Chapter 28 Annetta
ANNETTA
I killed my ex-husband. I did the hard thing. I made the difficult choice.
But his fucking ghost won’t stop haunting me.
A drizzle of rain drums against the windshield, broken up every few seconds by the wipers.
I bought a black T-shirt and gym shorts at the last gas station, but I’ll have to make another stop soon for better shoes. My heels won’t do. Under the passenger seat, I found a hunting knife and another handgun. Both rest in the cup holders next to me as I drive.
Over my new clothes, I’m still wearing my big wool coat. No matter how much I crank up the heat, I can’t stop shivering.
I called Marisol once I was on the road. I thought she’d demand I come back, that she’d tell me how angry the don was. Instead, she gave me all the information I asked for.
The Chiarellis are leaving for France tomorrow. While my brother’s in the hospital, they’re going on vacation.
Marisol told me to find the tiny GPS tracker under Dom’s SUV seat and throw it out the window along with my phone.
I don’t know if she’s treating my decision with respect or if she’s letting me go to Florida as a lamb to slaughter, but I suspect she’s being an opportunist—if I kill them or they kill me, one of her problems will disappear.
I glance at my rearview mirror again.
After eight hours of driving, I’m not even halfway there, but a black sedan already clings to my car’s shadow. At first, I thought it was one of the Chiarelli mercenaries, but the grey morning sunlight shining through the windshield tells me a different story.
It’s my husband.
He’s coming for me.
My gas tank burns a glowing red E into the corner of my vision. I have to stop, but I can’t—he’s going to take me home. He’ll tuck me into a corner of his penthouse, guarded by strange men—or worse, hand me off to Don Salvatore or my parents.
He’s going to tell me to wait. To be patient.
Tears track down my face.
I’m so fucking sick of being patient.
They took my sister.
They tried to take my brother.
The Chiarellis want me so badly? They can have me, but I’m not waiting anymore. If I can take Marco or their mom with me, that’s one less person to go after the people I love.
The wheel locks. Power steering is engaged.
I’m out of time.
I push the car as far as I can, as if, through sheer force of will, I could drag it through the last leg of the trip.
But my will must not be strong enough, because slowly, the SUV grinds to a stop.
I guide it to the shoulder of the road at the last possible second and lean my head back against the back of the driver’s seat.
When the front door opens, letting in a rush of cool air and misty rain, I don’t react. I let my eyes fall shut. Exhaustion weighs down my shoulders. “You caught me.”
“I’ll always catch you, reginetta.” It feels like I haven’t been called that name in years.
“I was going ten over the speed limit.”
“I was going twenty.”
I blow out a stream of air and blink my eyes open.
Dom is wearing the same black suit from the party, but his hair is bound tightly in a bun.
Even now, with a deep sense of unfairness sweeping through me, I itch to pull out his ponytail and bury my face in his hair.
The suit strains against his broad, muscled chest as he shifts to lean one arm along the hood of the car.
“How far you plan to go with this?” His gaze flicks to the gun and knife in the cupholders before returning to me.
“As far as I could.”
He makes a tsk sound. “Then this is it. It’s time to come home.”
I don’t move. “I’m just going to try again.”
I can’t keep waiting in the penthouse for someone to kill me or hurt my family. I have to do something.
Dom cups my cheek and guides my face toward him with his big, rough hands. “I thought we were supposed to kiss before one of us leaves.”
My lower lip trembles. “I told Marisol to tell you—”
“Marisol isn’t my fucking wife. You were supposed to tell me. I thought we were supposed to trust each other. You know, at the hospital, I was planning on doing the same thing you’re doing now.”
Wild panic thrashes in my chest. Dom’s never been to the Chiarelli homes. He doesn’t know where the guards will be, where the secret hiding places are. He’d get himself killed.
He must see it in my face because he laughs.
“Not so fun, is it? Imagining your partner dying under horrific torture because you didn’t sacrifice yourself first. You want to know why I didn’t?
Because of you. I thought I needed to stay because I knew no one would protect you or take care of you like I would.
I thought I was making the right choice, but you’d already left. ”
A lump of emotion wedges in my throat as I meet his gaze. “I can’t keep putting my safety above my family’s. I’m just one—”
His eyes flash with anger. “You are not just anything. You are Annetta fucking Lombardi. You are my fucking wife. And you don’t get to decide to get yourself killed for anyone.”
