Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
KENNEDY
Breakfast is a mix of chatter and giggles as the girls delight in feeding Truffles small bits of prosciutto. The little dog snuffles happily, his tail wagging with each morsel.
Enzo, on the other hand, seems more distant than ever, buried in his phone. “You’re not eating,” he says without looking up.
“I’m...” Furious? Heartbroken? “Not hungry.” Then I notice his untouched plate. “You’re also not eating.”
“I’m...” he searches for the right word just as I did. “Preoccupied. Unfortunately, we need to get back. I’ve arranged for the jet to be ready.”
What’s he talking about? “Back?”
He stands and checks his watch. “Two hours,” he says suddenly, shattering the morning’s tranquility.
“Wait. Are you saying we need to be at the airport in two hours?” My heart skips frantically. Panicked, my mind races and keeps circling back to Riley. “But I thought we had one more day. ”
His sigh is sharp, but his words are even. “We don’t.”
The girls’ excitement ramps up instantly. “We’re going on a plane?” they squeal in unison, riling Truffles up to insane barking.
“All of us?” I ask, a tremor in my voice, trying to catch Enzo’s eye.
“All of us,” he replies, distracted, his attention already elsewhere. Panic grips me as the reality sets in. There’s no time to prepare.
“What about Riley?” I ask. My voice is frail and desperate.
“I’ve already made the arrangements. She’ll be joining us later,” he says absently, his phone buzzing nonstop. Before I can process this abrupt change, he rises to his feet. “I need to take this. Can you help them pack?”
And with three hasty strides, he’s out the door. I’d be less stunned if he’d handed me a shovel and said, “Pick a nice plot, then dig your grave.”
I look at the girls, their faces bright with excitement, completely unaware of what’s to come. Hell, I’m unaware of what’s to come.
I bite my lower lip until I taste blood. Do we bolt? Get into the nearest cab and...go where? I have no money, no passport, and the girls don’t even have IDs.
And I need to warn Riley.
A riptide of emotions threaten to tear me apart, the urge to curl up in the fetal position and sob overwhelming. Tiny hands tug at mine, chanting, “Help us pack! Help us pack!” as Truffles bounces around us like a buoy, adding to the chaos.
They drag me to their bedroom and rush into the closet. I frantically dial Riley’s number. Voicemail. “You need to call me. Now, Riley,” I hiss into the phone.
I call six more times and send a dozen frantic texts.
Nothing.
Desperation claws at my insides as I throw clothes into suitcases, my mind spinning with fear and uncertainty. The girls chatter away, blissfully ignorant of the storm brewing around us. And it’s all I can do to fight to keep my hands steady and keep my mind from spiraling.
I need to figure out our next move.
Dory pops her head into the room, witnessing the complete pandemonium of brand-new clothes flying into designer suitcases that apparently Enzo pulled out of his ass.
Sofie and Lili are jumping on the bed, giddy and laughing, while I wrestle with the knots tightening in my stomach. I want the girls to soak up the fun while they can. They deserve it.
My hands tremble as I try to fold the clothes, and Dory gently takes a shirt from my grasp.
“Enzo told me about your fear of flying. Do you want a sedative? I’m not a fan of flying either. It can help.”
Part of me wants to take it. Just close my eyes, pop a pill, and say, “Wake me up when it’s over.” But then I catch the smiles on Sofie and Lili’s faces, and I know I have to do this. I have to be strong for them.
The way Da always was for me.
“I’m fine,” I say, forcing a smile as I continue packing, steadily reminding myself to hold it together.
The blur of events from boarding the plane to being in the air barely registers. My fear of flying is nonexistent. It’s the fear of landing and not knowing what’s going to happen the minute we do that’s shredding my last nerve.
Enzo’s been scarce, holed up in the ridiculous bedroom while the girls revel in their sparkly headsets and endless entertainment. At first, they loved having their own monitors, where they could each watch their own shows.
But now, they’re watching the exact same thing, giggling in unison. They remind me so much of Riles and me at that age; it’s a bittersweet ache in my chest.
“Another drink?” the flight attendant offers. It’s the same one from the flight over. She’s been so nice, always checking on the girls. And damnit, I’m trying not to get attached to the idea of this being my life.
Trying, and failing miserably.
A double should help. “Yes, thank you.” What I really want to say is, Leave the bottle , but frankly, I’m not sure it’s what I need right now. I’m so close to confronting his fucking face that being a little less drunk and a little more restrained might be in my best interest.
It’s like I’ve adopted a wolf and wonder why it attacks me. I need to remember he’s a dangerous, ruthless kingpin, fueled by primal urges and lethal instincts. He has no heart. Only cold, calculated precision.
