Chapter 4 - Gela
The steel stairs are slick and wet, and I try to run because Valentin keeps hissing at me to move, and I remember how he killed all those men. My legs feel like jelly, and the bile rises in my throat, but no matter how hard I try, all I can think of is the color of blood.
How the hell did my day end up like this?
One second, I was elbow-deep in work, trying to make the most of a free Sunday, and the next?
I’m running for my life. My lungs are burning, my legs are shaking, and I can’t get the sound of those gunshots out of my head.
The smell of blood still lingers, and I try not to gag as I do whatever Valentin wants.
I’m shit scared, and I’ve clearly got Valentin down all wrong, but he’s still a safer bet than waiting around for those dangerous men to come back.
Ever since he walked me back to my office this afternoon, my heart had been doing these uncharacteristic little flips at the thought of him.
When will I see him again?
He walked me to my building…does that mean something?
Will he actually call, and if he does, would it be just for dinner… or a date?
Fuck.
Twenty minutes ago, I was trying really hard to work on a marketing plan for the Fitness Haven account, that is, through the haze of thinking about Valentin—and unsuccessfully trying not to.
When those three guys walked in, looking like they'd stepped out of a B-grade gangster movie, I remember thinking it was strange. No one comes to the office on Sundays, especially not without an appointment.
My stomach turns as I remember they had pretended to be here on behalf of my funders.
“Miss Jones?” the one with a nasty scar running down his jawline had asked. “We're here on behalf of your benefactor. We need to see your financial records. Client lists, billing information, all of it.”
That’s when my guard went up. Z Ventures had been hands-off since the initial investment. It didn't make sense for them to suddenly take an interest in my business out of nowhere. And billing information? Come on. I wasn’t born yesterday.
“If Z Ventures has concerns, they can contact me directly through the proper channels,” I said, pointing to the door.
Scarface had smiled then, a smile that sent shivers down my spine. “Let's not play games, Miss Jones. The man who funds your little start-up is powerful, and to keep staying here, you need to hand us a list of all your clients and billings.”
The pieces had started to click—they weren't from Z Ventures at all. This was some kind of scam.
“Listen, please,” I'd tried to reason with them. “My company has to maintain client privacy. If the funder has concerns, he can talk to me directly instead of sending—”
“The funder doesn't waste time with little girls like you,” another one had said.
Damn, my temper flared. No one spoke to me like that!
“I need you to know I'm not a fool,” I fired back haughtily. “Why would the funder even want those financials? What business is it of his? And if he did, ask him to drop me an email explaining his reasoning. I've entertained you enough, and I'm done.”
And when they still didn’t take no for an answer, I threatened to call the police. In no scenario did I think that would be met with a goddamn gun pointed in my face.
And that's when everything exploded. The door burst open, gunshots rang out, and I watched in horror as Scarface dropped to the floor. When I looked to see who might have come to my rescue, thinking one of the building guards might have caught on and called the cops, my stomach gave out.
It was Valentin shooting those guys down, and from the way they spoke, they recognized one another.
This whole day feels like a nightmare, one I might wake up from any second now.
I look back at Valentin, still following, and see the blood splatters on his shirt.
My legs and hands begin to shake. Even now, just thinking about how he killed those men who looked petrified of him makes me nearly leap in fright.
That same old panic comes barreling back with a vengeance at the realization that the man I’ve been daydreaming about turned out to be someone else entirely.
My foot slips on the slippery metal step, and my heart jumps into my throat as I nearly tumble face-first down the stairwell. Valentin grabs my upper arm and steadies me with a solid grip.
“You okay?” he asks gently, like we’re back in the coffee shop and he’s asking if he can join me.
I nod, and he motions at me to carry on. Just then, we hear something grate above us, like someone’s testing windows and doors.
“Move,” Valentin says urgently and practically drags me down the fire exit stairs. Behind us, shouts echo from a window, and my brain can’t process what’s happening fast enough.
We’ve been seen. There are three dead men in my office. And the man who put them there is pulling me along like I'm a rag doll.
“Valentin—” I want to ask who those guys were, but he cuts me off with a sharp look that makes the words die in my throat.
“Not now. Just run.”
My legs are jelly beneath me as we keep moving down in a spiral. My brain keeps replaying the memories from my office. I’d never seen a gun being shot before. Ever.
Let alone blood on a man.
“Faster.” He grabs my wrist and rushes me along as we round another landing. “They're probably following.”
We burst through the exit door at the bottom of the stairs, right into the parking lot. The parking lot is empty except for a few cars, which is expected on a Sunday.
But it unnerves me. It means if shit hits the fan, there are no witnesses around. The door slams behind us, and the loud sound makes me jump.
“My car is over there,” Valentin says, pulling me toward a sleek black sedan.
I dig my heels in the road and try to pull my wrist free. “Wait, what? I'm not going anywhere with you. I’m just going to get myself a cab, thanks.”
He turns to me, and I barely recognize that darkness in his face. He looks furious, as if I don’t give him his way, there’ll be hell coming. He’s never looked at me like this…ever. Whatever happened to the sweet Valentin I’d come to know?