“I’m not any more important than—”
Dom snatches my shoulder and shakes me. “You are more important than everyone!”
He dives into the car, grabbing the back of my head, and presses our foreheads together.
“If you’d done this, I would’ve killed everyone.
The Chiarellis, your family, Salvatore.” His breath burns against my lips.
“They’d have to put me down like a rabid dog.
No one would’ve been safe. Don’t you ever forget the level of petty, ruthless cruelty I’m capable of. ”
I suck in a breath and, at the same time, he crushes a kiss to my lips, lashing his tongue against mine. I wrap my arms around his neck and drive my nails into his scalp and let my anger pour into him.
When he finally pulls away, we’re both heaving.
A car drives past us with a whoosh of air.
“I’m taking you home,” he says. “Now.”
“They’re going on a plane tomorrow morning. If I don’t go now, I’ll lose this chance.”
“Then we wait here until I have one of Turi’s men come pick you up, and I go. Alone.” Some of the frustration fades from his face. He exhales. “Go home, Annetta. Your family needs you. Let your husband do your dirty work.”
I touch his chest, his arms. I stroke my nails along his neck—touching that place where I bit him. Dom’s fingers flex against my back.
“No one knows the Chiarellis like I do. Last night, Marco was sleeping off a hangover at his mistress’s apartment.
His mom slept in her bed on the second floor, first door to the right.
Tonight, they’ll have the housekeepers pack their suitcases.
Marco will eat dinner at Giulia’s house.
He’ll go home to play cards with Mario and snort cocaine.
Giulia will spend time in the garden, and her guard Tommy will walk the perimeter, but he has a bad knee, so he’ll rest against a tree—”
“Marisol told you all that—”
“No. This is what I know after spending the last three years of my life stuck there. If I go back home, back to your penthouse, or to my parents’ home, or even to Salvatore’s, I’ll be a sitting duck again.
They’ll pick off my family one by one, until they get to me, and they’ll do to me what they did to Matteo. ”
Everyone in the family knows what happened to Matteo, how he was tortured and cut up into a hundred pieces. And everyone knows what Salvatore and Dom did to seek justice after.
“Don’t say shit like that.”
I take his big, heavy hands in mine, hands he uses for unspeakable violence but have only ever been used to love me. I press my cheek against the back of his hand and drop my voice to a whisper. “I need this to end.”
When he steps back, he fills up my entire vision. This man, I realize, has never lied to me. He’s been the one constant in my life. He’s the only man I’ve ever loved.
He steps away. “Come on.”
I inhale suddenly, unaware I’d been holding my breath, and follow my husband.
In his car, Dom makes me swear a hundred times over that I won’t leave the vehicle.
He’s driving now, a light touch on the steering wheel. He pushed his SUV further onto the side of the road, texted Salvatore to get it towed, and tossed a backpack full of practical, dark clothes for me into my lap.
“What if they take me?” he asks.
“I’ll drive away.”
“And if I take too long?”
“I’ll drive away.”
“What do you do if you see someone approaching your car?”
“I’ll drive away.”
He quizzes me for hours.
How many bullets does your gun hold? Nineteen.
Where are the extra bullets? Show me how you replace the magazine. Pull your knife out of the holster. Again. Braid your hair. Tuck it away. Tuck your shoelaces. Tuck your shirt.
He drives for hours. For once, he doesn’t have the radio playing, and we sit in tense silence, broken only by another clipped command or question as he thinks of them.
He encourages me to sleep, and I do, contorted across the center console, hugging my body against his arm. After fading in and out of a restless sleep, I wake up to the sight of a river in front of us.
I reach for my gun.
“Where are we?” I ask groggily, jerking my head around.
“Shh… We’re going to sleep as much as we can, and we’ll do the last leg. I don’t want to get there while there’s light out.”
I take a moment to steady my racing heart and lie back down against him.
He cups my waist with his hand.
“What happens after this?” I ask.
He leans his chair back and blows out a sigh. “We head home. I beg for Turi’s forgiveness. You go to therapy, and we live happily ever after.”
“You think we will? Live happily ever after?”
He kisses my temple. “I know it, angel.”