CHAPTER 13
Ariana's POV
Unconscious — that’s what I was. Until a cold, unsettling breeze brushed across my face. My brows knitted together as feeling crawled back into my body, followed by an explosion of pain across my spine.
I tried to open my eyes, but they refused to cooperate. My ears caught the faint dripping of water — rhythmic, echoing off concrete. The air was damp. Heavy.
Where the hell was I?
I tried to remember... the restaurant... the gunshots... Matt.
“M–Matt...” My throat was raw, voice nothing but a rasp.
My eyes finally fluttered open, only to shut again. The world spun, blurring every time I tried to focus. Drowsy didn’t even begin to cover it. Then — footsteps. Two sets. Heavy. Slow.
Goosebumps prickled up my arms. I forced my eyelids apart, just enough to make out two massive silhouettes looming above me. They didn’t move, just stood there, watching. Then, after a few seconds, they turned away — not far. I could still feel them.
“M–M...Matt...”
I turned my head weakly to the right, still half blind, and saw them — the two men — kicking something. I blinked hard, trying to clear the fog in my vision. When I finally could see again, my stomach lurched.
They were kicking someone lying motionless on the ground.
Bile surged up my throat. I gagged and rolled onto my side, vomiting nothing but clear liquid. My hands hit the floor — rough, cold, bloody. My hands were bloody. My clothes torn. Filthy.
I tried to sit up too fast. The room tilted sideways. My vision shrank to a tunnel. Everything spun.
The men started talking, voices booming.
“Ti ho trovato!” one of them barked.
I flinched, realizing too late they were speaking Italian. My heart jumped.
I tried to steady myself, palms pressed to the floor. I wasn’t about to cower — not yet. I looked up at them, blurry and furious. Their laughter was deep, cruel, echoing.
“Povera piccola cosa,” one of them said, stalking toward me like I was some kind of wounded animal. “Capo sta per essere sorpresi.”
My mother’s voice echoed in my head — Never speak another language in front of people unless you’re told to.
She’d taught me Italian, taught me manners, taught me survival. These bastards had none of it.
I glared up at them, rage burning through the fear.
“Sta' zitto e ottenere una mossa!” the other one snapped, his tone switching from amusement to irritation in a second.
I kept staring at him, my jaw tight. Inside, I was falling apart, but outside? I gave them nothing.
“Where am I?” I asked.
“Portarla fuori, andiamo!” the one barked, ignoring me completely.
As we locked eyes, my mind darted back to Matt. Panic clawed up my throat.
“Matt... where’s Matt? What did you do to him?!” I screamed.
They didn’t even flinch. Just kept staring, like I was a problem they hadn’t figured out how to deal with yet.
I tried to move, but pain tore up my back like fire. My clothes were ruined, sticky with blood and dirt. My reflection in the floor’s faint puddle showed someone half-dead.
The door groaned open — heavy, metal, dragging along the floor — and slammed shut with a metallic thud that rattled the walls. I flinched, curling in on myself as footsteps echoed closer.
“Nico! Miller! Have you got her? Where is she?”
I didn’t look. Couldn’t. My knees came up to my chest, arms locked around them. I was shaking so hard my teeth chattered. Every step he took toward me made my heart beat harder, faster, like it was trying to escape my body.
“Chi cazzo è lei? Non è una biondina!”
“Yeah... about that,” one of the men muttered. “We might’ve got the wrong person.”
“You know what your shit boss is like,” the newcomer snapped. “Go tell him that.”
So that’s what this was — a fucking mistake.
I stared at the floor, fury mixing with disbelief. They kidnapped me by accident. Who the hell does that?
“Get up,” the new man ordered, voice like gravel and smoke.
I looked up at him. Tall, broad, built like trouble. The kind of man who could kill without raising his voice. Everything about him screamed danger — from the sharp lines of his face to the way his eyes barely blinked.
“Sei un fottuto sordo?! I said get the fuck up!”
My legs didn’t want to listen. I barely managed to push myself onto my knees before the two brutes grabbed me. Their hands clamped down hard, thumbs digging into my arms until I whimpered.
It didn’t matter. They didn’t stop.
To them, I was just cargo.
“Look at me or I’ll shoot you.”
The growl in his voice was sharp enough to cut air. Rage rolled off him, thick and raw, and for the life of me I couldn’t understand why this man was so pissed. I didn’t ask to be kidnapped.
His words hit like a slap, and my head snapped up before I even realized it. My eyes met his — cold gray, steel with a pulse.
For a second, I forgot to breathe. Those eyes were dangerous, but damn if they weren’t beautiful.
And behind all that fury was a face that didn’t make sense.
Perfect features. Jaw like it was carved.
He looked unreal — like some kind of life-size, male Barbie doll who’d crawled out of a nightmare instead of a toy box.
What the actual hell.
“What’s your name?” he asked, the gun now aimed directly at my face.
My gaze flicked to the barrel, pulse spiking. Every instinct screamed lie, and that’s what I did best. Survival rule number one in my life: never tell the truth when you’re not in control.
