Chapter Ten #2
Artur’s eyes flicked to me, and a smirk crept onto his face. My stomach turned.
“No,” he said, and then his gaze turned colder. “A treasure.”
The word sent a shiver down my spine. He was a psychopath. That much was clear. I didn’t react, though. Instead, I focused on the stage where a woman in a clean white dress had stepped up to address the room. Her voice cut through the murmurs, drawing everyone’s attention.
The event turned out to be nothing more than a celebration of the wealthy businesspeople in the room.
It was all designed to flaunt their success and brag about their influence.
Despite the extravagance, it was all boring to me.
I longed for a chance to think without the constant distraction of the underworld pressing in on me.
Things moved quickly after that. Before I knew it, we were rising from our seats. We were making our way toward the stairs when a voice cut through the hum of the room.
“Mister Konstantinov.”
Artur stopped in his tracks. Turning, I saw an older man in a dark gray suit rise from the table marked ‘Leonid’. His eyes locked onto mine, and a smile spread across his face, a smile meant to unsettle me.
“Finally attending an event,” the man said, his accent unmistakably Italian. My blood ran cold as I recognized him. This was the man who had nearly taken me at the auction.
Artur towered over him. “I can see you’ve been watching.”
Leonid’s gaze shifted to me again, the smile never leaving his face. I shuddered, and an awkward silence stretched between us. Without warning, Artur’s hand rested on my hip, pulling me closer. My body tensed at the suddenness of it.
Leonid let out a low chuckle. “A poison in your circle?”
“Why?” Artur scoffed. “Are all Italians snakes?”
Leonid’s smile remained as he let the words hang in the air. “You tell me. They are your suspects.”
Artur’s grip on my hip tightened, his anger rising. “Bite what you can swallow, old man.” His voice was low, almost menacing, and with that, he led me to the stairs.
“You look amazing, Miss Romero,” Leonid called out in a whisper. He spoke in Italian so Artur wouldn’t hear, but I suspected he did.
The words hung in the air, and I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to respond. I did, though. “Thank you,” I muttered.
Artur tightened his grip on me again, his silent fury clear in the way he held me.
We walked away, but I couldn’t shake the weight of their exchange.
Artur hated Italians. I knew that, but now it was clearer than ever.
Could that be the reason he kidnapped me?
Or was he thinking of me as a suspect? But suspect of what? I was innocent.
Still, I whispered, “I didn’t kill anyone.”
His grip on my waist never loosened.
“Maybe not yet,” he replied.
“You know I’m innocent.”
“Shut up,” he spat.
Whatever Leonid had said had struck a nerve. He was fuming, and he would take it out on me. I stopped before he entered a room.
My voice trembled as I asked, “Did Marco kill someone? Is that why I’m here? Because of him?”
Artur’s expression darkened as he grabbed my hand, pulling me toward the door with force. He slammed it shut behind us.
“I told you, you talk when I say so. Your job here was to smile and breathe.” His words cut through like a blade.
“But I did. I did as you asked. Please, tell me—” My voice broke, and a sob escaped before I could stop it. “Did Marco kill someone?”
A tear slid down my cheek, and I quickly wiped it away.
Artur’s eyes locked onto mine. “What will you do with the answer?”
“I just need to understand why this is happening to me.”
He moved closer, and my back hit the wall as he loomed over me.
“I’ll give you a reason,” he said as he ran a hand roughly over my cheek.
His touch was painful. He gripped my throat, tightening his hold.
“I hate Italians. Every single one of you is an enemy, and you crossed my path. Does that answer you?”
“I’m innocent,” I choked with tears.
His smirk was chilling, and the weight gnawed at my insides. “I know. You’re innocent and useful. I’ll make sure all Italians know their place. And you know.” He curled his other hand around my hip, pulling me closer. I gasped when the space between us closed. “I’m glad I met you.”
The bitter taste of helplessness crept in. “I want to leave. You know I didn’t do anything—”
“Shh,” he pressed a finger against my lips. “When you cry like this, they’ll think I’m being rough.” I clenched my fist, fighting against the frustration that bubbled within me. But I didn’t have the strength to fight this man. He released me. “Go wash up. You still need to smile.”
I stumbled out of the room, the weight bearing down on me. My heels echoed in the empty hallway, and before I knew it, I was on the rooftop, gasping for air.
The cool night wind did little to cool the fire burning inside me. I was suffocating. The tears I had been holding back for days finally spilled over, tracing the lines of my face.
God knows I tried to stay strong. I reminded myself I was innocent, but the flood of emotions overwhelmed me. My chest felt like it was caving in under the pressure of the memories.
The blood, the screams, and the lives lost around me. All the while, my life hung by a fragile thread. It was too much to bear. I cried until my body shook.
In the middle of my outbreak, a handkerchief appeared before me. I gasped, stepping back.
“You need this.”
It was an Italian. I should have been comfortable around my people, but Marco had poisoned that trust. This happened because of him, and I wasn’t about to fall into another trap. I turned to leave, but his voice stopped me cold.
“Marco wants to talk to you.”
Time froze. The air seemed to thicken, and my thoughts tumbled over each other as his words sank in. After the pain, darkness, and the fear, he wanted to talk to me? I froze until his voice cut through my thoughts once more.
“Alessia,” he said, his tone almost coaxing. “He loves you.”
The words scraped at my heart. I turned to face him. “He sure does,” I said, the bitterness stinging my words. “Only a person who loves you can put you through this, right?” I let out a hollow laugh. “He loves me. And you know, I love him too.”
I turned to leave, but he knew what to say to stop me.
“Your father said you’ll listen to me.”
Papa? My thoughts spun. My parents finally noticed I was gone.
“Some people attacked them, but Marco helped them. They’re okay.”
His words were a lifeline, but I didn’t know how to feel anymore. Despite everything, I cared about my parents. Their safety mattered to me. But I was too tangled in this mess to know who I could trust.
“Who are you?”
He ignored me as he pulled out his phone. “Your father wanted you to listen to this.”
My breath caught in my throat. I wanted to ask if they were okay, but I couldn’t bring myself to trust anyone anymore. Through the static of my fear, I heard my papa’s voice.
“Alessia, baby, I’m so sorry. I know you’re going through a lot, but listen, we will find you.
” His voice broke with a tremor I had never heard before, and my heart clenched.
“If you’re listening to this, it means you’ve met Salvatore.
” He exhaled deeply, his words heavy with unspoken fear. “Listen to him, and do what he says.”
The recording ended, leaving only a haunting silence in its wake. I was stunned, the truth crashing over me like a wave.
I missed them. I missed my parents more than I could bear. And in the same breath, the weight of the truth settled over me. This nightmare wasn’t just my own anymore.
“You didn’t think Marco wasn’t doing anything to get you out of here, did you?” The man’s voice drew me back to the present. “So, can we talk now?”
I couldn’t answer. His words struck me, stirring chaos in my mind. But I knew one thing: nothing was what it seemed, and I was already too far in.
“I’m Salvatore, but you can call me Salva.”