Chapter 38 – Marcella
MARCELLA
When I step out of my bedroom door, the palace is buzzing.
People are in the halls talking, and there’s movement everywhere I look.
It’s odd for a Saturday, which is typically a quiet day.
I switched my day off with Astrid, one of the other servants.
Signoria Batorini texted yesterday evening, telling me she was going to be in Tourin this morning at eight instead of tomorrow at ten and that I had to meet her.
I don’t stop to talk to anyone. I don’t listen to the chatter. I make my way upstairs to the royal side and go straight for his room. It’s in the same disarray it was in last night when I left it, and my heart lurches.
Trust me. Choose me.
Oh god. He has no clue. I bury my face in his pillow and take a quick inhale. One last breath of him. I made a decision last night that solidified when I got the text. He’ll hate me for it, but the truth is, it’ll save them. All of them.
I set the items he bought me—including the vibrators and underwear—on the bed and grab the diamond earring from the drawer.
In its place, I leave him the note I wrote this morning and go.
Even when it feels as though it might physically kill me to do so.
My heart stays here. It’s his to keep. The thing never did me much good anyway.
With my backpack on, I walk the mile and a half in the early morning heat to the nearest bus stop. My thoughts frequently drift to Rowan, to last night, but that won’t help me now. It’ll only hurt what I have to do.
The bus into town isn’t long, and my gaze stays glued to the window, watching the pretty landscape of Messalina pass.
Tourin sprawls out before me as I climb down the three steps from the bus onto the sidewalk.
Determination holds my spine and head straight as I walk the streets, up two blocks, and down three.
On and on I go, following the GPS directions on my work phone until I reach the edge of town where L’Hotel Louise sits.
It’s a posh hotel on the hill with a view of everything, including the river.
It’s also near the hospital, and I wonder how Bellamy is doing. How her twins are.
I have no right to ask. No right to know.
I enter the lobby and take in the elegant vibe with its crystal chandeliers and velvet couches with white roses in bud vases on small tables scattered around in the lounge.
Signoria sits at a table with her back to the room, her blonde hair pinned up in a perfect chignon.
In years past, she would have been front and center in the café, her face a beacon to the room.
Shame has done funny things to her, but her soul was black well before Samil died.
Ignoring the host, I breeze over to her table, drop the coin into her purse that’s hanging off the back of her chair, and take the seat across from her.
A server comes by, and I order myself a coffee and a croissant without asking if I’m allowed. It makes Signoria scowl, the lines of her face stressing the Botox doing its best to keep them smooth and in place.
“Were you followed?”
I shake my head. It’s just us in here, and the staff is giving us our privacy, no doubt tipped very well to forget they saw Signoria Batorini speaking to anyone.
“No one knows I left. No one cares that I did.” They will tomorrow, though when I don’t present for work.
By that point, my work phone and everything I need it for today will be dead.
I left everything else that wasn’t mine there.
I’ll send Emily an email or a text letting her know that my sister or family needed me emergently and that I’m sorry I had to go, blah, blah, blah.
By the time she gets it and looks to do anything about it, Signoria and Antonia will be dead, and Jaqueline and I will be out of the country.
I know the people who got me the IDs, and I’m hoping they’ll trade their work for diamonds or cash if I can sell the diamonds first. Then we can start fresh.
Away from Messalina. Away from nightmares and memories.
The evil deeds we commit cannot be erased by others’ bullshit revisionist history.
Wrong is wrong, no matter how you try to dress it up and make it look presentable.
With that, I’m done doing the evil for others who have the luxury of pretending they’re above it simply because their hands aren’t dripping with blood.
My coffee and croissant arrive, and I take my time adding milk and sugar, stirring it around and driving Signoria mad.
“What did you find on his computer?” she snips, her impatience getting the best of her.
“Nothing,” I tell her bluntly after I take a sip. “There was nothing on there. He did no wrong. He’s not part of any schemes. No blackmail or manipulation.” I stir my little spoon around. “Your son, on the other hand, was tied up in all kinds of both.”
Her lips purse to the side as if that tidbit were boring and useless to her. “I have what I need you to plant on his computer,” she continues, dismissing my narrative. “Do it tonight, then leave tomorrow.”
“Of course,” I tell her, my gaze not wavering, not even as I take another sip. “Samil loved Nora, and I understand his hatred of the king. The king won, and Samil lost. Still, you’re aware you’re going to ruin an innocent man.”
Rage colors her face. “Do not speak to me about innocence you know nothing about. He killed my son. Your brother. The only reason I’ve let you live. You will do this, Marcella, or I will kill Jaqueline while you watch, and then I’ll kill you.”
Not if I kill you first.
Except this is part of the game.
“I’ll do it. You know I will. I love my brother, and the king deserves to go down for what he did, but I want my freedom. I want Jaqueline’s freedom.”
She’s quiet for a very long moment, and this surprises me. I expected her to laugh as she’s done every time I’ve made that request. This time she doesn’t. And it chills me further. It also solidifies my resolve, knowing full well what her plan is for me.
She appraises me, taking me in from head to toe. “You look different.”
“Different?” I parry, taken off guard by her topic changer.
