CHAPTER ONE
The French Countryside
A gunshot crack broke the still silence in the French countryside well before dawn, startling a flock of birds from the trees.
The sound of their flight almost covered the older man and his younger friend as they quickly fled.
A flash of gunfire in the forest retorted.
Afraid of giving away their position, the young man did not return the shot.
Thankfully, no moon shone in the sky this night.
They crouched behind the bushes and waited, unmoving. On instinct, the younger man, James, pushed the older man to the ground and shielded him with his body. Whap! A stray bullet struck the tree directly behind where the older man had stood seconds before.
James focused on the flash of fire in the distance as a spray of bullets landed in a wide arc around them, and he heard the resounding crack of the ricochets in the dark forest. His body tensed, ready for action to fight or flee.
The two men listened, tacit. James pinpointed the shooter's location, but to be sure, he picked up rocks from the forest floor and threw them opposite where they hid.
He gestured for the older man to stay put while James stealthily crept through the forest and periodically threw another couple of stones to lure the killer closer.
He held the cold metal gun firmly, its grip an old, reliable, and trusty friend.
Long, deep breaths centered his focus and energy, his racing heart slowing down its syncopated rhythm.
James took a calculated aim and pulled the trigger. A shout of pain and the heavy thud of a body confirmed his marksmanship. An owl’s screech pierced the night, and he listened to the swoosh of its wings as it took off in flight, looking for prey of its own.
Shrouded in silence, James waited but did not hear any other sounds in the woods cloaking them in darkness.
He carefully made his way back to the injured older man's side and, putting his arm around his shoulders, bore his weight and assisted him to walk as best he could with his sore leg.
They promptly retreated through the dense dark woods to their rendezvous point, where their horses awaited them.
It had been a close shave. Closer than James would have liked. They vanished in the night on their powerful steeds as they galloped away to a small fishing village on the coast of France.
Coming Soon: Vows of Love: An Italian Mafia Romance ? by Sandra Gharabaghli
See excerpt of this contemporary romance.
Please follow me on to learn of my next book releases. Reviews are always welcome!
Vows of Love: An Italian Mafia Romance ? by Sandra Gharabaghli
Chapter One- Shattered
Valentina
They all lied to me, and I am all alone--murdered every single one.
An explosion rocked the City of New York and my world.
Flames hungrily lick the crumbled building like a ravenous beast. Acrid smoke swirls in the air and hovers, as if holding its breath.
The smoke swirls as winds shift in the inferno.
Smoke billows higher in the skies above the site.
The sky becomes dark and the sun has turned into an enraged orange color suspended in the sky.
Is it an avenging angel? Later, Valentina wondered if they were the souls of the loved ones released to the heavens.
Ashes blanket the city streets. Only ashes remain.
Dead and buried under mounds of rubble. The smoke is pungent. Bitter.
Ashes dance to the song of the sirens on abandoned streets.
Except for emergency vehicles converged in the area, there are no spectators nearby.
Hundreds of ambulances raced to the site that looks like a bomb was detonated.
Innumerable emergency vehicles hover around the site in an effort to contain the fires.
I cannot believe it. My heart is forever broken. How could not only my entire family be dead, but the love of my life as well? My heart is shattered and aching for my husband, Emilio Armani.
We were married for such a short time. I loved him with all my heart, and we had dreams for the future of a family together.
How did this happen? For all their soldiers, they did not protect the dons and families of the prominent Mafia families that night.
I know I am not the only one mourning. But that does not make it any less painful.
I have never experienced such incredible pain.
Why didn’t they believe me when I warned them of this potential disaster? Why didn’t they heed my advice out of concern for them? How could the concern over causing offense take precedence over their lives? And why didn’t they listen to me?
As soon as the alarm in the house shrilly blares, I am startled.
Incredulous. Then the alarm with a text message on my iPhone's alarms. I am riveted to the message. I tremble, shiver, and shake in the storm of my emotions. It’s not possible.
It can’t be. The world has shifted on its axis and I can’t get my balance.
The floor has shifted underneath me. Nothing is the same. Nor will it ever be.
In the aftermath, breaking news stories were on every national channel and local news.
Much later, it was learned after an extensive investigation men stormed into the society wedding reception held at a posh and glamourous hotel ballroom in New York City.
They gunned everyone down and then set the place ablaze with preset explosives.
News reports everyone is presumed dead. Everyone inside perished.
*
At my parents’ house, Emilio plans to take me home after the event. With a mild illness, I assured him I would be fine. But I was worried about him and my family. I asked him to call me when he had the chance and leave as soon as possible without causing any offense.
Skeptical and distrustful, I don’t take things at face value. You must earn my trust in a relationship with me. It took Emilio much more time to earn my trust than he probably envisioned when he pursued me.
I shared my concerns with my father and Emilio.
Too many prominent families were in attendance, all in one location.
That spelled an invitation for disaster.
My father discounted my concerns. But Emilio listened to me.
Just by chance, I could not attend because of my illness, which had caused nausea and vomiting.
With so many dead, they may not notice my absence from the living.
