Chapter Twenty Ella
Chapter Twenty
Ella
As I lie on the massage table, I go over my last escape attempt.
I winged it, and while I did okay given how spontaneous it was, I need a plan for next time.
And stamina.
I ran out of energy far too quickly. I should start working out properly. Build strength. Get myself in the best possible shape.
I grimace.
That probably means running.
God, I hate running.
But if I ever get chased, the last thing I want is to run out of breath halfway through.
So… running it is.
I suppress a groan.
Ah well, it’s not like I have anything better to do. At least this way, I’m doing something useful. Something that gets me closer to escaping.
A small sense of control settles in as I sink deeper into the headrest and close my eyes.
I can do this.
It’s persistence. That’s what matters. Dad always said that. And he never lied to me.
If I play this right, Gualtiero will get complacent eventually. Especially if I stop trying for a while.
Resisting him will be the hard part. Because when he turns on the charm… it’s going to be difficult to stay strong.
But it’s possible, right?
All the while, Susanna works through the knots in my shoulders and back. By the time she’s finished, I feel like a new woman, ready to take on the world.
But let’s start with Oriana.
Clutching the towel to my chest, I glance around the partition. She’s still standing by the door like an ice queen, freezing everything in her path. I’m surprised there aren’t icicles hanging off her.
Her cold, contemptuous eyes lock onto mine.
Okay…
If she wants to make my life unpleasant, I’m more than happy to return the favor.
As I step behind the screen to dress, I summon my inner Rhia. My best friend has always been brilliant at bitch-slapping the deserving.
My eyes land on a pair of scissors on the trolley beside the massage table.
Hmm.
They could come in handy.
I slip them into the small handbag I was allowed to carry, which holds all of two items, a pack of pocket tissues and my lip balm.
Let’s just hope Oriana doesn’t decide to search it.
Just as I’m about to leave, another idea strikes, and I have to bite back a grin.
I pour massage oil into my hands, rub them together, then let them hang loosely at my sides as I walk toward my minder.
She steps aside to let me pass, but I shake my head.
“Don’t you need to go ahead and make sure the coast is clear?” I ask, watching her expectantly.
“Alonso has been waiting outside this door. He’ll cover your front.”
I smile sweetly. “I’d still prefer you check. What if something happened to him? You wouldn’t want me walking into a trap, would you?”
Oriana bites down on whatever she’s about to say. Her eyes narrow. With a huff, she reaches for the handle and pulls the door open, stepping aside.
“Miss O’Neil,” she says tightly. “As you can see, Alonso is in one piece.”
Alonso raises his brows at us.
I step forward, brushing past Oriana, patting her back lightly as I go. Once. Twice. A little higher.
“So he is.”
I don’t look back, though I’m sorely tempted.
When I step out into the corridor, I catch a glimpse of her reflection in the glass.
Perfect.
Her pristine Italian suit is now marked with several oily handprints.
Is it juvenile? Absolutely.
But it feels good.
For a brief moment, I’m back in middle school, where getting even was as simple as a well-timed prank.
Harmless. Petty. And exactly what I needed.
Back at the car, I slide into my seat and grin when I spot my handiwork on Oriana’s back.
Alonso follows my gaze and shakes his head, trying to suppress a smile.
I shrug, mouthing, She deserved it.
As the car pulls away, Oriana’s jet-black ponytail swishes invitingly in front of me.
Five minutes into the drive, Alonso’s phone chimes with a text. It’s my opportunity.
While he’s busy typing out a reply, I reach into my small handbag and feel for the scissors. Carefully, I slide them out and lean forward, pretending to adjust my sandal strap.
I’m ready to make Oriana look more like her male counterparts.
But I hesitate.
My conscience pipes up.
If someone cut off my hair, I’d be beyond pissed. I’m not that much of a bitch.
With a quiet sigh, I tuck the scissors back into my bag. They might come in handy later.
Alonso taps my elbow. When I glance at him, he gives me a subtle, knowing nod. Nothing seems to slip his notice. It’s oddly reassuring.
