4. Emily
4
EMILY
All around me is a field of glittering stars in the inky night. If I stood up and walked forward to any one of the walls of the large dining room, I would have an unobstructed view of the sea. It’s also dizzying. When I first entered the room, my inclination to peer out the window left me with vertigo.
Now I can’t tell if the lingering illness is from the fact that I’m sitting across from the man in charge of kidnapping me.
When he picks up his knife, I think about the raised scars on Konstantin’s chest.
“Is the food not to your liking?” he asks, gesturing at the filet of steak on my plate.
The cream porcelain matches the suit he’s changed into. As for me, I’m in the exact same clothes I was brought here in. I’d like something clean, but I’m not going to ask him for anything.
I pick up my fork and poke at the steak. The pesto on top has created a greasy film on the meat. And every moment is a battle not to be ill .
“I’m not very hungry,” I lie.
He lifts his flute of golden wine, twirling it in his grip. “My chef can make you something different.”
“No, it’s fine,” I insist.
He sips his drink, watching me curiously. I know he’s going to ask something seconds before he pulls the glass from his lips. “Did Konstantin serve something like this at your wedding?”
I sit up, my shoulder blades jamming into the back of my chair. “What?”
He cuts into his steak meticulously until the blood dribbles into the pesto in a brown smear. He turns the meat in the light, studying it like he’s interested in it instead of me, the girl he’s gone to lengths to capture.
“I was just wondering if you had steak, chicken, or fish. Everyone does things differently. And I would hate to disappoint.”
I bring my water to my lips, sipping it while the chunks of ice clink on my teeth. “I don’t remember.”
“You don’t remember?” He stares at me.
“I was too busy trying not to die that night,” I remind him.
“Hmm.”
There’s a loud click, and he’s returned to cutting up his meat, dividing it into perfectly equal sections on the porcelain.
“Do you love him?” Domenico asks a moment later.
I blink rapidly. “What?”
“It’s a yes or no question, Emily.” He chews a mouthful of steak, but his eyes never leave mine. “Do you love him?”
“What does that matter to you?”
“Well.” He gestures with his knife as if it’s a conductor’s baton. “If you love him, then I might almost feel bad about killing him once this war reaches its natural conclusion. On the other hand.” He stabs another piece of meat and chews it before continuing. “If you don’t love him, then I won’t blink when he does die.”
My hands tighten around my utensils and I look directly in his eyes. “I do love him.”
His eyes narrow and he smirks as if he doesn’t believe me. “How odd that you didn’t answer immediately when I asked.”
“You caught me by surprise,” I reply quickly. “I didn’t think you cared that much.”
“Oh, I think you’ll learn that when it comes to dear Konstantin, I care a great deal.” He chortles as he starts cutting up another piece. “After all, we are going to be brothers-in-law soon. Which brings me to my next question.”
Those dark eyes of his are practically glinting in the light. He leans forward and points the knife at me as if it’s a sword.
“Does he love you?”
Heat flushes my face, and I’m not sure of how I can answer that question. Because the truth is … I don’t know. A part of me desperately wants to believe that Konstantin loves me, but another part of me can’t help recall what he said to Sima through the door of his office.
The only way my grandmother will release my inheritance is after I put a baby in Emily’s belly.
But I also can’t forget the way he kissed me at the wedding. Nor can I forget the way he wiped the tears from my face after my first encounter with Alla. I remember the way he stood outside of our door, yelling at her after she came to gloat in the aftermath of our insanity in the dungeons.
And above all, I recall the way he begged me to tell him— time and time again—just what is wrong so that he can make it all better.
Those must be a sign that he loves me, right?
Or … a nasty little voice in the back of my head pipes up. He only loves what you can do for him.
“Well?” Domenico presses the point, and I shake myself back out of my own thoughts.
“Yes,” I answer. “He does love me.”
Is that the truth? Or is that just what I want the truth to be?
Domenico seems to read my mind, and a knowing smile spreads across his face as he takes another bite of steak. I take the moment to enjoy the brief escape from his voice. He swallows and the smile widens.
I hold up my knife as if to examine it, but really, I’m covering up his mouth so the only thing I can see are his eyes.
And without the smile to hide behind, they are cold and merciless.
“My sister Olivia,” I finally start, trying to change the subject. “You promised me you’ll tell me how she died. But what I want to know is how you knew about her.”
He shrugs. “She worked for me.”
“As a member of the Ferrata Mafia?” I ask in defeat.
I was desperately hoping that Olivia had turned her life around. I was so sure she had!
“No.” He waves a hand in a smooth arc, pulling me from my miserable spiral. “She worked at one of the restaurants I owned in New York.”
Just like that, hope is rekindled.
