48. Emily
48
EMILY
Ivica comes to fetch me exactly when she said she would. She also brings me a pair of sturdy shoes, a compass, the old clothes that I had arrived at the castle in, and even my phone.
It takes me no more than a few minutes to change completely, my body stinging from the pain the entire time.
When I’m done, I stare at my reflection in the mirror, and my eyes travel down to the rings on my finger, both the engagement ring with its massive diamond and the wedding band.
Both of them tie me to Konstantin, and I move my hand to remove them when Ivica stops me.
“I have no money to give you,” she explains. “So you may need to sell those for a ticket home. Now come.”
Realizing she has a point, I give her a quick nod, and follow her out the door.
True to her word, she leads me all the way to the boat. When we finally reach it, she helps me in and pushes it silently over the darkening lake.
“Good luck, dear,” she tells me.
“Ivica, wait.” I tell her.
“There’s no time!” she hisses as she continues pushing. “You need to go now!”
I reach forward and place my hand on hers, and she stops.
Even in the dying sun, I can see the tears in her eyes.
“I just need to know,” I say. “Why did you choose to help me? If Konstantin finds out that you did this for me. If Alla finds out …”
“Because you needed help.” She stops me from speaking and gives the boat one final shove until it’s gliding on the glassy surface. “Now go!”
Two hours later, I am sitting in the back of the truck as it makes its way towards Dubrovnik. Everything went exactly as Ivica said. The ride is bumpy, and the driver chatters with the man in the passenger side in Croatian the entire time.
Neither of them spares me another glance as I sit quietly in the back.
As far as they’re concerned, I’m a nobody.
Which is exactly what I wanted.
I start twisting the rings on my finger again. I had turned the massive diamond inside to hide it, and now, the immense weight of the rings seems to grow heavier with each mile the truck puts between me and the distant castle.
My mind is focused on Ivica.
And Konstantin.
Will Ivica have a chance to tell Konstantin the truth before Alla gets to her? Will Alla be furious when she finds me missing?
And what about Konstantin?
Will he get a chance to find out just what his grandmother had done to me?
I stare down at the rings on my finger, giving them another twist, and feel a familiar sting in my nose. Ugh … the last thing I want to do right now is to cry more, but once the tears start, I can’t stop myself anymore.
The driver peers at me in the center mirror, and he asks me something in Croatian as he offers up a sympathetic smile. When I don’t say anything, he exchanges a quick concerned look with his passenger before resuming the drive in silence.
I wish I could’ve seen Konstantin one final time … I think. I wish I could hear his voice calling me Kitty Cat one last time.
But that’s impossible.
There’s a vast canyon between that happy ending and where I am now. We haven’t gone all that far away from the castle yet. For all I know, Alla is rallying her bodyguards to drag me back there, kicking and screaming, so that she can torture me some more before Konstantin comes back.
I shudder as I touch my sensitive skin, still raw and prickling from her needles.
Slowly, my hand moves down to my belly, and I wonder if maybe I am already pregnant.
The thought of Konstantin’s baby growing inside of me sends another burst of tears pouring from my eyes.
He might never know.
Maybe there’ll be a way I can get in touch with him …
The driver looks back at me. The concerned expression in his eyes helps chase away some of the nervous clouds swarming my heart. He asks me something again, and I do the only thing I can, which is shake my head at whatever it is he’s saying and mustering up a fake smile to assure him that I’m alright.
He sighs. Whether to himself or for me, I will never know.
Because that’s the exact moment when the glass shatters beside his head.
Blood sprays across the car. Shards rake the passenger’s seat, and both men cry out in pain. Loud thuds slam into the body of the car, one after another. Spiderweb cracks blossom into white balls in the windshield and I huddle myself into the space behind the driver’s seat.
The last thing I see is the passenger’s body convulsing as his shirt changes color from a light blue to a deep crimson. The coppery scent of blood fills the air, and I scream in shock.
The driver tries to yell something at me. But his word is cut short and he collapses forward, honking a single long note as the truck barrels full speed ahead.
