Chapter 30
After Emilio’s threat, do I even want to know the truth?
Ignorance is sometimes bliss.
Emilio stands and pulls his phone from his pocket. I stay slouched against the tree. My legs couldn’t stand even if I begged them to.
“Hey,” he says into the phone. “It’s Emilio. No one can get in touch with Andre, and we have an emergency.”
He nods, scratching his jaw, and moves out of earshot.
Who the hell is Andre?
He paces between two trees before finally shoving his phone back into his pocket and returning to me.
“Come on,” he says.
“Where are we going?” I eye him warily. “How are we getting home?”
“We’re not going home.”
“Then where are we going?”
“You’ll find out when we get there.”
I sigh, still not moving. “Are we walking?”
“We have a ride coming, but we need to meet them in a neighborhood about half a mile away.”
My shoulders curl forward as I use the tree to brace myself and stand. My body screams in protest.
“Do you want me to carry you again?” There’s an unexpected sincerity in his tone.
I shake my head. As exhausted as I am, he has to be even more so.
We walk silently under the full moon. When we meet a narrow road, I look each way, as if expecting the men who chased us to appear.
Emilio leads us into a neighborhood and straight to a parked black Suburban. He opens the back door and gestures for me to get in. I sink into the seat, my body relaxing. He slides in beside me.
“Emilio,” the older man behind the wheel says as he pulls onto the road. He has a deep smoker’s voice.
Emilio gives him a single head nod and tugs his phone from his pocket. His jaw tenses as he texts.
I stare at the back of the driver’s head, debating on asking if he knows who Andre is, but don’t.
The ride is quiet. The only sound is the occasional slurp from the driver taking a drink of his slushy.
I run my fingers through my knotted hair before lowering my head and whispering, “I forgot my purse in the Range Rover,” to Emilio.
He doesn’t look away from his phone. “Leo will get it.”
I nod, turning my head to stare out the window. My eyes grow heavy as I drift into a light sleep. I jolt awake when the SUV rolls to a long stop.
Emilio opens the door, steps out, and offers his hand. “Come on.”
His palm is warm as I take it. As my feet hit the pavement, I look around, noticing my surroundings.
We’re at a private airstrip, surrounded by small planes and jets.
Emilio leads me straight to a compact jet. A man with a long ponytail stands at the base of the staircase.
“Good evening,” he greets, his voice deep like gravel.
Emilio gestures for me to enter the jet first.
I don’t know how safe it is, flying to who knows where with this man, but I also don’t know how safe I am staying behind either.
So, with a nod, I walk up the stairs.
I wait until we’re in the air before I start my questioning.
The inside of the jet is sleek and clean, and everything looks almost new.
Dark leather with a monogrammed R stitched into each seat, food and drink bars, fresh flowers, and soo much legroom. I could do a full-on Pilates workout in the aisle and still have plenty of room.
I’m seated, buckled up beside Emilio. “Who’s Hannah?”
He doesn’t flinch or say a word.
Just stares straight ahead, working his jaw.
“Who is she?” I stress.
Silence.
I repeat the question ten times.
Each time, I’m met with more silence.
I finally stop wasting my breath.
My phone is in my purse in the Range Rover, so I’m in for a boring flight since my company sucks.
Thankfully, the flight is short.
I’m yawning every three seconds by the time we land. Emilio hands the ponytailed man, who I learned was the pilot, a stack of hundreds. The pilot hands him a car key and tells us good night. I follow Emilio into a small parking lot.
He stops at a black sedan, pops the trunk, and tosses me a black baseball cap. “Put this on.”
I shove it over my hair as he does the same.
We get into the car, and as Emilio drives, I realize we’re in Chicago from the street signs. By this time, I don’t even have the energy to ask him why we’re here.
He drives to the back of a neighborhood until we’re at a street with only one two-story brick home.
Emilio cuts the engine and turns to me. “I don’t trust you, but right now, I don’t have a choice. What you’re about to see never happened. You’ll never repeat it to anyone.” He grips my shoulders, giving them a shake. “Do you understand me, Liliya?”
“I …” I inhale a controlled breath. “I understand.”
We get out of the car, and I follow him to the front door. My heart rattles with each step we take.
Emilio collects a set of keys from his pocket and hurriedly unlocks the front door. As soon as we walk in, I hear screaming.
“I’m here!” Emilio yells, racing into the living room.
A pregnant woman is doubled over on the couch, clutching her belly.
“Oh my God,” I gasp, dropping beside her. “What happened?”
“I’m either dying or …” She stops to inhale deep breaths, and I can tell she’s having a contraction. “Or I’m in labor.”
“How far along are you?”
“Full term,” she says, clenching her teeth in pain. Tears fall down her cheeks, hitting the already-dried mascara on her face.
I glance at Emilio. “We need to get her to the hospital.”
“Did you try to call the midwife?” Emilio asks the woman.
“Yes,” she says. “Her phone is going straight to voicemail.”
“Goddammit,” Emilio screams, clenching his fist, as if stopping himself from driving it through the wall.
“We have to go to the hospital,” the woman says. “We have no choice.”
Emilio scrubs a hand over his face, staring at me in a pain I’ve never seen from him. “Can you deliver a baby?”
I slowly shake my head. “I think we need to get her to a hospital.”
“It’ll be okay,” the woman tries to assure Emilio, but from the fear on her face, even I don’t believe her.
I’m missing something here.
We help the woman into the car. I climb in beside her in the back seat, holding her hand and telling her everything will be okay, while Emilio speeds toward the hospital.
When we arrive, I assist her inside while Emilio parks the car.
“She’s pregnant and bleeding,” I tell the woman at the front desk.
She immediately leads us to an exam room. “The nurse will be right with you.”
As I help the woman onto the bed, she studies me curiously.
“You’re his wife,” she says, so certain of herself.
I nod. “I am. Who are you?”
We both look up when the door opens, and Emilio enters.
He’ll have no choice but to answer my questions now.