4. Carmen
Chapter 4
Carmen
I am, quite frankly, very, very bored with being moved around and manhandled against my will.
Truly, I’ve almost lost count of all the times I’ve been tied up and shoved into the back of a car. It’s probably a smart move on the Prince’s Guild’s part to have kept me moving this long.
But this time, they made the mistake of telling me where they’re taking me.
“If you think for one second I’m going to willingly get on a plane without screaming up a storm, you are sorely mistaken.”
Embarrassingly, despite being blindfolded, I knew it was Dante who got into the car the second he closed the door, effectively trapping his scent inside.
I tell myself that the man had been too close to me that night he kidnapped me. And with little else to do these last few days other than plot my escape attempts, it was perfectly normal to ruminate on certain details.
His scent has stuck with me only because my mother used to wear amber, and the note is familiar. It invokes hazy memories of ballgowns and vanities that I haven’t thought about in the fifteen years since her death.
“I was really hoping we could do this the easy way.” Dante sounds detached and irritated, a far cry from the flirt who threw me over his shoulder with ease.
I remember then how he sounded in that conference room, too—like this entire ordeal was some kind of inconvenience. Vaguely, I wonder if he likes this situation any more than I do. If I can somehow use that to my advantage.
“You really think the TSA is going to let you drag me through security?” I bite back.
“Nope,” he pops the “p”, and the car lurches to one side, launching me awkwardly against the door. “They’ll let me through with an unconscious woman in desperate need of medical attention, though.”
Fury rallies in my veins. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Oh, I absolutely would,” he replies entirely seriously. “I’d just prefer it if you did this willingly. Saves me the headache.”
I don’t trust the fact he’s giving me a choice one bit.
“What’s stopping me from just saying I’ll play along and then causing havoc at the most inconvenient opportunity?”
Dante lets out a sigh that promptly turns into a groan. “See, now I’m just going to have to drug you. You could have just kept your mouth shut, but no.”
“You’re kidnapping me to an entirely different country. What else do you expect me to do?”
“Have the common sense to have at least a little self-preservation!” he snaps right back.
The car comes to an abrupt stop, and I listen intently as Dante throws the car open and slams it back shut. It takes about two seconds for the door I’m leaning against to jerk open, and I shriek as I try to regain my balance.
A firm hand steadies me by the shoulder, and a moment later, the bag is removed from my head.
I blink as my pupils adjust to the sudden onslaught of evening light and, perhaps, more annoyingly, Dante’s face glaring down at me.
“I’m going to give you one last opportunity to behave yourself,” his dark eyes offer no room for compromise. “You might be nothing more than a spoiled, naive little princess who probably deserves it. But I am not the kind of man that goes around tranquilizing women.”
“Just the kind of man that kidnaps them from their own homes, is that it?” I spit right back. “You’re still a fucking creep.”
Something hardens in his expression as the grip on my shoulder tightens. He moves forward, crowding me so that our faces are mere inches apart.
“Let me make one thing very clear to you,” his voice is no louder than a whisper, but its sheer dominance sends a shudder down my spine. “I am already so fucking close to gagging you until Leon decides you’re worthy of his time again.”
I feel a breath catching somewhere in my lungs, not quite able to escape under the ferocity of his gaze.
“That could be weeks. It could be months. So don’t push me, princess. Keep your cheeky little remarks to yourself because it’s just me and you. There’s no one left to protect you, now.” He finally lowers his gaze to grab something I can’t quite see.
There’s a retort on the tip of my tongue until he looks at me again, and I’m entirely frozen in fear.
Then I feel it.
The sharp prick in the side of my neck.
Dante withdraws the syringe quickly, discarding it and pressing something firmly to the entry point.
Immediately, darkness begins to creep into the corner of my vision, and my dramatically racing pulse begins to slow. Vaguely, I’m aware of my mouth opening and closing. I can hear someone gasping, but it feels so far away.
My sole focus is on understanding the next words out of his mouth.
“You don’t want me as your enemy.”
* * *
Delirium is a funny thing.
Biologically speaking, I know what’s happening to my body. But up until this point, it’s always been theoretical.
The drug suppressed my nervous system, but now the tranquilizer is wearing off. The return to awareness is slow—like trying to swim through syrup. My muscles are stiff, and my body feels heavy, almost disconnected.
Everything seems to be trying to reboot; it just can’t seem to figure out how to do it all at once. It’s disorienting, like flipping the power back on after a blackout, except it’s still foggy outside.
The first thing I’m aware of is the vibrations beneath my body. The low hum of an engine that seems far deeper and louder than a car.
A plane.
I’m on a plane.
The second thing I’m aware of is a body next to mine.