He’s dead!
Scrambling upwards, I grab the handbrake and give it a hard pull. The truck starts slowing down immediately, but momentum carries it forward until it slams through the guardrail separating the curving road and straight into a thick olive tree.
The front of the truck is twisted against the bent metal guardrail. Green leaves and fresh olives clatter on the hood like hailstones.
I clamber backwards, and tug at the handle of the door. Adrenaline chases away all sensation of prickling pain still coursing through my body. Time seems to move in slow motion, and I breathe a silent prayer of thanks that the door still works.
I stumble outside, collapsing immediately on my knees from disorientation, and try to get back up.
I reach for my phone, but as soon as I have it, I realize I don’t know what number I can even dial. That’s when I notice the red smears on the glass surface.
When did I get blood on me? I try to wipe it away, but it’s playing hell with the touch-screen’s functions.
“No! No! No!” I groan in frustration. Each time I scrub the screen, it only gets worse.
I need to dial ? —
Glass crunches, drawing my attention to the sound of boots heading my way. Fear rises in my throat as I imagine Alla’s bodyguards stalking towards me. Getting up on wobbly feet, I start to move, only to collapse onto my back.
The thin man who looms towards me is framed by light. Instantly, I know he’s far too small to be one of Alla’s bodyguards. I see the gun in his hand and my eyes widen in panic. But he doesn’t raise it as he continues to walk calmly towards me.
Once he’s closer, I see that he’s wearing black leather gloves that match his long jacket. They practically gleam as he grabs the front of my left hand and yank me up to see him.
Another man, much fatter than his companion, comes to join him. He points at my hand. That’s when I realize he’s staring at my rings. The thin man looks at him, then back to me, and the two of them excitedly exchanges a few words.
Their words sound musical, almost as if they’re singing.
And then it hits me.
They’re not speaking Croatian or Russian.
They’re speaking Italian.
The thin man holding me by my hand turns his face towards me, the sight of his sharp eyes and crooked smile—like a starving animal suffering a long winter that’s finally found something to eat—turns my skin cold.
“ La puttanella di Siderov ,” he says, grinning. “ L’Americana. ”
It doesn’t take a genius for me to know exactly what he’s talking about.
Run, please, run! I beg my body. I try to make a move towards the guardrail. I don’t know just how high up we are or what is on the other side. But I know that it can’t be worse than what will happen to me in their hands.
If I can just get free …
Maybe someone will help me. Someone will save me.
A hard object presses into my ribs, and chases all thought of escape out of my mind. “Don’t move, puttana ,” he whispers in my ear.
His voice is rusted nails and candy. It turns my stomach.
He rubs the gun along my side. It’s small and stiff, scraping my skin through my shirt. He uses it like it’s a third hand and inhales deeply, making it obvious he’s enjoying the smell of my hair. Revulsion climbs up in me.
And this time, Konstantin isn’t here to save me.
With a hard yank, the two of them drag me back towards their waiting car.
Each step forward is heavy, and my feet drags. The lingering pain in the soles of my feet from Alla’s needles return, stinging me with every step. Strangely enough, it doesn’t seem like their car is getting any closer.
Just as I think it’ll take an hour to reach it, suddenly I see my own reflection staring back at me in the tinted backseat window.
They shove me inside, and the memory of the same action by a different man who I wish was here right now hits me hard enough to leave me dazed.
The thin man gets into the driver’s seat while his fat companion slides into the seat next to me. With his gun pointed at me, he starts leaning in close.
Icicles form on my spine as his thick sausage-like fingers reach for me …
… and rips the phone—still covered in the blood of the truck driver and his passenger—out of my hand.
With a single swift motion, he throws it on the ground, and shuts the door.
Konstantin won’t know where I am.
And I can’t even contact him if I wanted to.
The car starts, and the driver gives me one last look through the rearview mirror, his eyes staring greedily at my chest.
And without warning, the car speeds away from the violent scene.
END OF BOOK 1