They are all dead, and now no family remains.
I am a liability to myself. I can’t afford to have any family; the risks are too dangerous.
I must stay in control, as my father had drilled into us.
I need to escape and flee to safety—but where? How would I ever be safe again?
Other families practiced fire drills; our family practiced drills to follow in the face of assault or deaths in our immediate family.
I followed our family security protocol with a heavy heart, used a secret code, and notified our lawyer to activate specific legal documents without identifying myself.
The only one left, I had to ensure the legal protections were carried out. As my father decreed, I had to protect our wealth and assets. I’m glad there’s a list to follow because I am in a fog, can’t think, and it is unbelievably hard to focus.
Luckily, none of the household staff are here this evening, and I hope no harm befalls them in the future. Hopefully, in the myriad documents, money is allocated for their future. I must check soon to ensure they will continue to get paid.
The fog is all-encompassing, wrapped around me wherever I go. Duty, honor, family; these obligations were the DNA imprinted in our blood, minds, and hearts.
I erased the security tapes and emptied my father’s safe. I didn’t yet have the combination for my husband’s safe, and this week, we were to sit down and review his security instructions and protocols. Fate determined otherwise.
Funds were deposited in my numbered Swiss account to enable me to access the money I needed from anywhere in the world.
Real estate remained protected, preventing anyone from seizing it.
Perhaps in the far distant future, it would be safe to claim it.
But I will most likely sell the properties, for the memories are too painful.
I don’t even know if I have any insurance or inheritance from my husband, but that is the least of my worries now.
At any rate, I cannot afford to claim any of it — if it exists.
I never liked horror movies. But now I live in one. The realization I am not just afraid, but terrified for the first time, hits me head on. But unlike a film, I don’t know who the true monster is behind what happened to my husband, family, and the other families.
I had not been integrally involved in the family business. I detest the need to associate with criminals and with families who inflicted pain and suffering on others.
My father and husband had assured me they were not involved in any criminal activities.
Not only had they assured me, but they took an oath to me.
It only increased the feelings of bewilderment and confusion by their deaths.
How did the perpetrator expect to benefit? Laws protected legitimate businesses.
Before their deaths, I had to follow my father’s instructions and my mother’s admonishments.
I did what my husband asked me to do. Now, there’s no one to direct me in any direction.
I must leave — escape. But everything in my heart argues against leaving.
What if by some miracle, Emilio was on the terrace engaged in a private conversation about business interests?
What kind of wife would I be if I left him behind?
I feel bewildered. It is surreal. There’s no one I can trust. No one to turn to for help. I have no one to confide in. I must keep this awful secret to myself. I must be totally self-reliant and independent. Just when I need a hug and loving arms the most.
I am now an exceedingly wealthy woman, but the money means nothing to me. My heart is dead and cold, like the bodies of my family in their graves of ashes. I cannot even attend their funerals and mass burials. No one can know I am still alive, for they would kill me, too.
I need to make additional arrangements for my safety.
I must complete it in a way that cannot be traced.
Hollow and still in shock, it takes all my energy to make a few simple decisions.
I needed to flee and leave everything behind, even my identity.
I need to rebuild my life. How will I do that when part of me does not want to go on living?
I feel guilty for being the only one left alive.
It should have been me. Even though I hold tremendous guilt in my heart for being the only one left alive, I don’t want to die.
I am not important, but my husband and my father were.
My brothers, sisters, and cousins had their entire lives ahead of them to look forward to--only to have it snatched away in the blink of an eye.
The site of the massacre had been gruesome.
So many killed, they did not show it initially on the news.
The explosion and fire undoubtedly interfered with identifying those attending the gala wedding and reception.
Only the wedding turned into a bizarre funeral.
Who would do such a thing? Who could be that cold, calculating, and cruel?
Afterward, I kept hoping, unrealistically, there had been a mistake.
I hoped my loving husband escaped. With magical thinking, I hoped others in my family had survived.
It is unknown what the true motivation behind these deaths is.
Power, Money, Revenge? Maybe all of them.
They take what they want and let nothing stand in their way.
No one has claimed it yet. Whoever they are, they are determined and utterly ruthless.
As soon as I received an anonymous alert, I threw on a wig to disguise myself, finished packing clothes in a suitcase, took my valuables, phone, passports, new identification cards, cash, and a few precious pictures, and left, walking on foot through a locked secret underground tunnel.
Slowly, I shake my head in denial. This shouldn’t have happened.
Why did it occur? How can I run away and escape when I don’t even know my destination?
My mind is tormented. I feel like I am swallowed whole in a sea of fog.
This can’t be real. It is just a nightmare; I tell myself.
My feet are like lead weights. Suffocating weight follows me.
Alone and distraught, I walk in slow motion, one footstep at a time, leaving my husband, family, and identity behind to emerge at an unknown destination.
Duty, family, honor—my family’s motto. Who do I have duty to now?
I have no family. Devastated, I emerged from the darkness of the tunnel into the even darker bleakness of my new life, carrying my desolation and grief with me. Grief is my shroud.