2. Emily
2
EMILY
THREE HOURS LATER
“We’re here,” Armando says.
It’s the only thing he’s said to me for three entire hours as we continue flying through the darkness.
The helicopter touches down with gentleness and skill that I don’t expect, not based on how hard the pilot jerked us up when we left Croatia.
The entire way over, I forced myself to focus on the brain-shaking vibrations of the helicopter’s engines, hoping it might drown out the lone thought running through my head—other than the hope that Konstantin will find me wherever it is I’m taken—of what fresh hell might be awaiting me when we land.
I open my eyes, half expecting to find Armando holding his gun at me. But there’s no need.
It’s not like there’s anywhere for me to run to.
I lick my lips nervously. “Where are we going?”
He says nothing, and reaches into his pocket to pull out a black hood.
“Put this on. ”
The sight of the hood in his hands makes me shrink back from him. “Why?”
“Signore Domenico’s orders.”
And that’s the only explanation I receive before he yanks the helmet off my head and roughly forces the black hood over my eyes, plunging me into darkness. The coarse material scratches at my throat and the cloth presses around my face, stealing what air I have left.
My seatbelt unbuckles and I am yanked up my feet once more.
Unable to see where we’re going, I let him lead me down the ramp of the helicopter. The wind claws at my body, and I’m temporarily glad that the hood is keeping my face protected from the biting dirt swirling around me. The scent of fuel is thick in the air, but with every step, I notice the smell of something else.
The unmistakable salty breeze of the sea.
And then, when I hear a clunk and feel the wind stop, I realize that he’s shoved me inside of another car.
“Hey!” I shout in dismay.
Saying nothing, I hold still while he reaches around, strapping me in to my seat. I fold my hands in my lap over my belly. I can hear Armando’s breathing near my ear through the hood. He seizes my hands again and I feel rough bindings wrap around my wrists.
He gives it a good hard tug, checking that they’re secure, and then his presence disappears.
“Where are we?” I ask again.
The only answer I receive is the sound of the car door slamming.
I move my hands, but as soon as I try to bring them up to the hood, they stop short. He must’ve anchored them to the seat in front of me. Unable to see, I snarl in frustration. Keys jingle, and then the engine revs.
“We will arrive soon.”
I’m not sure if I want to arrive.
The sensation of the car moving while I can’t see is disorienting. I rest my head on the window, seeking something solid to keep me from imagining I’m floating. The glass rumbles, reverberating against my skull as another wave of nausea roils my stomach. I squeeze my eyes tight—no reason to keep them open in the darkness as I try to make sense of the shifting gravity to get an idea for where we’re going.
Okay ... We’re turning left ... Now we’re stopping ... Must be a red light or a stop sign. Maybe it’s pointless to attempt to keep track of our journey from point A to point B, but I need to do something so I don’t feel helpless.
The car jerks abruptly, kicking me back into my seat. Are we on a highway? Armando is driving fast enough that the window is no longer vibrating, but wobbling like a sail in the wind. Any effort to know where we are, where we’re going, or where we’ve been is useless.
Armando hums to himself as he drives. I wish he’d turn on the music so I could pretend he wasn’t here. The inside of the car smells oily with a sharp undertone of copper pennies.
I fight the urge to vomit all over myself. Nothing would come up but bile anyway.
The thought crosses my mind and I recall Alla taking that vial of blood from my arms after her torture.
No matter how hard I try, I can’t help myself thinking about it.
I wrack my brain and try to remember when was the last time I had my period .
It must’ve been right before I was expelled, I think. I was headed back to the dorm for a tampon when Phil called and asked for that one last favor.
Chewing my lower lip, I start counting back the days. Being expelled was two weeks before Nadia’s bachelorette party. Then there was a day at the bachelorette party, a day of traveling, and another three days until the wedding.
That’s roughly three weeks after my last period before Konstantin and I made love in the stable after the attack on the wedding.
And then a week where it felt like we never left the bed.
Just the thought of that week, so close in time yet so impossibly far, sends both a surge of desire and pang of regret through my body.
The timing lines up .
But could the symptoms of pregnancy start this early already?