It smells like amber, which is nice. Amber is nice, it’s safe. It’s ballroom dancing and giggles on my mother’s knee as we make faces in her vanity mirror.
Only this amber is from someone else.
Through cracked eyes, I can make out a jaw. A strong jaw. A nice, strong jaw. With stubble. Dark and thick, either several days old or groomed to appear so.
It suits him and his pretty face. His pretty, manly face.
I’ve met men before. Obviously. But men usually have better things to do, like grovel at my father’s feet or address my father when they’re talking to me. My body has always belonged to the Cartel, and men have learned not to covet it.
There were boys at my college, of course. Lots of them, and lots of them interested in the bioengineering major with the grace of a ballroom dancer who liked riding horses and rejecting romantic advances.
But it was always important that I stayed a virgin. The only reason I could attend college in the first place was because I swore I would remain pure during my entire tenure. It was expected. It’s always been expected.
Because one day, I’d need to be married. Anything less than purity would be a disgrace.
That day would have come a lot sooner had the man next to me not kidnapped me when he did.
It’s strange looking at him now through my delirium without the constraints of anger or my apparent lack of self-preservation.
He has very nice arms.
They seem to tense a little under my gaze. It’s almost funny.
Actually, it is funny. I think I should laugh.
“Jesus Christ,” someone says. This makes me laugh a little harder.
I’m still laughing when I feel a slight prick in my neck.
Then, all the progress my body made in an attempt to wake up quickly reverts, and I’m drawn back into the darkness.
* * *
The next time I wake up, it’s the hum of the car engine that pulls me from the haze of sleep. This time, I wait until I’m positively certain my body is entirely functional before opening my eyes.
I blink hard, my eyes adjusting to the golden light spilling through the window. The sharp ache in my shoulders makes me wonder just how long I’ve been asleep as I right myself.
I look out the car window and blink again.
It’s like I’ve woken up in a postcard.
The town before us is tucked into the hillside and bathed in the soft glow of the late morning. Sunlight warms the terracotta roofs and glints off the cobblestone streets below.
The buildings lean together like old friends whispering secrets, painted in muted shades of ochre and dusty rose. Some shutters are painted bright green, while others are thrown open to reveal flower boxes overflowing with geraniums and lavender.
“Where…” I cough to clear my wretched throat. “Where are we?”
Dante glances in the rearview at me, face set in stone. “This is Montecroce. The family has graciously offered to host us, so, for the love of God, do not begin your hysterics again.”
There’s a twinge in my neck that does the threatening for him.
Instead of replying, I continue to stare out the window, taking in every detail I can as we pass through the city gates, the pillars of which look centuries old and are half crumbled, unlike the iron gates themselves that gleam imposingly in the morning sun.
The streets hum with life around us. A baker dusts flour from his hands as he sets fresh loaves on a wooden rack outside his shop. A woman with a basket of oranges chats with an old man seated on a bench, his cane resting by his side.
Children chase each other through the piazza, their laughter rising like music above the murmured conversations of the townsfolk. It’s idyllic—a quiet rhythm that feels like it’s been playing for centuries.
We pass a fountain in the center of the square, its stone edges worn smooth by time. In the middle, a statue of a saint, weathered but proud, stands with water trickling from the folds of his robe into the basin below.
People pause to dip their hands in or fill small bottles, offering quick prayers before moving on. It doesn’t feel staged or touristy—it feels real, like this is simply how it’s always been.
As the car climbs higher, leaving the piazza behind, I notice something else peaking out above the rooftops. A shadow, almost, that seems to stretch taller and taller the higher we climb.
The streets narrow, and soon, we’re threading through a canopy of tall cypress trees as we turn a final corner.
I blink. I blink again.
A castle.
“What the hell?”
To my surprise, Dante seems to snort back a laugh.
“Welcome to Castello de Ferro .”
I gawp like an idiot as the castle rises into view. Its dark stone walls are soft with age, the central tower stretching into the sky, commanding but not oppressive. It feels timeless, rooted in the land as if it grew there rather than being built.
“You can’t be serious,” I whisper as Dante pulls right up to the front door without so much as a whisper from the guards patrolling the perimeter.
He kills the engine and pauses for a moment.
I watch intently as his knuckles whiten on the steering wheel. The muscles in his jaw work overtime as he stares up at the massive wooden entranceway.
Interesting.
“It’s not too late to turn around,” I hedge quietly.
He shoots me a dark look as if irritated that I read him so well. He rights himself quickly, throwing back his shoulders and cracking his neck.
The next time he looks at me, it’s with that patronizing little smile.
“Come now, princess. Your dungeon awaits.”