Chapter Thirty-Three #2
He lifts the necklace from the case.
“May I?”
I turn.
He fastens it around my neck, his fingers careful against my skin. The sapphire rests just below my throat, heavier than the silver crescent already hidden beneath my blouse.
“It should be yours,” he says.
I touch the stone.
“Thank you.”
His hand lingers briefly against my shoulder.
Then he steps away.
“There’s something else.”
The room is at the end of the west hall.
As we walk, I notice another guard near the head of the stairs. He looks away when I meet his gaze.
Matteo opens the door and waits for me to enter.
Sunlight falls across pale-blue walls. A narrow writing desk sits beneath the windows. There is a fireplace with two chairs drawn close to it and a vase of fresh flowers on the mantel.
The windows overlook the bay.
“This was hers,” he says.
“She stayed here?”
“When she could get away.”
I move toward the desk.
A silver hairbrush rests beside a bottle of perfume.
I know the scent before I remove the stopper.
For a moment, I’m six years old again, my face pressed against my mother’s dress while she strokes my hair.
I put the bottle down before I drop it.
Despite myself, I smile.
There are books on the shelves.
Poetry.
Russian novels.
A collection of fairy tales I remember from my childhood.
I pull it free.
“My mother used to read this to me.”
His expression changes.
“I didn’t know that.”
The admission hurts more than I expect.
There are things I can tell him about her.
Things he can tell me.
Between us, we might have enough pieces to make her whole again.
I return the book to the shelf.
Beside it is a framed photograph from my birthday.
Matteo and me outside on the terrace.
It was taken a little over two weeks ago.
My smile disappears.
“When did you put this here?”
“The day after your birthday.”
I look around again.
The flowers are fresh.
The room has been cleaned, the bed made. On a chair near the window sits a folded cashmere sweater with the tags still attached.
This isn’t only my mother’s room.
It has been prepared.
“Why?” I ask.
Matteo follows my gaze.
“I thought you might want a place here.”
“You bought me a house without asking. Now you’ve prepared a room.”
“You’re my daughter.”
“That doesn’t mean you get to arrange my life.”
“No. Of course not.”
But he says it like someone soothing a frightened animal.
My skin begins to prickle.
I check the time.
Four twenty.
“We should leave.”
“So soon?”
“I promised I would call at five.”
“The Catenzios require you to report your movements?”
“I chose the time.”
His mouth flattens.
“Dario?”
Dario straightens near the door.
“We’ll bring the car around.”
We return downstairs.
Matteo walks beside me, one hand resting lightly at my back.
The gesture felt paternal when I arrived.
Now it feels like guidance.
The guard at the head of the stairs follows us down.
Dario notices.
His pace changes slightly, bringing him closer to my side.
He opens the front door.
A man on the other side doesn’t move.
Dario looks at him.
“Step aside.”
Two more men enter the foyer behind us.
My pulse changes.
The front entrance remains open, but the men fill it completely. Through the gap between their shoulders, I can see the SUV and part of Bruno’s profile behind the wheel.
I reach for my phone.
Matteo closes his hand over mine before I can unlock the screen.
I stare at his fingers.
“Let go,” I tell him.
“I’m sorry, Lucia.”
My stomach drops.
“Give me my phone.”
He takes it from my hand.
Dario moves.
Every guard in the foyer reaches beneath his jacket.
“Easy,” Dario says.
His voice is calm, but his body has gone still.
Matteo slips my phone into his pocket.
“You’re staying.”
For a moment, I don’t understand the words.
Then I do.
“I came willingly.”
“You did.”
“Then let me leave.”
“I can’t.”
Anger burns through the fear.
“You mean you won’t.”
“The Catenzios have manipulated you from the beginning. Marco returned you to Mikhailov and then exchanged millions for a marriage. His brother took advantage of your dependence on them—”
“Stop.”
“They’ve convinced you that what they’re doing is love.”
“And what do you call this?”
His face hardens.
“Protection.”
The word strikes something cold inside me.
Viktor used it.
Marco used it when he put me in the car.
Every man who has taken away my choices has found a gentler word for it.
Dario puts himself between me and the nearest guard.
“Lucia,” he says quietly. “Get behind me.”
Matteo’s men close in.
There are too many.
Three in the entrance.
One near the hall.
Another on the stairs.
More outside.
Dario might reach his weapon.
He might even reach the door.
He won’t reach the car.
“Where’s Bruno?” I ask.
No one answers.
I look at Matteo.
“If you hurt either of them—”
“They won’t be harmed.”
“You expect me to believe you?”
“They’ll be escorted from the property.”
Dario doesn’t move.
“I’m not leaving her.”
“You are,” Matteo says. “Or my men will remove you.”
Dario glances at me.
I know what he is asking.
One word, and he will try.
Marco sent him here to protect me. Dario will die in this foyer before he walks away willingly.
I shake my head.
“Go.”
“No.”
“Tell Marco what happened.”
“I’m not leaving you here.”
“You can’t help me if you’re dead.”
His jaw clenches.
“Dario.”
For several seconds, neither of us moves.
Then he raises his hands, allowing one of Matteo’s men to take his weapon.
“This isn’t over,” he tells Matteo.
“I’m aware.”
Two guards seize Dario by the arms.
He jerks free of one.
The other strikes him across the jaw.
“Stop!” I shout.
Dario regains his balance.
His hand closes into a fist.
Through the open door, I see three men surrounding the SUV. Bruno is struggling with one near the driver’s side.
Another twists his arm behind his back.
“Stand down!” Dario calls.
Bruno looks toward the house.
Our eyes meet across the drive.
“Go,” I tell him.
His face contorts with fury.
Then he stops fighting.
The guards force Dario through the doorway.
He looks back at me once.
“We’ll come for you.”
I nod.
A guard closes the door between us.
The lock turns.
My heart pounds, but I refuse to let Matteo see anything except anger.
“How long?”
“As long as necessary.”
“For what?”
“For you to understand what those men have done to you.”
“I already understand.”
“No, you don’t. You were alone and frightened. They made themselves indispensable. Marco tied you to him legally, while Gio—”
“Don’t.”
“You’ve confused dependence with love.”
“You barely know me.”
“I am your father.”
“You confirmed that with a blood test two weeks ago.”
Pain moves across his face.
“I lost twenty-four years with you.”
“That wasn’t my decision.”
“No. It was your mother’s.”
His voice hardens.
“I won’t allow the Catenzios to take the rest.”
The house has gone quiet around us.
He has my phone.
His men guard every exit.
Upstairs, a bedroom is already waiting for me.
I touch the sapphire at my throat.
A gift given to my mother by the man who loved her.
The man who has now locked her daughter inside this house.
“They’re not taking me from you,” I say. “You’re taking me from them.”