“Yes. There’s something about you now, isn’t there?”
“Signoria, since I could barely walk, I’ve done your bidding. I’ve taken your punishments, and I’ve accepted your torture. I’ve never let you down. Not once, and I won’t now. Do we have a deal? Our freedom for the king’s.”
“What if I asked you to kill him? It’s what Samil wanted. Would you deny the only person to love you their dying wish?”
I harden, my eyes narrowing. “I thought you wanted me to plant evidence. Now you want him dead. Which is it?”
“Both,” she tells me in no uncertain terms.
Fuck me. I stare up at the ceiling, blowing out a harsh breath. I pretend to mull this over, allowing unease to hit my features. Finally, I drop my chin and nod. “All right. But if I do, Jaqueline goes free whether I make it out of the palace alive or not. Do we have a deal?”
“I have her locked up at an undisclosed location. Antonia will kill her if I don’t call in or if I don’t return home. She’ll also kill her if the files aren’t uploaded by midnight or if I get the slightest inclination that everything isn’t going perfectly.”
Jesus. I should have known. She always has an insurance policy. That changes things up a bit, but it’s not insurmountable.
“That’s not necessary.”
“It is,” she assures me. “I’ve waited five months for you to do this.
Antonia repeatedly told me to be patient.
To give it time. In all this time, you’ve done nothing.
You broke into the king’s computer once, and all you have to tell me is that he didn’t do anything wrong?
” Her voice climbs before she evens it back out.
“This is unacceptable, Marcella. I want it done tonight, or you both die. Jaqueline’s life in your hands will motivate you. ”
“Signoria,” I press. “Our freedom?”
She squints at me. “If you put these files on the king’s computer by midnight and kill him, I will allow you and Jaqueline your freedom.”
She’s lying. She’s going to kill us both. I’m a liability, and Jaqueline is inconsequential to her. Not that I’d make it out of the palace alive if I tried or actually did kill the king.
“Thank you, Signoria.” I smile. “I’ll do whatever it takes for you, then Jaqueline and I will leave and never look back.”
“If you don’t do what I ask—and be warned, I will know when the files are uploaded—then I will kill both of you.” She leans forward. “And Marcella, I will make it hurt in ways you never imagined possible.”
That she’s not lying about. “Yes, Signoria. I understand. I won’t let you down.”
She nods, satisfied. She puts her giant designer purse on the table and pulls a drive from it. It slides across the table, and I quickly snatch it up and pocket it.
“You’ll return by dawn tomorrow, and we’ll progress with the next steps.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I rise and leave her behind. Part one of my plan is in play.
Now I need to get to her car and hide myself in there before she sees me.
I’ll send the drive to the king after I’m out of the country.
He should have it. He should know what she was planning to do.
It’s likely a virus. Some kind of malware.
Or perhaps it’s simply files she wants on there, but that would be entirely too traceable unless set up properly.
I exit the hotel and veer right, heading toward the garage, when I slam into a hard wall. Except it’s not a wall. It’s a man. I draw back, but his hands capture my shoulders, and his face is right in front of mine.
No.
“What are you doing here?” I glance over my shoulder as panic skitters through me. She won’t come out this way. She’ll go to the garage, but fuck, she could see him if she decided to go for a walk or shopping.
“That’s my question for you. Imagine my surprise when I get a notification from the palace that you left and then I see you walk into this hotel.”
“Rowan—”
“Who were you meeting?”
“No one.” I shove him off me. “And none of your business.”
I try to move around him. My window for making it to her car undetected is growing slimmer by the second.
“Oh no, sweetheart, it is my business.” He glances over my shoulder, and I twist back to find a tall Black man right there. I didn’t even hear him approach. “Bind her wrists.”
Jesus. “No! Rowan, you can’t. You have to let me go.”
“Not this time. You told me you’re dangerous. I believe you.”
My wrists are forced behind my back and locked together with a zip tie.
“Let’s move,” the man behind me says.
I nearly trip over my own feet as I’m pushed forward.
Rowan puts his back to me as he moves toward a black car.
Sweat clings to my brow as the back door is opened and I’m thrown inside, falling into the well between the seats.
Awkwardly, I do my best to get myself up, but bound the way I am, it’s not the easiest.
I’m pulled by my upper arm and placed on the seat, shoved to the opposite window as Rowan gets in. He buckles both of us up, and we set off.
“You have to let me go. I was leaving! I wasn’t coming back.”
Both men ignore me.
I glare at the side of his face. “You have no grounds to detain me.”
Rowan chuckles, but there’s no humor in it. “The fuck I don’t, Ella.”
“Now? You do this now? You’ve known who I am for weeks.”
He glares enmity at me. “You see, that’s the funny thing about this. I don’t know who you are. But I know that you left the palace and just had a clandestine meeting with an unknown woman.”
Fuck. He saw her. Yet he doesn’t seem to know who she is. Whether that’s because he didn’t see her face or because he doesn’t know her is unclear, and I don’t ask, but one thing is certain. There’s no way I’ll get access to the king’s computer by midnight or be able to kill Signoria and Antonia.
Which means Jaqueline is dead. And I’m next.