Was that even his fucking name?
“Gela, listen to me. Those men are fucking dangerous. They're going to come after you now, and they won't stop.”
“I don't care! I'm calling the police.” I fumble for my phone in my pocket.
He snatches it away from me before I can even unlock the screen. “The police can't help you with this.”
“Then I’ll scream until someone comes,” I screech. “I’m not going with you. Give me my phone back!” I reach for it, but he holds it away from me.
“I'm trying to save your life,” he growls. “Now get in the car.”
“No.” I take a step back, remembering how he killed those men.
The fear tangles in my throat, and while I want to believe he won’t hurt me, right now, my mind’s a spinning mess, and all I want is to get away from danger as safely as I can.
“I'll take my chances. Thank you for... whatever that was, but I'm leaving now.”
I turn to run, but I don't make it two steps before his arm wraps around my waist, lifting me off my feet.
“Let me go!” I scream, kicking and twisting in his grip. “Help! Somebody help me!”
But my screams echo in the empty parking lot. Valentin carries me to his car and practically throws me inside, and before I can scramble out the other side, he's in the driver's seat and has the doors locked.
I swear, how the hell can a man move that first?
“This is kidnapping,” I hiss, my chest heaving with panicked breaths as I try my door, but it doesn’t budge. “You're kidnapping me!”
“I'm keeping you alive.” He begins to drive out of the parking lot. “If I hadn't shown up, you'd be dead already for your arrogance.”
My head spins, and I try to open the window, but even the lever for it is child-locked. “Please.” I turn to him, and my voice wavers. “Just let me go…please.”
“Can’t do that, don’t you get it?” he hisses and shifts a little to look back through the side-view mirror.
That's when I notice the gun jutting out of his pocket, and my hands begin to tremble.
“Are you going to kill me too?” My voice shakes like a leaf in the wind.
His eyes snap to mine, and he looks genuinely shocked. “No. Jesus, Gela. I would never hurt you.”
The irony of that statement, coming from a man who just shot three people in the head without blinking, isn't lost on me.
“Then let me go. Please,” my voice comes out in a pleading sob.
“I can't do that.” His voice is gentle now, like it’s always been with me, which somehow makes this whole thing even more surreal. “I’m only doing this to keep you safe.”
“Safe from what? I don't understand any of this!”
He takes a sharp turn and looks at me. “Those men are powerful criminals and own the building where your office is.”
My blood runs cold. “What? No. That's not possible.”
“It is. And I'm sorry you got pulled into this, but here we are. You've got to trust me, okay?”
He looks perturbed, but not worried enough, like shooting down men is an everyday occurrence for him. He takes a turn down another unfamiliar street, filled with run-down buildings with windows boarded up and graffiti-covered walls, and pulls up behind a worn-down red-brick.
“Where are we?” I ask after a while, and push myself as far into my seat as I can, the fear creeping back into my voice.
“You’ll be safe here.” He gets out, comes around to my door, and opens it. “Come on.”
“No!” I look at him like he’s crazy.
He lets out a disgruntled little groan and reaches in, past me, to unbuckle my seatbelt.
“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” I try to protest, but his arms reach behind my back and knees, and he literally hauls me out of the car.
I struggle, but it's useless—he's too strong, and there's no one around to help me. He puts me down and drags me toward a rusty metal door, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t fight him.
Inside, Valentin pulls me up a narrow staircase to the second floor, down a hallway, and into a small room where a balding man sits behind a desk.
“The papers are ready,” the man says to Valentin. Then, I don’t know if I imagine it, but I swear he looks at me with something like pity.
Then, he leaves the room without another word.
Valentin guides me to the desk and pulls out some papers from a manila envelope, reading them before pulling out a pen from his pocket. Then, he turns to me and hands me the papers and the pen.
“Sign.”
“What?” I screech in disbelief. “I’m not signing anything!”
“Yes, you are!” He clicks his tongue and shoves the papers in my hands. I look down, simply out of curiosity, and what I see makes my knees shake.
Marriage license.
I forget to breathe for a second as my knees go wobbly.
“What is the meaning of this?” I ask, the papers trembling in my hands.
“It’s the only way I know you’ll be safe.” He shoves the pen at me, but I refuse to take it.
I stare at him in disbelief. “You're insane if you think I'm signing that.”
“You don't have a choice.” His voice changes then, turning cold and hard, just as it had when he spoke to the men in my office. “Sign it.”
“No!” I cry out, taking a step back.
He inches closer until he towers over me.
“Listen carefully, Gela. If you don't sign this willingly, I will make you. Do you understand? Those men are dangerous, and they’ve only gotten started. Today, they didn’t just pull out a gun to show you a shiny new toy.
They meant to use it. So, unless you want to end up dead, you sign these fucking papers because I’m the only one who can protect you, sweetheart. ”
His threat chills me to the bone. I look into his eyes, the ones I used to dream about until hours ago, and all I see is a monster.