No … I decide. No, I’m just scared and nervous. In the last twelve hours, I’ve been tortured, threatened with rape, saw three murders in front of me, got kidnapped for the second time in a month, and now I’m about to meet the man who kidnapped Konstantin’s sister.
The car’s tires rock over a number of bumps, causing my teeth to rattle in my skull. Then, all at once, the motion just … stops.
“We’re here,” Armando says, cutting the engine.
“Where exactly is here?”
I hear him open his door and tense up, knowing what’s coming next. Even though I’m prepared, my pulse still races when he opens my door.
My seat belt is unclipped, and the restraints holding me to the seat follows. With a rough hand at my elbow, Armando yanks me roughly from the car .
I nearly stumble on the uneven ground. I can’t tell what it is. Dirt, gravel, sand?
It might be marbles, for all I fucking know.
He drags me by my arm along the uneven ground. “Come.”
“I’m going as fast as I can.” I protest. “If I go any faster, I’ll fall.”
“You won’t.” His fingers dig deeper as he stops moving for a moment. I think he’s staring at me, but I can’t tell. My neck hairs prickle with warning, matching the prickling pain still flooding through my body from Alla’s needles.
When he pulls me behind him again, his pace is slower and gentler. The scent of the sea is unmistakable now, and I hear something like a small a gust of wind through the branches of a dry tree.
Suddenly, the ground beneath my feet becomes solid and smooth and the sea’s smell disappears, replaced with something artificial.
Something nauseating.
We’re inside.
My suspicion is confirmed when we stop moving. A second later, gravity changes and I feel that we’re moving upward. Wherever we are, it’s a building big enough to need an elevator … But why haven’t I heard any other person besides us?
“Hey!” I gasp, caught off guard by Armando leading me out of the elevator with enough force that I stumble. “Watch it!”
“Hurry,” he says, his strides far enough apart that I have to power-walk to keep up. His other hand grips my shoulder and spins me, putting me in front of him like I’m a shield. The hood is ripped off my face, and light blinds me.
I flinch, holding up my cuffed hands over my eyes .
“Is this her?” a velvety voice asks.
“Yes, this is Konstantin Siderov’s wife,” Armando answers.
I blink my eyes a few times. A stranger sits in front of me. He wears his maroon suit like he was born into it. The copper-tone tie matches his eyes, which are fixed on me with vivid interest. One of his well-kept eyebrows inches upward when he sees me. Harsh lines accentuating his face are softened somewhat by the bemused smile that exudes no warmth drawn across it.
“Welcome.” He places a hand on his chest, offering a nod while his eyes never leave me. “I’m Domenico Ferrata.”
This is Domenico?
The heir of the Ferrata Mafia, the man who kidnapped Konstantin’s sister Alisa. Everything inside me screams that this man is dangerous. But try as I might, it’s hard for me to believe that.
Especially not when he rises to his feet with the help of a cane, and starts limping towards me, the vague and mysterious smile on his face never fading for a second.
Armando clears his throat.
Domenico’s eyes flick over my shoulder. “You may leave now, Armando.”
I turn to glimpse the blood draining from Armando’s face. A burst of Italian comes from his lips, only to be interrupted when Domenico raises a single hand to stop him.
“I wish to speak with her myself.” He glares at Armando. “Alone.”
Nodding, Armando backs away and I take pleasure in how uneasy he looks, especially when he stumbles against the edge of the doorway.
It’s my first chance to look around the room and get my bearings. The walls covered in bookshelves thick with novels of all different shapes and sizes. The sienna wallpaper, with its traces of geometric designs, and the tan carpet give the place a warm, welcoming aura.
Outside is the inky night. But are my eyes playing tricks on me, or are there lights in the distance?
Armando looks at the two of us one final time before closing the solid wooden door.
“There,” Domenico says, chuckling lightly. “Now we can talk in peace, Mrs. Siderov.”
Mrs. Siderov … I feel the rings around my finger at the mention of that name. I haven’t heard anyone call me by that since the wedding.
Just hearing it makes me think of Konstantin.
And whether or not he knows I’m here.
Wherever here is.
“I’m sure you have lots of questions. And I’ll answer them all to the best of my ability.” Domenico’s perfect teeth flash, and I can’t help be reminded of a shark just about to bite. “What would you like to start with?”