As soon as the flight attendant— Gail , I remind myself—sets the glass in my hand, I down it in one go.
By my fifth glass of liquid courage, I’m braver than shit. The girls are asleep, Truffles is sprawled next to Lili, and my give-a-fuck has flown right out the window.
Fine, maybe he’s handing me over to his uncle. Imagining all the ways he and his thugs will defile me sends chills down my spine. But, goddamn him, he can’t do this to Riley. Or to the girls.
You don’t throw someone a lifeline just to tow them to the sharks.
I have half a mind to tell him I’m on to him. I’m on to you, fucker. And so are the Feds.
In a huff, I stumble to the back of the plane, past the conked-out kids, frustrated that my tequila legs won’t cooperate.
I mentally will them to walk straight, and they sort of do.
I slam through the door like a bat out of hell—a bat who’s really fucked up from the booze—and crash inelegantly on the bed.
Big, bad D’Angelo looks down at me and speaks into his phone. “I’ll have to call you back.”
“Who was that?” I spit out. His mistress? Or maybe he’s cozying up to his uncle again, swapping tips on how to handle me. Bastard.
He smirks, a sinister glint in his eye. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
“When you sell me off?”
He raises one brow—the sexy one—and studies me for so long that I have to look away. I’m getting emotional again, drowning in those rich, golden eyes. “And here I thought I cured you of your fear of flying. How much have you had to drink?”
“Not enough,” I snap, glaring at him through a haze of disappointment and hurt. “Riley,” I utter .
“What about her?” he asks, his tone annoyingly calm.
“You swore you’d protect her. As well as your own sister.” My hand shakes as I point to the door. “And what about the girls? Or”—fuck. What the hell is my dog’s name again?
“I’m taking care of it,” he says so solemnly that I shiver.
“Tonight?” I utter, irritation bubbling up. “When you serve me up on a platter?” When he just sits there watching me, I blurt out, “And what if I call the cops?”
“No, Bella , you won’t. Because cops can’t help. And you’re speaking to the man with half the force in his pocket.”
God, he’s so smug. My big, fat mouth gets ahead of me, ready to teach him a lesson. “Then the Feds will save us,” I slur defiantly.
He kisses my lips. Why do his lips have to feel so good? I swear, I feel his stubble all the way between my legs. “Your only savior is me, Bella . And you will worship me,” he whispers, his fingers tracing my lower lip. “The way I will worship you.”
The world spins as he lifts me into his arms, places me in the center of the bed and begins removing my clothes. Like a total asshole. Being all nice and shit.
I want to resist, but my clothes feel like they’re burning my skin. And I just want them off.
When I’m finally naked and vulnerable, shooting daggers at him with my eyes, he begins to undress. As his shirt falls away, I’m staring straight down the barrel of chiseled abs and a sculpted chest, every muscle defined and taut.
His broad shoulders and inked skin make him a masterpiece, raw and powerful, cold and precise. He moves like hot steel yielding to an inferno. I lick my lips. “A friend of mine, Ricardo, will pick you up from the airport. ”
Panic flares, my brow pinching hard. “What about the girls?”
“Dory will see to them,” he says, stroking my head as my lids grow heavy. “The only person you need to worry about is you.”
“I. Hate. You,” I remind him and myself, each word laced with venom.
“Hate?” he asks, brushing several strands of hair out of my eyes. When a tear breaks free, he kisses it. “I promise you, there’s so much more of me to hate.”
My eyes close, and I say it again, mostly in my head. “I hate you...”
“If you hate me now, Bella , you’ll hate me even more tonight.” Hot lips press against mine, and I shudder, feeling his body slide against mine, spreading my legs, his thick length gliding along my entrance.
My treacherous body wraps around him, betraying my resolve. He plunges in with such force that I gasp for air, struggling to take all of him.
His thrusts start slow, agonizingly slow, and I bite back a moan. I need more, but I’m sure as hell not begging for it. I refuse to give him the satisfaction.
With a swift move, he rolls to his back, propping me on top of him, forcing my legs to spread wide in a squat. Holy hell, he’s deep.
He pumps into me, his hips driving into mine, shoving his monster cock in and out, in and out. Each thrust shreds away every last thread of control as pain and pleasure rip me wide, leaving me wet. So wet.
“Now, fuck me, Bella . Show me just how much your sweet pussy hates me,” he growls .
His hands fondle my breasts, then glide over my ass, urging me to pick up the pace.
Oh, my pussy hates him all right.
And she hates him a lot.