was a wristwatch, something I’d thought would suit him. Wealthy men always appreciated watches, didn’t they? Smiling, I straightened in my chair, ready to surprise him when he returned.
But when he came back, he wasn’t alone. His two bodyguards trailed behind, their presence radiating tension. Marco looked almost panicked, as if in a hurry.
“Marco?” I stood, concern sharpening my voice. He stopped before me. I could feel the heat of his breath.
“You need to leave,” he said as he grabbed my handbag and handed it to me.
“What’s going on?” I asked, gripping his wrist before he could step away.
“I don’t have time to explain this,” He whispered, his hands cradling my face with an intimacy that only deepened my confusion. “Trust me, okay?” His lips brushed my forehead. “Go.”
Before I could respond, his guards closed in. They gripped my arms, almost bruising, and dragged me toward the back gate.
“Wait.” I turned to one, writhing in their hold. My shoes scraped against the pavement as I struggled. “Marco.”
“It’s dangerous here,” one of them muttered.
Panic surged as he hoisted me over his broad shoulder, the world tilting violently. I beat my fists against the man’s back, but he didn’t flinch.
“Put me down,” I shouted, my voice ringing out into the darkness. “I can walk.”
The farther we moved from the glowing lights of Marco’s house, the heavier the dread became.
Darkness closed in around us until the sharp cracks of gunfire shattered the night.
The bodyguard dumped me on the sand, and pain jolted through my body as I landed.
Disoriented, I tried to get up, but the sight of Marco’s bodyguards standing at attention froze me.
They had drawn their guns and aimed at a figure emerging from the darkness.
The man stood a few feet from where we were, a cigarette between his fingers. His posture was relaxed, but his presence was anything but. Danger radiated from him. Though his face was obscured, his aura screamed authority.
I shuffled backward, desperate to distance myself. Yet my breath caught when the sound of a gunshot tore through the air. One of Marco’s guards crumpled to the ground with a sickening thud.
The second guard tensed, but I couldn’t bear to look. Terror rooted me in place as the distant figure took a slow drag of his cigarette, unbothered.
Run, Alessia.
I tried to move, but fear had stolen my strength. Another shot rang out, and silence followed.
Footsteps approached until they stopped right behind me. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself to disappear.
“I knew I’d meet you again,” a deep voice drawled.
My blood turned to ice.
That voice. It was familiar, but I couldn’t place it.
“Now,” he continued, “be a good girl and lead the way.”
My limbs felt like lead. I couldn’t move.
“Very well,” he murmured, stepping closer until his presence loomed over me.
The scent of cigarettes mixed with his cologne met my nose. His chest pressed against my back as his hand moved to my face.
“You didn’t wear the dress,” he said, his words laced with quiet menace. “That bruised my pride.”
Before I could respond, a cloth covered my nose and mouth. I thrashed, clawing at his hand, but my strength ebbed. Darkness swept over me, pulling me under.
The cool air grazed my shoulder, sending a shiver down my spine. I searched the bed for something to protect myself from the chill. I found a sheet and pulled it over me.
A contented groan escaped my lips as I inhaled an unfamiliar scent lingering on the pillow.
The breeze picked up, flowing through the open window and carrying with it the fresh, salty tang of the ocean.
I couldn’t bring myself to leave Marco’s bed.
It was so comfortable, and for a moment, I longed to stay there, lost in the warmth and peace it offered.
But my stomach rumbled, pulling me back to reality.
I sat up, a flicker of unease settling in. Why didn’t my thighs hurt? Carina had said the first time would be painful. I racked my brain trying to piece together the events of last night—fragments of the romantic birthday dinner with Marco, the bodyguards, and the... attack.
The attack.
“Marco,” I yelled, my voice sharp with panic. My eyes darted around the unfamiliar room. This wasn’t my room, nor Marco’s, nor Carina’s.
Where was I?
As memories rushed back, my hand instinctively went to my nose.
I remembered a man pressing a cloth over my nose.
My heart skipped a beat. A rush of fear flooded me.
I pulled the sheet up to my chest, realizing my black dress was gone, replaced by the red underwear.
Someone had undressed me. The realization made my skin crawl.
Desperation spurred me to stand, but I froze, the sheet draping loosely around me. I wanted to scream, but no sound left my throat.
