Chapter Thirty-Four Ella
Chapter Thirty-Four
Ella
My stomach growls so loudly it hurts. It’s well past one in the morning, and I’ve been trying to fall asleep for hours, but every time I close my eyes, the gunfight replays in my head.
The sound of gunshots. The scream. The moment I thought this was it.
My breath catches for a second before I force it down.
I have no idea where Gualtiero is, nor do I care.
Annoyed, I turn onto my side, punching my pillow into submission. No such luck.
My mind won’t shut off, churning through everything that’s happened since I met Gualtiero.
Has it really only been two weeks? It feels like a lifetime.
From saving him to being ravished on a rooftop. A private island. A kidnapping. I love you. Two escape attempts. A gunfight.
I’ve made up for six years of uneventful living in fourteen days.
A week ago, I woke up in this room alone and terrified, with no idea what was happening. Now even that feels like a different life.
Yesterday morning, I briefly considered a hunger strike. Clearly, I wasn’t in my right mind. I was probably still in shock, because let’s be honest, I love food far too much to last more than a day. The idea didn’t stand a chance.
And even if it had, it wouldn’t have changed anything. Gualtiero wouldn’t suddenly decide to let me go. If anything, it would weaken me. And I can’t afford that. Not if I want any chance of getting out of this mess.
The day itself passed quietly.
Thankfully, he didn’t try to share my bed. I don’t know what I would have done if he had. Probably slept in the bathtub. It would have been preferable.
He bought me flowers. So many they’ve turned my room into a floral display.
His version of an apology. But even the most beautiful arrangement couldn’t coax a smile out of me.
He wanted to belt me after I nearly died. And he thinks flowers make up for that?
I spent yesterday exhausting myself, trying to outrun the thoughts chasing me. I jogged until my lungs burned.
Swimming was easier, the water cooling my overheated body. After that, I pushed through a round of weights until my muscles gave out.
I need to get stronger. I won’t be pushed around like that again.
Playing with my puppies was a welcome distraction, as was a couple of rounds of backgammon with Mariella.
Gualtiero stopped by the pool while I was doing laps to say he’d be out all day. I haven’t seen him since.
Suits me.
Though I am surprised he hasn’t come to bed. Is he sleeping somewhere else? Who is he with?
Argh. I shouldn’t even be pondering this.
After the way he treated me, I should be relieved he’s not here.
My thoughts and feelings are such a mishmash.
The day on the boat threw me… that kiss. My body still remembers it. The heat of his mouth, the way everything else faded until there was only him.
It brought back feelings I don’t want.
No… don’t go there.
I hate to admit it, but despite everything, part of me understands his rage. It wasn’t all directed at me. But I was the one who took it. And that’s not acceptable.
I turn onto my other side, restless. My stomach growls again, and sleep is nowhere in sight.
With a sigh, I get out of bed and open the door. The hallway is lit by dim lights running along the base of the walls, like a landing strip.
I make my way to the kitchen, surprised no one stops me. I guess I’m living in a fortress, and Gualtiero is confident I can’t escape.
Everything looks different in the semi-dark, and I hesitate at a junction, unsure which way to go in this maze of a house.
Somehow, I find the kitchen on my first try. Maybe my navigational skills improve at night.
As I step inside, I stop short. Someone is already here.
Alonso stands by the island, a pan sizzling on the stove beside him, the smell of crisping bacon filling the room. My stomach twists with hunger.
He glances up, gives me a brief nod, and keeps working.
I hesitate. Guilt eats at me.
He could have died yesterday because of me.
I drop my gaze to the floor.
Put on your big-girl panties, Ella. You made this mess.
I draw in a breath and walk over.
“Alonso.” I wait until he looks at me. His face is blank, unreadable. “I want to apologize for what happened. I was reckless. I put you and your men in danger, and I’m really sorry.”
He gives a curt nod. Nothing more.
The warmth between us is gone, and I can’t blame him.
“Thank you for coming to get me,” I add quietly. “I didn’t understand what I was walking into. I’m… really grateful.”
And I am.
I know he was just doing his job. But he still saved me.
No doubt, his life would have been on the line if he hadn’t gotten me back, but that doesn’t make what he did any less brave.
I had all day to think about the danger I walked into. Voluntarily.
It makes me sick.
By following Sofia, I didn’t just gamble with my own life. I dragged Gualtiero’s men into it too.
I didn’t think. Not about the consequences. Not about the damage it would cause. And now at least two people are dead.
Because of me.
Enemy or not, it’s my fault.
I hang my head in shame.
No more spontaneous acts of defiance.
Despite my lingering anger toward Gualtiero, something in me has softened. His insistence on my safety… it’s starting to sink in.
Up until now, I thought it was just another tactic to keep me from running.
How wrong I was.
