Chapter 4
RAFE
The moment they drag her into the villa's main hall, I see all I need to see. She's loud and obnoxious. But under it, under all the noise and the show, I pick up the real thing. Panic, coiled up tight. It's in her eyes, darting around the room, searching for an exit.
She's scared.
I stay put in my chair, a heavy piece of furniture in a big, empty room. I let the silence grow.
She fights Enzo's grip. Not hard, just enough to show she's still trying to write her own story. Still trying to believe she runs this show. It's a sad little effort, though I expected it.
"You need to let me go," she calls out. "I don't know who the hell you think you are, or what kind of sick game this is, but this is kidnapping. This is illegal. My people will be looking for me. They'll know I'm missing. You can't do this."
Enzo doesn't even react. He just guides her to stop right in front of me to let her fear simmer while I watch.
She stares, then blinks fast. Her gaze runs over my face, my suit, the room itself. She's trying to put it together, trying to make sense of what's happening, and she can't. She recognized me immediately from her video, but she's trying to hide it.
"Who are you?" she asks, her tough act wobbling at the edges. "What do you want from me? Who do you think I am?"
I don't answer. Not right away. I push myself up from the chair, slow, deliberate. My eyes never leave hers as I walk closer.
She mentally tries not to step back, but her body gives her away. She backs away from me. An inch. Two inches. Then she catches herself, plants her feet solid, like it means something not to move away from me.
"I want to know exactly what you saw," I say finally. "And more important, I want to know who you told."
She scoffs nervously. "What? When? I was just filming myself for a stupid video. That's what influencers do. It's my job. I don't 'tell' people anything. I post it. To millions of followers." She tries to wave a hand, but it shakes a little.
"You put a tag on the exact spot where you were filming," I tell her.
"You uploaded a video from a drop zone for my organization and filmed a sensitive exchange.
You put faces on camera that weren't yours to put out.
You sent them to a world full of people who look too close, who dig too deep.
The problem's the same whether you tell them or you simply post it.
Now everyone saw something they shouldn't have. And now we have a big fucking problem."
I pause, assessing the tremble in her fingers. She doesn’t understand the game she’s stepped into. But maybe she could learn.
“You didn’t just go viral. You turned on a floodlight in the darkest corner of my world. That kind of mistake gets people killed.”
Her lips part, then close. A silent swallow. Now there's real fear. The kind that settles in once the excuses run dry, once her little normal world crumbles. Her act's falling apart now that she's realizing what she did.
"It was an accident," she says, softer. Almost a whine. "I swear. I didn't know what I was filming. I wasn't even looking behind me. I was just looking for the light, for my best angle. For the views. The same thing I do every damn day."
"But others were looking," I say, stepping closer. "Let's talk about your followers. They're strangers with too much time, too many questions. They saw what you missed. They noticed every little thing you didn't. And they started asking questions. Questions we can't let get answered."
Her eyes flicker, searching for something in mine. Mercy, maybe. "You can't really think I meant to… to film something illegal. I don't even know what I filmed. I just saw an expensive car and a cool background. That's all."
"Which is exactly why you're still breathing."
She flinches. The truth, hard and ugly, cuts through all her self-important nonsense.
"Hang on," she says, putting her hands out.
"If this is about signing some paper, whatever crazy legal thing you want, fine.
I'll do it. I'll sign anything. I'll say whatever you want in public.
Just let me go. I won't say a word to anyone, ever.
You have my word. I don't want to be involved in this. "
I let her words hang there, heavy with her desperate hope.
She really thinks this is a negotiation.
She thinks there's a deal, a contract, a performance she can give to get what she wants.
She doesn't get it. Not yet. She still sees the world as if it's her phone screen, where every problem has a quick fix, a filter to hide the ugliness.
"You don't need to sign anything. Because you're not leaving. Not now. Maybe not ever, until I say so."
The words shock her. Her mouth opens, a small, silent gasp, but nothing comes out. Her eyes, wide and disbelieving, jump from my face to Enzo's, then to the silent men by the door. Her perfect little world is breaking apart.
Then, a whisper, a last try at normal: "Excuse me? What did you say?"
"You stay here," I explain. "Until I decide otherwise. You'll have a room. Food. Clothes. Anything you need in here, you'll get. Your phone, for now, is dead. It's no good to you anymore. It's only a problem now."
Her hands curl into fists, nails digging into her skin. "You're out of your mind," she breathes. "You think you can just lock me up in some fancy mansion and call that normal? People don't just vanish."
"You might be surprised how many people in my world just vanish. This is about what happens next. And who's in charge here."
She takes a shaky breath, then another. "I'm not staying here. You don't decide that for me. You have no right. My parents will have you in jail so fast your head will spin, you hear me?"
"But I have decided. And your parents, from what I know, aren't exactly who you say they are, are they? They won't be traveling to Italy looking for you."
Her attention turns to Enzo, as if he's going to help her, give her a secret sign. "Is this a cult? Are you brainwashed? Blink twice if you need help. Seriously, is this a really weird, immersive art project? Is someone filming this?"
Enzo doesn't blink. His face is stoic with years of training.
"You're both crazy," she mutters. "This isn't real. This is some kind of big joke. I know someone's filming this. Right? Where's the hidden camera?" her tone is begging now, desperate for the fake world she knows.
I don't say anything. I let her shuffle through all her little ideas. Let her grab at every familiar thing. And then, I let her see them break, one by one. I watch the light die out with each broken dream.
"You have thirty seconds," I continue. "Tell me why you made the video and who you sent the clip to. Every name. Every online handle. Every app. Every private group chat. I need to know everything."
She stiffens, her eyes snapping back to mine.
A flicker of real terror mixed with her fading defiance.
"I didn't send it to anyone! I uploaded it the same as always.
I don't control what happens after that.
It just goes out into the wild! That's how it works!
Actually, no one knows exactly how it works because that's a huge secret, but in general that's what happens. "
I nod slowly. "Then you stay here until we follow every lead. Every comment. Every view. Every download. We'll follow every crumb, no matter how long it takes. And you stay here, whether you like it or not, until we know there's no danger left."
She laughs again. But this time it breaks, turning into a choked cry.
"You're going to keep me here for what? Weeks?
Months? Until you get bored? Until the internet forgets about me?
That could take years! I have over eight million followers!
The video has already been downloaded thousands of times.
There's no way to get it back. I'll be a wrinkled, old lady with saggy boobs by the time you track every person down. How long will this take?"
"Until it's safe."
"Safe for who?" she demands. "Safe for you? Or safe for your criminal friends?"
I pause, thinking about her question. "Safe for you, if you're lucky."
That shuts her up. For a moment. The meaning hangs in the air, heavy and clear.
Then she says, quieter, her tone barely a whisper, showing something deep inside. "I didn't ask for this. I didn't do anything."
"No one ever does."
Fate doesn't ask permission.
I step back. "Enzo will take you to your room. You'll have time to get used to it. I suggest you do it fast. Fighting back… it's not smart and a waste of energy."
Her mouth moves, trying to speak, but whatever words she had ready, they die in her throat. Strangled by fear.
The QueenNikki act is finally gone.
"Why are you doing this?" she asks. "Why not just… why not just kill me now and get it over with?"
I look at her then. Really look. And for a second, something stirs inside me. Not pity. Never pity. Something sharper. Something like interest.
“Because dead girls can’t answer questions. And I’m not done asking.”