A deep voice broke the silence.
“There is a dress beside you for a reason.”
I whipped my head toward the source of the voice. The unmistakable Russian accent made my blood run cold. A man sat on the other side of the room by the open window facing the ocean.
The harsh beam of sunlight shining through the window veiled his face. I squinted, trying to make out his features. He stood, and my breath hitched.
Was he going to kill me now? He took a step toward me, his movements slow and calculated. My chest tightened, and I could feel the panic rising. I clutched the covers tighter. He wore the same suit I remembered from that night.
He was calm, almost too calm. I didn’t understand why he was after me. It couldn’t have been because of our brief encounter at the lingerie shop. He stopped in front of me, and I pressed my thighs shut.
“What did I do?” I managed to ask.
“Wear the dress,” he said, his gaze shifting toward the red dress laid out on the edge of the bed.
Realization struck me. He was the one who sent it, not Marco.
“Unless you want us to talk with only your underwear on,” He added, his eyes sweeping over me, lingering just long enough to make my skin flush. “That I would also appreciate.”
The words stung, and I stepped back. “Did you touch me?”
His expression remained impassive. “That is unnecessary. Now,” He glanced at his wristwatch, then back at me, his gaze as cold as ever. “I have questions, and you’ll provide the answers.”
He sat down across from me, crossing his arms. The movement seemed casual, yet I could feel the weight of his authority pressing down on me.
“How much do you know about Marco?” he asked.
I wasn’t in any state to answer. My mind was racing. Did he touch me? Did he kill Marco? Why did he send me the dress and lingerie? So the red underwear he bought was for me? Who was this man?
He raised an eyebrow, his patience running thin. “I asked a question.”
“No.” I shook my head. “I don’t.”
My voice came out as a whisper. My eyes wandered to the bedside table, where a black knife rested.
“How well do you know Marco?” he asked again, his voice taking on a dangerous edge.
“He … he was just my boyfriend, I swear. I didn’t do anything.” I tried to maintain my composure despite the anxiety building inside me. “Did he do something to you?”
His gaze didn’t falter, but there was something darker in it. Something more dangerous. His fist clenched, and I noticed the rings glinting on his fingers. Each ring had a single letter on it: A.R.T.U.R.
Artur: The exact name etched onto the knife. I swallowed, a feeling of urgency sweeping over me. But before I could say anything, the door burst open.
I jumped, falling onto the bed and clutching the covers tighter around myself. A man shoved a woman into the room, and she stumbled to her knees. She looked to be in her late thirties, with her mouth sealed, and her hands bound in front of her.
Tears welled in her eyes as she looked up at me, and I recoiled. I recognized her as the chef who served us at Marco’s place.
Artur, if that was his name, stood and grabbed the knife. He sat back down, his eyes never leaving me.
Panic surged through me. I hated that look.
“I don’t understand what you want,” I cried out.
“Answers,” Artur replied.
“Marco…” I swallowed. “Marco and I have only been dating for three months. We—I know nothing about him. We only dated for three months.”
“How well do you know him?” Artur asked again, the knife still rolling between his fingers.
I couldn’t tear my gaze away from the deadly weapon.
“Not so well,” I admitted, my voice shaking.
“Wrong answer.”
In an instant, Artur hurled the knife across the room. A loud thud echoed through the air, and my breath caught in my throat.
The chef’s body hit the floor with brutal finality. Blood pooled around her as her lifeless eyes stared blankly at the ceiling. The sight made my stomach churn.
“Now,” Artur said, his tone colder than ever. “where does he live?” Before I could answer, he added, “The beach house wasn’t his.”
I froze. How could I have known that? It was my second time at his place, and Marco behaved as if he owned the place.
“I only know the beach house,” I replied, tears welling in my eyes. “That’s the only place I know, I swear.”
Artur’s eyes narrowed. “He knows your father.”
“Yes, yes,” I said quickly, desperation creeping into my voice. “He was in my father’s office when we met. I don’t know their relationship.”
His gaze hardened, and he stood up, a dark smile curling at the corners of his lips.
“Your family is my enemy,” he said, his voice laced with venom. “Just the people I needed. We’ll see how fast your parents can set you free.”
The smile he gave me was chilling. It was darker than his suit, and I hated it more than anything else.