Chapter 21
Ava
The first thing I noticed was the smell—bitter and burnt, like coffee. It clung to the damp air, mixing with the sharp, salty scent of ocean water.
The second thing I noticed was the pain.
My wrists burned, rubbed raw from the zip ties biting into my skin. My cheek stung from where I’d been shoved into the van, my ribs ached from the struggle.
I was sober as fuck now.
Getting kidnapped and thrown into a van could do that to a person—especially after watching one of your favorite cousins get shot. I was sure Dre was okay. I saw the bullet enter and exit his shoulder. He’d survived more than a few bullet wounds already.
My pretty white dress was torn and dirty. I thought the worst thing that could happen at my forced wedding was actually being forced to get married, but my luck was shit—so of course, I was taken.
I sat still, heart hammering in my chest, breathing slow. Controlled. If I let the fear take hold, I’d lose.
So I stayed quiet.
I kept my head down, kept my eyes forward. Didn’t speak. Didn’t beg.
A man—tan, squat, and balding with a stereotypical amount of gold jewelry—lorded over me in a too-tight suit. He smelled good, though. Expensive. Breathing him in helped me stay calm. I didn’t see the other men, but I could hear them. He wasn’t alone. We were in a warehouse full of crates.
“You know why you’re here, don’t you?”
I didn’t answer.I didn't know either.
His chair scraped against the concrete as he leaned closer.
“You’re the reason my son is dead.”
I lifted my eyes to his.
"The man who was shot yesterday? I didn’t ask Luciano to kill your son."
His face twisted with fury, and a memory of him being there the night my mother was killed clicked in my head.
I swallowed, keeping my gaze locked on his. “I remember you.” I said it almost absentmindedly, recognition hitting me hard. It was the kind of memory that stays buried until the person’s face is right in front of you. Like a ghost stepping into the light.
His head tilted.
“You were there,” I said quietly. “When my mother was murdered. You pulled me from under the bed. Your name is Matteo.”
Recognition lit his eyes.
“You know I have no reason to want to be here,” I whispered. “I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t tell him to kill your son.”
I saw it coming before it happened but couldn't avoid it.
The back of his hand cracked across my face.
"Fuck!" Pain exploded through my skull, my head snapping to the side. My vision blurred. My cheek burned.
A sob tore from my throat before I could stop it.
I had never had a man hit me—never had anybody hit me so hard. The rage in my chest made me feel unhinged.
I laughed, with tears running from my eyes. I don’t know if it was because laughing was easier than crying, or because the situation was so fucked, that all I could do was let the hysteria I was feeling crawl up my throat and spill out.
I tasted blood, the copper tang spreading over my tongue, but I ignored it.
I met his eyes.
“Luciano is going to kill you,” I said confidently. I didn’t know Luciano outside the handful of encounters we shared, but in two of them, he had protected me. Even if I died there today, I knew Luciano was going to kill him.
His jaw clenched.
“You think I’m afraid of that little psychopath?”
I smiled, feeling blood paint my teeth.
“You should be.”
“Luciano is not God, Ava.”
The words slithered from his lips like a taunt.
I licked the blood from my split lip and stared back at him.
“I know. God is merciful.” My voice was calm, quiet. Absolute.
The second slap came faster and more brutal than the first. A fresh wave of pain exploded across my cheekbone, my ears rang. My breath hitched, but I didn’t cry out this time. I wouldn’t give him that again.
He grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked my head back, forcing me to look up at him. My scalp burned, my neck straining, but I held his gaze.
“I plan to call him and tell him exactly where I’m keeping you. I want him to come,” he crooned, voice thick with something dark, breath rancid. “I want him to walk through that door, thinking he’s some fucking savior. I want to watch his face when he sees what I’ve done to you. And then—” his grip twisted harder, sending sharp pain through my scalp, “I’m going to kill you slow. Right in front of him.”
His lips curled.
“It’ll splinter the little mute freak. Rip him apart from the inside out.” He chuckled, deep and vile. “And maybe, just maybe, I’ll let him live after. Let him walk away with another woman he couldn’t protect to mourn. Just like his mother. Just like before.”
I wanted to spit in his face.
“Enjoy breathing while you still can,” he snarled.
Then he was gone.
I waited. Counted to ten. Then twenty. Listened.
I shifted in the chair. Twisted my wrists, ignoring the bite of the rope.
I barely got one wrist free when the door creaked open.
I froze.
A woman stepped inside—a Black woman, my age. Then I realized it was Saint’s wife. Luciano had introduced us at the beginning of the reception. She said she would talk to me later. She was gorgeous, plump but a size or two smaller than me, skin a shade or two lighter. She was wearing a flowy blue dress with a split up the side.
I tensed. My eyes fell to her belly. I remembered—she was pregnant.
I opened my mouth to tell her to leave.
She brought a finger to her lips.
“Shh.”
My words caught in my throat.
She stepped closer, crouching down, eyes scanning the room.
Then, softly—
“I’m Saint’s wife. Aria.”
My brain stuttered.
I blinked at her, struggling to process why she was there.
“I remembered. Why are you here, pregnant?”
I licked my split lip. “I called our husbands and told them where we’re at?”
“He’s on his way,” she said.
My stomach twisted, but I sighed. Rage-filled, merciless Luciano was on his way.
I shook my head. “You shouldn’t be here.” I looked pointedly at her stomach. “Go before you get hurt. I can handle whatever happens.”
Aria chuckled, crouching lower. “Oh, you are sweet as sugar, just like Luciano said you were and brave, but this world is going to eat you alive.” She tittered.
I stiffened.
Her lips curled. “Tied to a chair, bruised and bloody, and you’re worried about me? I’m the one with a gun.”
I exhaled shakily. “How did you even get here?”
Aria smirked. “I followed the van that took you.”
Before I could respond, we both heard it—
A door, far off in the warehouse. Footsteps.
She moved faster than a pregnant woman should be able to, pressing a finger to her lips again before she disappeared behind a stack of barrels.
I heard boots on concrete.
A shadow stretched across the floor, and then Matteo stepped back into the dim light.
And he wasn’t alone. My heart sped up to a rate that couldn’t have been healthy.