I try not to get too excited, but I’m champing at the bit to find any source of proof that Olivia did turn her life around. That she wasn’t just some junkie like Mom and Dad kept insisting even after her death. My heart needs this.
Almost as much as it needs confirmation that Konstantin loves me.
“I don’t understand. Then how did she die?”
Domenico scrubs his chin thoughtfully. His frown puckers like he’s bitten into something sour. “One evening, I personally chose to accompany her home. To keep her safe, of course.”
His shark-like eyes drill into mine, and we both know he’s lying.
“When?” I ask bitterly. “The night of her death?”
“Long before that,” he replies. “Her death was an unintentional consequence of greater things. I didn’t mean for her to die.”
“You didn’t mean for her to die?” I scoff. “Like it’s a fucking accident?”
“All she had to do was listen and do as she was told.” Domenico snaps. “But instead, she chose to defy my orders. And for that, she paid the appropriate price.”
My heart hammers at my throat, and I watch Domenico’s bored expression as he answers. My own heart flutters from rage to sadness to every other emotion in between. I’m scared of what I’ll find if I keep pushing, but I have to know.
I need to know.
“And what order was that?” I finally ask, my voice on the verge of wavering.
Domenico looks at me, and finally, he whispers. “To stand aside.”
We sit in awkward silence for all of three minutes before there’s a knock.
“Enter,” Domenico calls out.
The man who had taken me from Croatia—Armando— enters. His eyes find me immediately. He looks almost surprised to see me, but then he takes in the sight of the meal and his face hardens.
He approaches Domenico, leans down, and says something in Italian, and Domenico’s face twists into an angry scowl.
It’s the only warning either Armando or myself receives before Domenico suddenly grabs him by the cuff of his shirt, and slam him on the table.
The fist holding the knife rises, and before I can react, it plunges down into Armando’s throat.
And then the blood comes.
It seeps over Armando’s shirt as he struggles under Domenico’s grasp. His hand flails futilely as the knife rises and falls again and again. The glass of wine topples, spilling along the runner. My plate of food falls to the floor.
Red bubbles foam on Armando’s lips as he gurgles his final breath on the table.
No words come.
He’s silently screaming, drowning from the blood filling his mouth and throat.
Domenico keeps stabbing. The serrated edge saws through Armando’s flesh, then through cloth and bone. Blood is everywhere, bright on the tablecloth, droplets of it staining Domenico’s cream suit.
When Armando’s corpse stops twitching, Domenico tosses the knife to the floor, letting it clatter far away before he adjusts his suit with a deep breath.
“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he says to me. “It seems that your husband is hell-bent on crashing this wedding. He’s gathered quite a sizable force on the other side of the shore.”
I ball my hands into a fist and feel my pulse racing. It’s amazing how fast my heart is beating. I should be afraid, but my pulse spike isn’t from fear, but something else …
The knowledge that Konstantin is close.
And trailing in my racing heart is something awful and wicked that I wish didn’t exist in me.
The knowledge that Domenico is afraid.
He lifts a napkin to mop his hands clean, tosses it on Armando’s face and sits back in his chair. He looks around, then picks up a clean fork from another plate.
“You really should try this,” he says, popping a piece of steak into his mouth. He motions with the fork at me once he finishes chewing. “It won’t taste as good if it gets any colder.”
Nauseous revulsion hits me again. How can he sit down and eat like nothing happened? I’d never sit back down and eat a plate of food with a corpse just a foot away.
Especially not with the same enthusiasm as Domenico.
If this is his way of proving to me that he’s not the monster that Konstantin tells me he is, then he’s doing a terrible job at it.
He notices his wine has spilled and scowls, eyeballing the inside of the empty glass. “I suppose dinner is over.”
Rising up to his feet with the help of his cane, he walks over to the door, opens it, and gestures. Immediately, three rough men enter. They hardly spare a second glance at Armando’s corpse, instead making a beeline towards me.
“Take Konstantin’s whore down to the basement where his sister is.” All trace of friendliness now disappears from his voice. “If she is to walk my bride down the aisle, then the two of them should at least be acquainted.”
Rough hands yank me up from my seat and frog-march me out the door. We turn a corner, and I am dragged down a set of steps into the dark .
With every step, I am reminded of the dungeon that Konstantin dragged me to in the castle. But I know what awaits me below is nothing but horror and dread.
Even though I know in my heart of hearts that Konstantin is on the way, there’s a part of me that can’t shake out the idea that I’m about to meet my end soon.
When we reach the bottom, a door is pushed open. I get a glimpse of a single dim light before I’m shoved forward. I lose my balance and hold out my arms to brace my fall.
Before I can pick myself up from the ground, the door slams shut, and I hear something latching on the other side.
I fumble for the handle of the door, and find nothing but smooth wood.
There’s no way out.
“Fuck!” I scream as I pound on the door and hear nothing in response.