“I said what’s your fucking name?!” he barked.
“B-Bella,” I stammered.
He cocked a brow, eyes narrowing. “Bella? That your real name?”
I swallowed hard. I was a terrible liar, and I knew it. Before I could answer, the door creaked open behind him and another man stepped in — calmer, sharper, built like someone who’d seen it all and didn’t need to shout about it.
“Salvatore, stop teasing the poor girl and let’s go,” the newcomer said flatly. “You know boss doesn’t like waiting.”
“I’m not fucking teasing her!”
“Fine,” he sighed. “You’re flirting with her. Now move your ass.”
“Shut the fuck up, Bruno,” Salvatore snapped back, irritation flaring.
So, now I had names. Salvatore — Mr. Gray Eyes — and Bruno, the sarcastic one. Italians. No doubt about it. I understood enough of their words to be sure.
My heart kicked harder. Were they Nicola’s men? God, what if they were? I hadn’t heard that name in years, hadn’t dared think of it, but some ghosts never stay buried. Nicola was the reason I had panic attacks in the first place — the reason Matt had to piece me back together.
Now, Matt was missing, and I was trapped with these psychos.
Bruno kept laughing, clearly enjoying winding Salvatore up, while Salvatore looked about ready to strangle him.
“You’re not fucking funny,” Salvatore grumbled. “Take her to the bastard so he can deal with her.”
Bruno rolled his eyes but did what he was told. He grabbed my arms roughly, slapping cuffs on my wrists. The metal bit into my skin. He started dragging me forward, my feet stumbling to keep up.
“Let me go! Let me go!” I screamed, twisting against him.
“Chiudi la troia piagnucolosa!” Salvatore barked from ahead, without even turning around. Shut up, whiny bitch.
I glared daggers at his back, wishing I could claw his perfect face off.
“Quiet,” Bruno ordered, his voice hardening. He reached into his pocket, and when he came back, my stomach dropped.
A strip of duct tape and a black cloth.
“Don’t you dare—”
He didn’t hesitate. The tape went over my mouth, ripping at my skin, and the cloth came down over my head. Darkness swallowed everything.
They started moving again, dragging me somewhere cold. The air changed — heavier, colder, like we’d walked into a freezer. My breath fogged against the fabric. My tears bled into it too, soaking the edges until the damp chill hit my skin.
We stopped. The echo of a door opening followed — the same heavy kind that belonged to basements and bad memories. Cold air rushed in, and I shivered so hard my teeth rattled behind the tape.
Then instinct kicked in. Fight or die.
I lowered my head, saw only the floor and our feet. Bruno’s shoes were right there.
And I stomped. Hard.
He cursed in Italian as pain tore through his voice, his grip slipping for a split second. It was all I needed.
With my cuffed hands, I yanked the cloth off my head, ripped the tape from my mouth, and ran.
Fast. Wild. Like hell was at my heels.
“What the fuck?! Get the damn girl!”
The shout echoed behind me. I didn’t dare look back. I bolted down a long hallway lined with doors, my heart slamming in my chest, lungs burning.
Left, right — every door looked the same. I grabbed the first handle I could and stumbled inside, slamming the door behind me.
The noise outside dimmed. I pressed my back against the door, sliding down until I hit the floor. My wrists ached where the metal dug into my skin, and my whole body shook with adrenaline.
When I finally looked up, I realized I’d run into someone’s bedroom.
The bed was a mess — sheets tangled, pillow dented. The window was open, white curtains swaying in the cold wind that cut straight through me.
For a second, I just stood there, trembling, breathing hard, and praying this wasn’t the end.
My eyes locked on the bed, but my heart sank when I heard footsteps coming from the adjoining bathroom.
A man stepped out — tall, broad-shouldered, wrapped in a black suit that fit him like sin. The fabric pulled tight across his chest, the watch on his wrist glinting as he adjusted his cuffs. His hair was slicked back, dark and precise, the kind of detail that screamed control.
I froze against the door. He hadn’t even looked up yet, and still something in me knew I should be afraid to breathe.
Then he did.
And when his eyes met mine, everything inside me went still.
For a heartbeat, the world stopped — air, thought, sound — all of it cut out, like the universe held its breath with me. My stomach dropped. My knees went weak.
No. This couldn’t be real.
But it was.
Because right there, standing in front of me, was the man I’d spent years trying to find... the man I’d cried for, cursed for, dreamed of. The man I’d loved past the point of reason.
Alessandro.
The name slammed through my chest like a bullet and left me breathless.
He was every memory and every nightmare at once — the scent of gunpowder and cologne, the ghost that never stopped haunting me.
My fingers dug into the door behind me as if it could hold me upright. I didn’t know if I wanted to run to him or run away.
How long did I stand there? Seconds? Minutes? It didn’t matter. The room tilted, my pulse stuttered, and the truth hit me so hard I almost laughed.
I’d told myself I wanted to see him again. That I was ready.
I lied.
Here we were. After all the blood, all the ghosts, all the years — face to face.
Here, we meet once again.
I did promise you that, Alessandro.