2. Alexia
2
Alexia
T he first thing I’m aware of is the cold creeping across my skin, seeping through the fog clouding my mind. It’s like my sluggish mind is detached from reality and I’m floating in some in-between dimension. My head throbs, a dull pounding at my temples, and my mouth is dry, parched as if I’ve swallowed the entire Sahara. Slowly, awareness filters back, and the fog lifts just enough for me to register the unfamiliar feel of the sheets against my body.
The sheets are soft and my senses start to stir as I slowly push myself up. My arms shake weakly, as if I’ve been asleep for days. Blinking, I try to focus on my surroundings, but the room spins. I grab the mattress edge, steadying myself as the nausea rises, burning my throat. I close my eyes, take deep breaths, and swallow hard until the sensation subsides. The air smells faintly of leather and something sharper—cologne, perhaps—though I can’t place it. There’s a strange familiarity to it, but it makes my skin tingle with uncertainty.
When I reopen my eyes, my vision finally steadies and I take in the room around me. It’s large but shrouded in shadow, the heavy curtains pulled tightly across the windows, blocking out any natural light. The walls are paneled in dark wood, giving the room an old-world atmosphere—a luxury one. A crystal chandelier hangs above, its sharp edges catching the dim light from the bedside lamp. The oversized bed beneath me is draped in luxurious silk sheets, cool against my skin. The entire place exudes opulence, but instead of comforted, I feel oppressed, suffocated.
I glance down at my wrists, and my breath catches in my throat. Bruises. Angry red marks where the zip ties had cut into my skin. The sight of them sends a jolt of fear through me, and I jerk back instinctively, scrambling to get to my feet, remembering how I got here. My legs wobble as I stand up and grip the bedpost to steady myself.
Where am I?
My pulse quickens as unforgiving memories rush back. Igor’s men grabbing me, their hands rough, shoving me into the back of the limo. My heart pounds at the memory, and my hands fly to my throat, my breath coming faster. They were taking me God knows where. Igor was furious at Rose’s disappearance, and he wanted to ensure I wasn’t next. I felt so helpless then. But I was rescued—by Dave.
Dave .
A memory sneaks into my mind like a whisper, the way Dave defended me. He’s saved me like the knight in shining armor he doesn’t admit he is.
Dave .
His men must have brought me here. The last thing I remember is Dave pulling me out of Igor’s clutches and sending me away with his men. They drugged me and brought me here. But where is here ? This room feels… familiar, yet at the same time, unsettling. It reminds me of Dave’s childhood home, though I’m positive it’s not. I believe he mentioned a safe house…
Panic slams into me like a derailed freight train.
“Rose… where is she?” I grunt, my voice raspy, barely audible.
My heart lurches; my stomach drops. I stumble toward the window, yanking the curtain back. Outside, nothing but darkness stretches before me, and my nerves knot. There are no familiar landmarks in the pitch-black in front of me, no way to tell where I am or how much time has passed.
I press my hand to the glass, the cool of my breath fogging the surface. “Where’s my baby?”
The question tears through me, frantic and wild. I have taken every precaution to keep Rose safe since the day she was born. But the world feels dangerous now, dark and predatory, and I have no idea where she is. Now I remember clearly. Dave told me his men had already taken her somewhere safe. He promised I’d reunite with her.
I won’t find peace until I see her again.
My hands start to tremble, and I grip the windowsill, trying to anchor myself. Bile rises in my throat, and my knees nearly buckle.
I can’t breathe.
I stagger back from the window, pressing my palms to my face. “Calm down, Alexia. Think,” I mutter. But my mind is racing, spinning in a thousand directions at once, and all I can think about is how badly I’ve failed. I promised myself I’d protect Rose, that I’d never let anyone hurt her, but here I am, locked in a strange room, bruised and drugged, with no clue as to what has happened to her.
As I try to gather my wits, I glance down and realize I’m not wearing my black cocktail dress anymore. It’s been replaced by a large, white button-up shirt. I clutch the crisp fabric in my fists, pulling it tighter around my body, my skin tingling with confusion. My heart skips a couple of beats, and I feel a wave of conflicting emotions wash over me.
Dave must have changed me. The idea of him seeing me like this, stripped of everything, leaves me feeling exposed, vulnerable—but oddly not disgusted, which is very confusing.