Remorse settles heavily in my chest. I won’t be that reckless again. But I won’t accept this as my life either.
I need a plan. A real one. And I have time to figure it out.
Patience, I remind myself, is a virtue.
Dad used to quote William Penn: Patience and diligence, like faith, remove mountains.
And getting away from Gualtiero will be exactly that, a mountainous task.
Alonso’s eyes lift from the pot he’s stirring, settling on me. He studies me for a moment, jaw tight, as if weighing whether to say something.
“You’re welcome,” he says finally, and goes back to his work.
He probably wants to tell me how stupid I was. I wouldn’t blame him. But he says nothing more.
With a sigh, I turn to the fridge and start rummaging.
“There’s enough food for two.”
I jump, nearly dropping the bottle of juice in my hand. I look at him, surprised.
Is this a peace offering?
I’ll take it.
Whatever he’s making smells incredible, and my stomach is protesting loudly at the lack of food.
“Thank you. I appreciate it.” I slide onto a bar stool. “What are you cooking? It smells amazing.”
“Carbonara.”
I’m undeterred by his shortness.
I want to know more about the man who’s tasked with my security. By now, we’ve spent a significant amount of time together, and I regard him as a friend. We’ve laughed and ganged up on Oriana. I feel a bond with him, and it pains me he’s put up a wall.
“Why are you cooking so late?” I ask to keep the conversation flowing. Well, flowing might not be the right word.
“End of shift.”
Right. Still, I’m not giving up. He used to be easy to talk to. I just need to find that version of him again.
“So… if you’re here, is there someone on duty to ‘watch’ me?”
“Oriana.”
Of course. My shoulders drop. She missed the chaos of my escape. If anything, she probably dislikes me even more now.
“How long has she worked for Gualtiero?”
“About a year.”
Interesting. For a world as old-fashioned as Gualtiero’s, a female guard is surprising.
As if reading my thoughts, Alonso adds, “It’s useful to have a woman on staff. In certain situations, she has better access.”
Hmm, I wonder what kind of situations.
Could I get her to talk to me? Win her over somehow?
Maybe she’d help me. Women’s solidarity and all?
Who am I kidding? She has a crush on Gualtiero and is completely loyal to him.
Plus, helping me would cost her everything. He’d probably kill her.
Alonso serves up the food, and my mouth waters. I take the first bite and moan in appreciation.
From the corner of my eye, I catch him almost smiling. I grin back.
“This is delicious,” I say, already going in for another bite. “Better than what I’ve had at some restaurants. Where did you learn to cook like this?”
“My grandmother taught me.” He chews slowly, his gaze drifting as if pulled somewhere else. “Food bonds Italian families. Girls are taught early. I joined my sisters when they had their lessons. Unlike them, I loved it. I wanted to become a chef. Open my own restaurant.”
My fork pauses mid-air as I stare at him. I’m not sure what surprises me more: how much he just said, or that he ever wanted something like that.
He has the talent for it. That’s obvious.
He glances at my untouched fork and arches a brow. I resume eating.
“Wow. You’re full of surprises,” I say. “Why are you working here and not in a Michelin-star restaurant?”
He lets out a humorless laugh and shakes his head. “Family tradition.”
I wait, but he says nothing more.
We eat in silence, the quiet broken only by the clink of cutlery. I finish my plate in record time.
Alonso takes it from me, rinses it, and loads the dishwasher.
Hmm, he’s domesticated too. I wonder if he’s married or has a girlfriend. I glance at his fingers, but they’re bare.
I’m about to ask when he turns, gives me a curt nod, and leaves the kitchen.
I watch him go, thinking about the people here. Their lives and choices, or lack of them.
I’m not the only one trapped in something I didn’t want.
Even Gualtiero seems to have had his life decided for him.
For all the luxury surrounding us, there’s a distinct absence of joy. The energy here is oppressive and dark, and in urgent need of light.
I grab a glass of orange juice and head back toward my room. As I pass the terrace, voices drift in. My ears prick up when I recognize they’re speaking German.
Are these the same guys I overheard before? Are they making bets again?
Perhaps they’ll give me something to laugh about. Curious, I stop and listen.
My blood turns cold.
They’re talking about Gualtiero. About how long he can hold his empire together.
My pulse spikes.
One of them blames me and says I’ve thrown him off. That Molinaro will use it.
My stomach drops.
Is this how it starts?
A crack. A whisper. And then everything falls apart.
I press back against the wall, heart racing.
Are they right?
Is this my fault?
He’s been under pressure. I’ve seen it. And me trying to run… it only makes things worse, makes him look weak, just like he told me.
What am I supposed to do now?
I can’t give up on my freedom.
But I can’t be the reason Gualtiero loses everything either.
I press my fingers to my temples. My head is suddenly pounding.
I wish I had the answers.