Chapter 13
“Can you at least tell me where we’re going?” I ask when I realize the plane is landing for the second time in just a few hours.
The first stop I understood; it was for refueling. But now, I have no idea what comes next.
The man who bought me looks at me in silence for a long while.
For people like me—anxious, restless—silence is the worst poison.
It gnaws at me, and I don’t know how to handle it. I’d rather fight, argue, than endure indifference.
The man across from me is as cold as a block of ice.
While I pretended to sleep during the first leg of the trip, I overheard him on the phone. I couldn’t make out the words, but I think he was speaking to the person responsible for getting me out of Angelo’s hands.
My first impression of my “buyer,” the one I now know is called Abaddon, proved true: he wasn’t the one who planned to take me from the Sicilians, or at least not the one most invested in it.
“Italy,” he says simply.
“Am I a prisoner?”
“No. But you’re not free to leave, either.”
I swallow hard, not sure what that means.
“Are you going to use me somehow?” I ask the question that’s been haunting me since the plane took off in the U.S. “You said you were an enemy of my enemy. That doesn’t make you, or whoever you’re working with, the good guys.”
“It doesn’t.”
“You’re infuriating with those one-word answers,” I snap, tossing prudence aside.
If I keep bottling up my emotions like this, I’ll end up having a heart attack. The anxiety is pounding so hard I feel like I can’t breathe.
“You’ll be safe in Italy, Elodie. And then, when we decide it’s safe to let you go, you’ll be free to live your life.”
“Are you a man of your word, Abaddon?” He looks surprised that I know his name, so I explain, “I heard the flight attendant call you that.”
He studies me more closely before finally answering.
“Yes, I am a man of my word. The fate that awaited you with Angelo and your supposed protector would have been worse than death, Elodie. Me and the one who hired me, we aren’t heroes. But believe me when I say we’re your best—no, your only option right now.”
My stomach flips when the plane lands, because this time, I know it’s final.
Whatever it means, I’ve reached my destination.
It doesn’t feel good. I hate surprises when my safety is at stake. I fought too long to protect myself and Amber, and now it feels like freedom and choice are slipping through my fingers.
I unfasten the seat belt, not because I want to but because Abaddon is watching me, making it clear without a word that’s exactly what he expects. I have no other choice.
I stand and wipe my sweaty palms on the jeans I was given along with several other pieces of clothing.
He told me as soon as we left the U.S. that a suitcase was waiting in the plane’s suite.
I didn’t wait for him to say more. I ran to the room, locked the door, and headed straight for the bathroom.
After scrubbing my skin raw in the shower, I opened the suitcase and put on clean panties, jeans, and a white linen sweater. I’d spent days wearing nothing but a short pajama set, another way to remind me of how vulnerable I was in their hands.
I felt exposed, but I didn’t fight it. I learned young to choose which battles to fight.
Now that I’m dressed again, I feel better. The clothes aren’t for those bastards’ satisfaction. They give me the illusion that I’m once again a woman who can decide her own fate, even though, deep down, I know that’s still not true. Either way, my confidence has crept back, just a little.
The jeans are tight around my hips, a “gift” from our mother that both Amber and I inherited: an hourglass body that, whether I like it or not, catches men’s eyes.
I notice my sneaker lace has come undone. I crouch to retie it and linger longer than necessary. I’d tie and retie it forever if it meant not facing whoever is waiting for me outside.
“You don’t need to worry about your luggage. Someone will take it for you.”
“Like I’m a guest?”
“What?”
“You heard me. Don’t pretend I’m headed to some resort. No matter what you’ve said, or that I’m supposedly safe from death, I’m still a prisoner.”
“Yes, you are,” he admits, surprising me with his honesty. “But not in the way you think, Elodie. You weren’t even supposed to be in Italy. Consider today your lucky day.”
“Yeah, that’s me. The luckiest woman alive.”
“He won’t hurt you.”
“Who’s ‘he?’”
“A Good Samaritan.”
“Of course. And next you’ll introduce me to the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus.”
“You’ve got a sharp tongue for someone in such a vulnerable position.”
“I’m done pretending. I’ve been doing that my whole life. I need something real.”
Without waiting for his reply, and clinging to the courage I’ve always carried inside me, I take the lead and step out of the plane.
For a moment, the sunlight blinds me.
I’ve been locked away in a windowless room for too many days.
Gradually, my eyes adjust to the green landscape, but I barely have time to take it in before I notice the car parked a few meters away.
The door opens, and a man in a suit and tie steps out.
I can’t see his face yet, but I don’t need to in order to know he’s the one who ordered they bring me here.
A shiver of fear runs through me, and Abaddon’s words echo in my mind: He won’t hurt you.
I take deep breaths, trying to calm my racing heart. When I sense someone behind me—Abaddon, surely—I start moving.
I descend the stairs much like I walked the auction stage.
This time, though, my head is held high, eyes fixed on the man waiting for me.
His hands are in his trouser pockets. He’s confident but not aggressive. That alone unsettles me.
No matter what Abaddon said, I was expecting another Angelo.
I reach the ground, and though I know it’s reckless, I keep walking straight toward the stranger. If he expects a scared little girl, I won’t give him that satisfaction.
And then, finally, I see his face.
I didn’t plan on standing still, staring at his features, but I can’t move.
I meant to show disgust, to glare at the arrogant man who had me dragged into another country against my will.
But there’s something about him that holds me captive.
I don’t know if it’s the strong, square jaw or the piercing blue eyes. Maybe the thick blond hair. Or maybe it’s all of it together, comprising a man completely at ease with himself, fully aware of his own power.
He is the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.
I didn’t count on the fierce, instant attraction that floods me. I have to force myself to hate him.
I shake my head, fighting to regain control. I’ve fallen for a handsome face before.
I believed Angelo’s good looks and false charm meant he was some kind of modern-day prince.
I won’t make that mistake twice.