Chapter 32 Renato
The drive back to the villa is too quiet.
Camilla sits beside me in the passenger seat, staring out at the Italian countryside as we wind through the mountains. She's been silent the entire drive, ever since we left the warehouse where Torretti bled out on concrete.
I keep glancing at her, looking for signs of trauma or psychological damage. Instead, she seems almost thoughtful. Like she's working through a complex equation in her head.
"There's something you need to know," I say, breaking the silence. "About what happened. About why Torretti had you."
She turns to look at me, waiting.
"Alessandro hired him. Your future father-in-law paid Torretti to make you disappear permanently. Either sold into trafficking or killed outright. He didn't care which."
I watch her face carefully, expecting shock or denial. Instead, something that looks almost like confirmation settles in her expression.
"How did you find out?" she asks quietly.
"He called me after Torretti took you. Offered to pay me off to stay quiet about your disappearance. Said it was better for everyone if you just vanished permanently."
"And what did you do?"
"I tracked him down. Matteo had a contact with a warehouse in Rome." I keep my eyes on the road, knowing this next part won't be easy to hear. "I tortured him until he told me where Torretti was holding you. Then I forced him to call Torretti and cancel the deal, arrange the delivery."
"And after?"
"After he made the call, I killed him. Two bullets to the chest."
The silence stretches between us. I expect anger, maybe horror. Instead, she nods slowly.
"That’s good."
"You're not upset?"
"That you killed the man who hired someone to sell me into slavery?" She looks at me like I'm insane. "Why would I be upset about that?"
"Most people would be disturbed by torture and execution."
"Most people haven't been through what I've been through." She turns back to the window. "Alessandro tried to have me murdered or sold to rapists. You made him pay for it. That seems fair."
The calm acceptance in her voice is unsettling. This isn't the reaction of a traumatized victim. This is something else entirely.
"The villa should be safe," I continue, trying to return to safer ground. "Security has swept it twice while we were gone. No one has been near the property."
She nods but doesn't respond.
"I know returning there might be difficult. Where Kozlov... where you had to..." I struggle with the words. "We can go somewhere else if you prefer. I have other properties."
"No." Her voice is steady. "The villa is fine."
"Are you sure? There might still be evidence of what happened in the salon."
"Blood, you mean." She turns to look at me. "From when I drove a fountain pen through a man's throat."
The matter-of-fact way she says it catches me off guard. No trauma, no revulsion. Just clinical assessment of facts.
"Yes. The cleanup crew worked fast, but there might be stains."
"I'm not fragile, Renato. I won't break because I see bloodstains from a man who deserved to die."
Her composure should reassure me. Instead, it makes me uneasy. This isn't how victims usually respond to rescue.
"What exactly is my status now?" she asks suddenly. "Am I returning to the villa as your guest? Your lover? Your prisoner?"
"You're..." I hesitate, realizing I haven't thought this through clearly. "You're under my protection. Safe and free to make your own choices."
"Free." She laughs, but there's no humor in it. "That's an interesting word coming from you."
"Camilla, you're not my prisoner anymore."
"Anymore. That's the operative word here, isn't it?" She studies my face. "Tell me something, Renato. The auction. How serious were you about actually selling me? Because from where I was standing, you seemed pretty damn serious."
The question I've been dreading. I keep my eyes on the road, buying time.
"The auction needed to serve multiple purposes."
"That's not what I asked." Her voice sharpens. "Were you actually planning to sell me to Kozlov? To Al-Rashid? To let them take me away?"
I can feel her stare boring into me, demanding honesty.
"The auction was... a negotiating tactic. The buyers were real, the interest was genuine. But the families needed to believe the threat was real enough to pay."
"You mean it was fake."
The silence stretches while I think how to explain. "Not entirely fake. But I never intended to actually complete a sale."
She goes very still, very quiet. "Pull the car over."
"Camilla—"
"Pull the fucking car over! Now!"