There’s safety in knowing Dave is the one who pulled me from the nightmare, but at the same time, there’s an ache—something raw and unhealed. He’s still the man I once loved. Yet, years have passed. So much has changed between us. How could he see me like this—weak, broken—and still want to help me?
I try to bury the memories, but they rise unbidden—the nights we spent together, the way his hands felt on my skin, the way he used to look at me like I was the only person in the world who mattered. But that was years ago, at least five long years. Before everything fell apart. Before I betrayed him and married Igor in an effort to keep everyone I love safe. I did that for Dave, for my father, and for my unborn child. I got nothing for myself out of this rotten deal. Except pain and horror.
The thought of it—the sacrifice I made—tightens like a fist in my chest. Dave never knew. He still doesn’t. How could I tell him the truth? How could I face him after all this time, knowing that the child I kept hidden from him is his, not Igor’s?
Dave always said he wanted a big family, like his parents. Growing up, I was in awe of how his mother, Martha, was loving and caring. Mine was, too, but there was an aura about Mrs. Boyle that captivated everyone in her orbit. My father was good to me, his only child. He was devastated after Mom passed. But he didn’t hold a candle to the way Jack Boyle doted on Martha and their boys.
My worst fear is that Dave would take Rose from me as punishment for hiding her paternity from him. He is a ruthless man, and forgiveness doesn’t come easy to him. I’ve seen him in action many times over the years to doubt this assessment.
Things just turned more complicated now. I must tread a fine line with Dave because he’ll have questions about the danger I’m running from. If I tell him the truth, that Igor plans to sell Rose to the highest bidder, Dave might figure out she’s not Igor’s daughter. Not even an abject monster such as my husband would do that to his own flesh and blood. Or worse, Dave might not believe me and think I’m part of some large conspiracy to hurt him and his family. Igor and the Boyles have been ferocious enemies for a long time.
A soft knock at the door pulls me from my spiraling thoughts, and I stiffen, my heart lurching. The door creaks open, and an older woman steps inside. Her silver hair is pulled back into a neat bun, her face lined with age and experience. My breath catches in my throat when I recognize her.
“Moira?” My voice is barely above a breath.
She has been with the Boyle family for years. She practically raised Dave and his three brothers as their mother’s extremely successful career as a therapist took off and while their father solidified the Boyles’ empire of crime. That also means she knows exactly who I am.
The older woman smiles gently, her eyes soft. “Aye, lass. It’s been too long.”
She moves with practiced grace, setting a tray of food down on the table by the window. The smell of something warm and savory wafts through the room, but I can’t focus on it. My stomach feels too tight with anxiety to accept any food.
Moira scans me with a quiet, unnerving understanding. There’s no judgment, no accusation—just warmth. And yet, I feel like she can see right through me, every secret I’ve tried to bury deep inside. Then again, she was always a great judge of character.
“You’ve been through hell,” she says softly, sitting down beside me on the edge of the bed. Her Irish accent, thick and lilting, is comforting, a small reminder of good moments from my childhood. “But you’re safe here.”
I shake my head, my hands gripping the sheets beneath me. “Where is Rose?” I ask, my voice cracking under the weight of the question. “Is she safe?”
Moira’s face softens. She doesn’t answer immediately. She hesitates, her eyes flicking to the door before meeting mine again. “She’s safe, love,” she says finally, her voice gentle. “But that’s all I can tell you for now. It’s late, past ten. Eat something and get some rest. I’ll come back in the morning.”
I tense, a surge of panic rising up inside me. “No, I need to see her. I need to know she’s okay.”
Moira reaches out, placing a hand on my arm. Her touch is warm, grounding, but it does little to ease the fear gnawing at my chest. “I know you’re worried, lass, but you can’t leave. Not yet.”
I stand up so fast the room spins around me. “I’m locked in here like a prisoner,” I say, my voice rising with frustration. “How is that supposed to help me calm down or stop worrying?”
Moira doesn’t flinch at my outburst, her expression calm and patient. “It’s Dave’s orders. He’s doing what he thinks is best for you and for Rose.” She winks and lowers her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “And he always knows what’s best in these circumstances.”
Dave.
The name stings, a reminder of everything I’ve tried to forget. My chest tightens with frustration, anger bubbling up beneath the surface. I ignore her attempt at calming me and pace the length of the room, my hands shaking. “He’s keeping me here, just like Igor did. How is that any better?”