I balk at his open offer. “Where are we?”
“Capri,” he replies easily enough. “As I understand it, this is not too far from where your path crossed with our dear Konstantin in the Amalfi Coast.” He gestures to an empty seat in front of the desk as he limps his way back to his. “Please, take a seat. I don’t relish in the idea of my guests standing.”
“Am I your guest?” I ask.
“Of course.” His smile widens a hair.
Somehow, I doubt that very much. I keep my voice light and airy. “I’ve been sitting for three hours; I think I prefer to stand. If you don’t mind.”
“Whatever makes you comfortable.” Domenico sighs, shaking his head like he’s exhausted.
I lift my hands in front of me, shaking the ties still binding me. Now that I have a chance to look at them, I realize they’re just ropes.
“If you want me to be comfortable, you could start by getting rid of these.”.
He struggles to his feet with the help of his cane, limps over, and reaches over to undo the ropes. Frowning, he lightly rubs his thumb along the scrapes on my wrists.
“Armando was too rough with you.”
“Aren’t you his boss?” I toss back. “What he does, he does on your orders.”
Domenico says nothing as he releases me and limps over to a small metal fridge tucked away in the corner next to a decorative vase—smooth as glass with the color of a dying sun.
“I must have a talk with him about his methods later.”
There! That undercurrent of danger has returned. For every gesture of unexpected kindness, there’s always been a whisper of danger lurking behind the corner.
I don’t like it.
He brings me a bottle of water from a nearby fridge, opening it before he hands it to me. When I don’t take a sip, he sighs and puts it down on the desk.
“I hope you will come to trust me, Emily,” he says.
The use of my first name catches me by surprise, and I manage to keep my face as expressionless as possible. His shark-like eyes shift just a little, and I know he hasn’t missed a thing.
“Why should I trust you? ”
“Because you’re in a place where there are precious few people you can trust,” he says. “It’s taken me a great deal of effort to get you here.”
Curiosity overpowers my own unease upon hearing this. “What do you mean?”
“Ever since your wedding, I have been thinking of how I can get you out of that damned castle of his,” he replies. “And just when I was ready to give up, you delivered yourself to me. Now, I’m not a man who believes in fate, given what happened in my past.” He gestures at his legs. “But it is most fortuitous that you are here now.”
“Why do you need me here?”
“Because unlike your husband, I still believe in protocol. Someone has to walk poor Alisa down the aisle,” he says. “And who better than her sister-in-law? Now, I hope you’ll join me for dinner in a bit, despite the late hour. I’m sure there are so many more questions that you’ll have for me once you’re a bit more comfortable.”
“There’s nothing more I would want to know from you.” I hiss. “I know what kind of vile person you are.”
“Oh, Emily.” His shark-like eyes zero in on me. “Did dear Konstantin make me out to the villain in his stories?”
I recall what Konstantin said about the fight he had with Domenico when he was just sixteen. The fight that ended with two broken legs for Domenico, and two dead parents for Konstantin.
Above all, I remember the knife scars dotting Konstantin’s chest.
Nothing Domenico can tell me that can ever convince me to change my mind about who and what he is.
“Isn’t that exactly what you are?”
“We are rarely the villains in our own stories,” he replies. “ And Konstantin, despite his faults, is a brilliant storyteller. I’m not the monster he made me out to be.”
“You left his chest riddled with knife scars. You kidnapped his sister in order to force her into a marriage.” I stand up a little straighter now as I rattle off the facts that Konstantin has told be about Domenico. “You had your men invade my wedding with the intent to kill. If you’re not a monster, then what exactly are you?”
“By the time we’re through.” He smiles until I see every row of his white teeth. “I’m hoping that I’ll be your friend. And the lovely thing about friendship is that it’s built on trust.”
“There’s no way I’ll ever trust you.”
“So you say.” He inclines his head. “But I’m sure you’ll change your mind tomorrow evening after I tell you a secret you must be dying to know.”
Despite the way my heart is fearfully hammering against my ribcage, I take a deep breath and ask. “And what secret is that?”
A vicious smile widens on his face, and this time, it reaches his shark-like eyes.
“How your sister Olivia died.”