I find a scenic overlook and stop the car. Below us, Lake Maggiore stretches like glass. She gets out without a word. I follow, watching as she walks to the stone barrier.
"You bastard." Her voice is deadly quiet when she turns to face me. "You lying, manipulative bastard."
"I can explain."
"Explain what? How you put me through weeks of psychological torture for no reason? How you made me believe I was going to be sold to rapists when it was all a damn lie?"
"The families needed to believe it was real."
"I don't care what the families needed to believe!" The explosion comes, raw and devastating. "What about what I needed? What about what you put me through?"
"I was protecting you."
"By terrorizing me? By making me think I was going to be gang-raped by strangers? By forcing me to submit to training for buyers who didn't exist?" She's shaking with rage. "Do you have any idea what you did to me?"
"The training was necessary to maintain the illusion."
"The training was you getting off on playing with your captive. Admit it."
"That's not—"
"Yes, it is. You wanted to touch me, to control me, to make me beg and submit, so you created this elaborate fantasy where it was all for my protection." Her laugh is bitter. "When really, it was just you satisfying your obsession. You’re sick!"
"You don't understand."
"What's to fucking understand? What about me? What about lying in my bed thinking about how Kozlov was going to rape me? What about standing in that salon while those men examined me?"
"I would never have let—"
"You did let them! He assaulted me. You were right there, Renato. You didn't protect me. I needed you more than I ever needed anyone and you let him touch me."
She's right. God help me, she's right. When it mattered, I didn't protect her enough.
"It was never supposed to go that far, I swear. I killed them to keep it from going further."
"But I didn't know it wasn't supposed to get that far. You made sure I didn't know that!" She's shouting now. "You let me think I was going to be sold into slavery while you got to play the conflicted captor!"
"The families had to believe it was real."
"Stop trying to pretend it was about the fucking money. Did you just enjoy having complete power over me?" Her eyes are filled with angry tears threatening to spill over. "Did you like watching me break down and rebuild myself for your pleasure?"
The truth in her words cuts deep. Because she's right again. I did enjoy the power. I did use the training as an excuse to have her in ways I couldn't otherwise justify.
"I never meant for you to suffer."
"How long were you planning to keep lying to me?" Her tears are falling now and she wipes them from her cheeks.
"I don't know."
"You don't know. Of course you don't. Because this was about you wanting to own me and being too much of a coward to admit it."
"That's not true."
"Yes, it is. And the worst part? Despite everything, I was starting to believe you might actually care about me."
The confession stops my heart. "I do care about you."
"No, you care about possessing me. There's a difference." She turns away from me. "God, I'm such an idiot. I actually thought what happened between us might’ve meant something."
"It did."
"It means you're a very good actor. All those moments where you seemed conflicted, where you looked like selling me was tearing you apart. That was all performance, wasn't it?"
"No. The conflict was real. The feelings were real."
"The auction was fake, the buyers were fake, the training was fake. Why should I believe anything else was real?"
I have no answer. Nothing that would make any difference now.
"Save your excuses and take me back to the villa," she says. "I'm exhausted and I need time to think."
"Camilla, please—"
"There's nothing to explain. You lied to me for weeks while putting me through hell." She meets my eyes. "That's the truth, isn't it?"
I want to deny it, want to find words that could make her understand. But looking at her face—the betrayal, the hurt, the fury—I realize there are no words that could justify what I've done.
"Yes," I say quietly. "That's the truth."
She nods like I've confirmed something she already knew. "Then we understand each other perfectly."
The drive back to the villa is silent. But this time, it's not the comfortable quiet of recovery. It's the cold silence of trust shattered beyond repair.
I rescued her from traffickers, eliminated threats to her safety, moved heaven and earth to bring her home.
And in doing so, I've lost her completely.
She's safe now and free.
Free to hate me for the rest of her life.
And I have no one to blame but myself.