Though it also makes me wonder. Would he have stopped me?
I’m not so sure.
Strange to think he might have my back instead of hers. Maybe he doesn’t like her either.
He leans in, his voice low against my ear. “I think you should give me those scissors.”
Damn.
I hand him my handbag. “What, are you a hairdresser now?”
He only grins.
“Did you enjoy your massage, princess?” Gualtiero asks, rising from his seat at the restaurant to greet me and placing a soft kiss on my cheek.
He’s changed into a dark-blue suit with a crisp white shirt and looks simply edible. My heart gives a small, traitorous jump as his aftershave reaches me, instantly dragging me back to when we first met, when his scent alone could set me on fire.
For a second, I’m tempted to linger.
Instead, I close my eyes briefly, swallow the lump in my throat, and pull away.
After everything he’s put me through, how can he still affect me like that?
Even knowing what he does for a living doesn’t convince my hormones to let go.
Gualtiero pulls out my chair with a knowing smirk.
Thankfully, that’s all it takes for the walls around my heart to snap back into place. I’m horrified at how quickly they’d crumbled.
I study him as I sit.
He’s… pleasant.
I expected irritation after making him wait more than an hour, but instead he’s relaxed and happy to see me.
So much for trying to annoy him. But of course my entourage would have told him about the delay. He simply adjusted his schedule.
“You look even more beautiful when you’re relaxed,” he says, his tone warm. “You’ve got a glow about you… I’ll book you an appointment every week.”
He’s less tense than when I left him at the warehouse. Whatever business he had clearly went well.
Not that I’ll ask. He wouldn’t tell me anyway, and honestly… I don’t want to know.
“It would have been more relaxing if I didn’t have my shadow in the room with me.”
Gualtiero’s smile doesn’t falter. “Oriana is under strict instructions never to take her eyes off you.”
“So I heard. Was I in that much danger on a massage table?” I ask, unable to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.
“You never know who can be paid off. The masseuse could have drugged you while you were lying there or hurt you in other ways. As I said before, I don’t take any chances with you.”
There’s no point arguing or pointing out that Susanna could have done that behind the partition too. I don’t understand the world he operates in, and I don’t want to.
So I let it drop.
When I arrived at the restaurant, Gualtiero was saying goodbye to a skinny, nerdy-looking guy who seemed vaguely familiar.
“Who was the guy you were talking to when I got here? He’s nothing like your other goons.”
“That, my precious Ella, was Uberto. My computer specialist. He handles everything technical.”
“Why do you need a computer specialist?”
“Not all wars are fought on the streets anymore, princess.”
“Oh.” That’s not exactly reassuring.
“Uberto has many talents,” he continues. “He’s excellent at finding information, no matter how hard it is to come by. Information is power. It pays to have the best.”
Interesting.
“So he hacks for you?”
“Among other things,” Gualtiero replies, his eyes never leaving mine.
Even though Uberto didn’t acknowledge me when I passed him, I could swear I’ve seen him before.
But where?
“Have I met him before? At your work?”
Gualtiero smirks but doesn’t answer.
“What?” I press, irritation creeping in.
“You might have seen him at your hotel,” he says finally. “He stayed in one of the rooms on your floor to access the surveillance system and create his own version.”
I stare at him.
Sure, why not? It’s totally normal to have your personal hacker spy on your vacation fling.
“I had to make sure you were safe,” he adds, like that explains anything.
A cold unease settles in.
Was I really in that much danger?
Or is this just… him? Possessive. Controlling. Making sure no one else got near me.
If Uberto was on my floor, what else did Gualtiero arrange?
Pieces start clicking into place.
“The floor was practically empty after the day we met,” I say slowly. “It was busy before that. You had something to do with it, didn’t you?”
“Of course,” he replies without hesitation. “Security is harder to control the more people are involved. And I figured you’d appreciate the quiet.”
Control freak.
“Who else was there?” I ask.
“Alonso and Oriana both had rooms. They were instructed to stay out of sight.”