Moira sighs softly. “He’s trying to protect you. There’s danger out there. Until Dave knows it’s safe, he can’t let you leave.”
I stop pacing, my heart hammering in my chest.
Danger.
Igor.
He’s still out there, lurking in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to strike like the venomous snake that he is. My skin crawls at the thought of him finding Rose, of him getting to her before I can. The memory of his cruelty makes me shiver.
“I need to see my daughter,” I groan, my voice barely audible.
“I’m sorry, love. Just know that she’s in good hands. My own daughter, Nadya, is looking after Rose until you can go to her,” Moira says gently, standing and moving toward the door. “For now, you need to rest. Regain your strength. I’ll be back in the morning.”
The door closes softly behind her, leaving me alone in the dimly lit room. The silence is deafening, pressing in on me from all sides.
I resume pacing the length of the Persian carpet that covers the marble floor between the bed and the bay window.
As my wayward thoughts chase one another in my head, I glance at my cell phone sitting on the nightstand, my fingers itching to reach for it.
I could call my cousin, Olivia. She’s the only one I can trust. She’s always stood by my side through the best and worst moments. I tell her everything, except the secret I’ve found out about Igor. That one could get her killed.
Hell, it would get me killed if I hadn’t escaped. The truth is, it can still get us all killed.
I stop pacing and stare at the phone. Olivia tried to help me escape before, but Igor has always been two steps ahead of me. She got me Dave’s private number to call this time.
But what would I say if I called her? What could she possibly do now to help me?
I give in and stretch myself to get the phone.
At the same time, the thought of Igor finding out that she helped me makes my blood run cold. I hover over her contact for a long moment. I could really use her support right now. She is always ready to listen to me and that, sometimes, is all I need. My thumb trembles as I consider pressing Call.
But in the end, I can’t. I toss the phone onto the bed. My chest tightens with guilt. I can’t drag her into this dangerous situation.
I walk over to the window, press my back against the wall beside it, and sink down until my butt hits the thick carpet, my hands trembling as I bury my face in them.
Trapped.
That’s what I am. No matter where I go, no matter who I’m with, I’m always trapped.
First Igor, now Dave.
There’s no escape for me, no way out.
Panic crushes my lungs, stealing my ability to breathe as my mind flies back in time to my wedding night: Igor was cackling as he rattled the chains binding me to the filthy dungeon floor. I couldn’t see a damn thing behind the coarse fabric of the black hood covering my head.
That’s why I panicked when Dave’s man blindfolded me. I was back in Igor’s dungeon again.
After that first night, he would leave me locked up for days, sometimes naked or in my flimsy underwear. He had to tie me up to break me. He didn’t realize his promises to kill everyone I loved had already done so.
Each breath I took under that fucking hood reeked of rancid butter and old urine. Still I fought to keep my sanity amid the shit show that my life became after I married a soulless monster.
I shake my head to get rid of the gut-wrenching memories. Looking out the window, I notice the sky has turned pinkish at some point without me realizing it.
I push myself up from the floor, pacing the room again. My heart pounds in my chest, each beat echoing in the deafening silence around me. The walls feel like they’re closing in, and I can’t shake the feeling that no matter what I do, no matter where I go, I’ll never be free again. Igor will always be out there waiting for me to slip up.
The door opens again, and I whirl around, my pulse spiking. Dave steps inside, his presence filling the room like a storm cloud—dark and foreboding but utterly fascinating in a wicked way. He’s dressed all in a black button-up shirt, slacks, and a leather jacket. His broad shoulders fill the doorway, his black hair tossed like he’s been riding his motorcycle or running his long fingers through it. My palms tingle as the sensory memory of the lush thickness of his hair surges inside me like a freaking tsunami. His deep-set green eyes lock onto mine, and for a moment, I forget to breathe. They sparkle with the dark luminescence of the ocean under the moonlight and are equally enthralling.
“Alexia,” he utters under his breath, his voice low and steady, but there’s an edge to it, something dangerous simmering beneath the surface.
I swallow hard, my pulse quickening as he takes a step inside and closes the door behind him with a resolute clink. My body tenses, but not with fear. There’s something else—a pull, a memory of the man I once loved, my first and only. The man I’ve been trying to forget. But he’s not that man anymore. He’s different now, hardened by the world he lives in.
“We need to talk,” he says, his gaze never leaving mine.
And I know that whatever he’s about to say will change everything forever.