CHAPTER 29
CARA
The door unlocked at exactly ten, and my stomach tightened, before it even opened.
Two men came in without a word, wearing dark suits.
The clear outlines of their weapons were visible under their jackets.
Their eyes didn’t linger on my face, only the dress - like they were conducting an inspection; prisoner dressed correctly.
Check. Bride appropriate. Check. That’s all I was to them. A prisoner. A job.
“Move,” one said.
I stepped forward carefully. The heels caught immediately, forcing me to grab the doorframe before I fell. There was no way I was going to get far in the damn things. I didn’t understand why any woman would go through the agony of wearing them.
The dress was heavier than it looked too, painful structure stitched into every layer, cleverly hidden with layered satin that looked so delicate and elegant.
I’d barely put any makeup on – deciding less was definitely more when I had no idea what I was doing, and no inclination to make much of an effort.
I’d twisted my hair up into an up-do I had haphazardly created.
There were about a hundred bobby pins holding it in place, and still wild strands had escaped around my face already.
I probably looked the fanciest I had ever looked, and I fucking hated it.
Behind me, a hand shoved my shoulder.
“Walk properly.”
“I am walking,” I snapped, catching myself against the wall again. “Have you seen these insane shoes?”
Another shove, harder this time. He didn’t seem to care about my footwear issues. I bit down on the instinct to turn around and hit him then and there. Not yet. Timing mattered.
We reached the staircase and I went down slowly, one hand on the rail, counting breaths instead of steps. The house felt different today - too many men, too much movement, all of it coordinated.
I took in my surroundings, clocking the main entrance as soon as I rounded the staircase. There were three other doors off of the hallway below. Dante was most likely in a basement of some kind, judging by the video I had been sent.
At the bottom, one of the guards stepped away, answering something sharply, in another language - probably Armenian - through his earpiece.
The second stayed, standing close to me. Too close. I scanned the space around us again. There was no one else in sight. My pulse jumped. I knew that was my opportunity. I could handle one guy. I could take down Cal and Arran. I could take this guy down too. Now.
I moved without thinking too long about it.
I spun, drove my elbow straight into his throat.
He made a rough, choking sound and staggered back, hands flying up too late.
I didn’t give him time to recover. I grabbed his wrist as he reached for me, twisted hard, using his own momentum, and slammed him into the marble wall.
The move Dio had taught me worked perfectly and the impact rang through the hallway.
He dropped to his knees and I didn’t hesitate.
I tore the gun from his holster, and for a single breathless second, everything narrowed to that weight in my hand.
It was loaded, and I knew how to use it.
I was going to get Dante. I raised it. This bastard was taking me to Dante and I was getting us the hell out of there.
But I’d forgotten what Arran had told me so many times. Never leave your back open. A hand closed around my wrist calmly. Precisely, and I knew without looking it was Daniel.
He didn’t yank it away immediately. He simply shifted my arm slightly, correcting the angle like someone adjusting a misaligned instrument.
I tried to move to shift out of his grip, but his hand gripped my shoulder painfully and I knew I wasn’t getting free.
He was too close and too much bigger than me.
My grip on the gun broke under that controlled pressure, fingers forced open as agony tore through my hand.
The gun dropped and metal clattered across the shiny marble.
I adjusted my stance, ready to at least try and fight, but before I could swing at him, he was already there - an arm around my waist, pulling me back against him hard. Not violent, but not gentle either.
“Enough,” he said quietly. He took my wrist in his much bigger hand and squeezed it too tight.
“You were warned,” he uttered, scarily quietly.
I was right to heed that tone. He twisted my wrist and I cried out as something popped.
The agony tore up my arm and I worried he wouldn’t stop. I twisted in his hold desperately.
“Let go of me, you mother fucker!” I screamed.
Finally he stopped, but he didn’t release me. He just leaned in closer, his back pressing against me. “You were close,” he told me, almost conversationally.
“Next time I’ll shoot faster!” I spit angrily, my pain turning to rage.
“That’s where you’re wrong. There will be no next time.”
I shoved against him again, but he didn’t tighten his grip - he simply held, like resistance wasn’t a factor he needed to be concerned with, especially not from me.
Then, all of a sudden, he released me. I moved away from him a few feet, stumbling in the stupid heels the whole way, and cradled my throbbing wrist against my chest, looking around me at the men who also surrounded us.
There were four of them, the one I attacked looking a little the worse for wear.
Daniel’s eyes flicked to the corridor and my heart stuttered. It was the look in his eyes as he glanced to me, before his attention went to his men. It wasn’t just cold. It was conniving.
“Bring him.”
My breath stalled. Dante.
“No!” I cried.
But footsteps were already moving. I pressed my hands to my face and fought to breathe through my panic.
They were going to kill him, and it was all going to be my fault.
I couldn’t even try to stop them. I couldn’t handle four of them plus Daniel.
I couldn’t even take Daniel alone down, and I knew it.
And then I heard them. Heavy footsteps and the sound of dragging. I lowered my hands and watched in horror. Dante came into view between two men and everything in me stopped. My heart wasn’t beating. My blood felt frozen. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.
“Dante!” I dropped to my knees before him and reached out my hands, but I dare not touch him.
There was blood, wounds and so much gore all over him.
His head hung forward. Bruises darkened his face.
Blood at the corner of his mouth. He couldn’t keep himself upright, barely conscious.
His stubble was a beard now, and I knew he’d been here since the day he landed in London after our trip.
They’d had him for weeks. Torturing him.
Starving him until he was half the weight he was when I last saw him. Slowly killing him.
I moved without thinking, crawling towards him. I cupped his face carefully, my hands shaking. I needed to see his eyes open. I needed to know he was still alive, still in there.
“Hey. Dante, pl-please look at me,” I begged.
His eyes struggled open and found mine.
“…Cara…” It was barely a word, his voice hoarse and barely working.
That cracked something open inside me. I felt like I had been split open right then and there. He was a shell of the man I knew, broken and hurt so badly I couldn’t help but fear I had already lost him.
“I’m here,” I assured him quickly. “I’m right here. You’re okay.”
He tried to straighten and failed. The guards tightened their grip again and Dante groaned in agony.
“….r-run…go…” he gasped weakly, his whole body rigid with the pain he was so obviously in.
That was the moment something in me stopped being careful. Dante was barely alive, and if I couldn’t save him. I didn’t care about saving myself either. I turned back to Daniel.
“What did you do to him, you fucking monsters?!” I yelled through my emotion.
Daniel didn’t even look at Dante. He looked at me with a shrug, like he truly didn’t give a shit about the man dying before him. He didn’t, I realised. He truly was a monster.
“He’s still alive.”
“Barely. At least help him!”
“That depends on your next choices.”
Something cold settled in my chest. Utter determination and knowledge that I couldn’t win. I wasn’t dealing with a human. I was dealing with a psycho. A liar. Possibly the biggest monster I had ever faced.
“I’m not doing what you want.”
“I’m not asking you,” he said calmly.
And that was when I saw it clearly. He wasn’t emotional about this.
He wasn’t angry. He was managing outcomes.
Like I was one variable in a system he already understood better than I did.
This marriage was a means to an end for him.
A business transaction that would lead to the position he felt he had earned.
He didn’t care about me or Dante. He cared about power.
About his outcome. That realization made my skin go cold.
But it didn’t stop me. He was likely to kill me and Dante the second the marriage was settled anyway. At least if he did it now, he lost as well. No marriage, no promotion. No successful outcome.