I lean back, pressing my fingers against my brow.
Unbelievable.
“You said Uberto gathers information,” I continue. “Did you have him investigate me?”
“Naturally.”
“So you already knew everything about me before we went out,” I say, more to myself than to him.
The realization lands slowly… and then all at once.
A hollow feeling opens up inside me, my pulse picking up as unease creeps in.
Nothing about our dates was equal. Not the questions, nor the answers.
“You knew about my parents and what I do for a living. You probably knew all about my ex-boyfriends.”
That empty feeling inside me grows.
“And my favorite lilies… that was no coincidence. How on earth did Uberto find out about that?”
Gualtiero watches me, completely unfazed. “You could take it as a compliment. I wanted to know everything about you.”
I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose, drawing in a slow breath.
Nausea churns through me.
“Has anything been real, Gualtiero?” I ask quietly. “Or was all of it… orchestrated?”
I feel manipulated. Like a puppet on a string, he maneuvered me exactly where he wanted me.
He shrugs. “I just helped speed up the inevitable.”
It’s obvious he sees nothing wrong with any of this.
I shake my head, fighting the burning behind my eyes.
“All those conversations we had, where I thought we were getting to know each other… you already knew everything. I was the only one learning anything. And even then, only what you chose to share, while you kept the most important thing hidden. Your true identity.”
“I shared more than that with you, princess,” Gualtiero says calmly. “Other than Mateo, I don’t let anyone get close to me. With you, I shared my soul.”
I let out a quiet scoff.
Big words. Do they mean anything?
I trusted him.
And he played me all along.
Rhia is right. She always says I trust too easily.
It used to be something I liked about myself. Seeing the good in people until proven otherwise. Now it just seems… na?ve.
I’m not prepared for the sudden sadness that hits me out of nowhere. Tears are only moments away from spilling over, but I will them away.
I grab my menu, needing something to anchor myself as anger and despair course through me. The relaxation from my massage is a thing of the past, evaporated like a drop of water on a hot stone.
My eyes scan the lines, but I don’t take in a single word. With a sharp exhale, I lower the menu and reach for my wine, draining the glass in one go. I barely taste it.
My gaze drifts across the restaurant. Alonso, Oriana, Santino, and Marcelo sit at a nearby table, eating while keeping watch.
I can feel Gualtiero’s eyes on me, but I ignore him.
“What is it, princess? You seem agitated,” he says.
I don’t answer, not trusting myself not to lose my composure if I speak now. I don’t look at him, just stare at my now empty wine glass.
“Cuore mio?”
“Don’t call me that,” I force out. “I’m not your heart.”
I swallow the giant lump in my throat.
“Every day I learn something new about your underhanded ways to manipulate everything around you. And I realize I never knew you at all.”
I lift my gaze to him, wiping at my eye before any tears can fall.
“On your island, I thought we had something real. Something special. But it was all built on lies.”
“Everything is out in the open now,” Gualtiero says, like that fixes anything.
“Is it?”
“Si. Everything concerning you,” he replies. “Except…”
I lift a brow, waiting for another blow.
“In the interest of transparency, you’re still in touch with Rhia,” he adds. “And she’s cheering you on.”
Of course she is.
“Who’s impersonating me so convincingly?” I ask flatly.
“There’s a girl on Uberto’s team writing to her a few times a day.”
It’s just another reminder that he controls every part of my life.
Lies. Deception. Mistrust.
That is what my life has become. And for right now, there’s nothing I can do about it.
I force the despair away and try to focus on the bigger picture, a future where I’m not trapped in Gualtiero’s gilded cage.
I pick up my menu again. Gualtiero does the same, and that’s when I notice his bruised knuckles.
My stomach tightens.
He’s been in a fight. Or more likely, he beat someone up. The man being dragged into the building flashes through my mind.
I stare at Gualtiero’s hand, unease settling deep in my gut. The thought of food turns my stomach.
I really don’t know the man sitting across from me.
Or what he’s capable of.