Chapter Thirty-Eight Ella
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Ella
Exactly two weeks ago today, I learned who was responsible for everything that happened to me.
I hated him for it.
That part hasn’t disappeared. It’s still there, alive beneath the surface. But something else has crept in alongside it, softening the edges, blurring the lines between hate and love until I can’t always tell where one feeling ends and the other begins.
We’re currently in Rome. The change of scenery has lifted my mood. The Sicily compound was starting to close in on me, every corner a reminder of who Gualtiero is and what he’s done.
He dragged me onto a helicopter without warning on Saturday, and just like that, we were gone.
Now we’re staying at Mateo’s mansion on the outskirts of the city. Of course it’s heavily secured, because nothing in Gualtiero’s world ever isn’t.
The past two days have been… wonderful.
Dangerously so.
Whenever he could, Gualtiero took me sightseeing. And because he seems to know everything about everything, he filled in the history, the stories behind the places, little details that made it all come alive. He’s the best tour guide I could have asked for.
Island Tiero was back.
We laughed together, even held hands, and flirted. It reminded me of our good days, minus the sex. And that’s getting near impossible to resist.
I’ve stopped lying to myself. I do want him.
More than I should.
But every time I even think about crossing that line again, something inside me pulls tight.
Because I know what it would mean.
Giving in wouldn’t just be about pleasure. It would be about everything that comes with Gualtiero’s world, his life, and my place in it.
It would be my surrender.
I can’t do that.
I haven’t stopped looking for a way out. But if I’m honest with myself, I haven’t been looking very hard these past few days. And that bothers me.
I’m getting used to this life. The comfort. The ease. Even the restrictions.
That’s dangerous. I can’t afford to forget what I want.
Freedom.
Tonight, he’s taking me to a nightclub to meet a business partner.
I tried to get out of it. I told him I’d stay at the mansion, that I didn’t need to come.
He shut that down immediately.
“You go where I go.”
End of discussion.
Our convoy pulls into a narrow back alley, the sudden quiet jarring after the hum of the city. It’s dark, the kind of place where things happen that no one talks about.
Gualtiero takes my hand as we step out, pressing a distracted kiss to my knuckles. His grip is firm, his attention sharper than it’s been all day. He’s on edge.
“No talking to strangers, princess,” he says, his gaze locking onto mine. “Do you understand me?”
I roll my eyes, even though my stomach tightens at his tone.
“Yes, dear,” I say, dripping sarcasm.
His hand comes up to my face, fingers closing around my chin, not enough to hurt, but enough to make the warning clear.
“I mean it. Do not speak to anyone unless I introduce you. No wandering off. You behave tonight, or you won’t like the consequences.”
There’s nothing soft in him now. He waits, looking expectantly at me.
I give him a curt nod. Message received.
This is Gualtiero the don. Controlled. Unyielding. Dangerous.
Not Island Tiero who walked beside me through Rome, laughing and teasing me as if nothing had ever gone wrong between us.
I know which version I prefer.
Bodyguards close in around us as we enter the club through a back door.
The moment we’re inside, noise and light slam into me. Music pounds through the walls, strobe lights flash in blinding bursts, and fog clings to the air, making the dancers on raised platforms look like they’re drifting in and out of smoke.
A headache starts to build almost instantly. My eyes latch onto a glowing green exit sign to my right, a small, steady promise of escape.
Tiero keeps hold of my hand as he leads me through the crowd, his men carving a path toward a roped-off, elevated seating area. His guests are already there. They rise the moment they see him.
Introductions are made, but I barely register the names. What I do notice is the tension in their posture, the way they watch him.
They’re intimidated. There’s no question who’s in charge.
Drinks appear, and I sit beside him, trying to follow the conversation as they switch to Italian. I catch a word here and there, but not enough to piece anything together.
Then one of the men pulls out a small satchel filled with white powder. He pours it onto a tray and cuts it into lines with a razor blade.
The tray is passed around, but no one from our side touches it.
My eyes are wide. I’m shocked to my core, never having witnessed drug use like this before.
“I need to use the bathroom,” I say abruptly, already pushing back my chair.
I don’t wait for a response. I just need to get away.
Tiero gives a short nod, and within seconds Oriana and Alonso are at my side. As I walk away, two more guards fall in step with us.
Four guards for a bathroom break.
I’ve gotten used to Oriana and Alonso shadowing me, but this feels excessive. Not that I have a say in it.
As we move through the club, I feel eyes tracking me. They crawl over my skin, making me want to shrink into myself. I shudder, wishing once more I could have stayed at the mansion.
The corridor leading to the bathrooms is quieter, but not by much. Ahead, another green exit sign glows faintly. I stare at it longingly.
Oriana pushes open the door to the ladies’ room and steps inside first, weapon already in hand. It’s always the same routine.
One guard stays with me at the door while Alonso and the other secure the corridor.
I hover in the doorway, watching as Oriana checks each stall. She reaches the last door.
Two muffled shots crack through the room.
Oriana jerks backward, her body hitting the tiles hard. Blood seeps from a small, dark hole between her eyes.
Everything inside me goes still.
I take a step back, staring at her, at the lifeless body that had been glaring at me only seconds ago.
For a moment, time stretches.
Then the scream tears out of me.
And everything explodes into motion.
The guard beside me rushes past, weapon drawn, but he’s too slow. The man who shot Oriana fires first. My guard drops, clutching his stomach as blood pours through his fingers.
Alonso is at my side in an instant, dragging me into the corridor and pinning me against the wall.
Adrenaline surges through me. My heart pounds, my chest tight, my skin tingling.
The emergency exit door bursts open, and a group of heavily armed men in body armor storms in.
Alonso raises his weapon and fires.
I turn my head, unable to watch.
Gunshots explode around us. I drop to my knees, pressing myself against the wall, hands over my ears.
Then Alonso collapses beside me with a loud groan.
“Alonso!” I scream. “No, no, no.”
I reach for him, but before I can turn him over, a man grabs my hair and yanks me upright.
Pain tears through my scalp.
I lash out, kicking blindly, my heel connecting with his shin. He snarls.
A second later, pain explodes in my face.
The world tilts, and I hit the floor hard. For a moment, I can’t move.
He hit me.
I’ve never been hit before.
My cheek burns, my vision swimming with bright spots, but I still scream, forcing the sound out of my lungs, hoping someone will hear me over the pounding music.
Hands grab me again.
Before I can react, my wrists are yanked behind my back and bound. Tape is slapped over my mouth, cutting off my screams.
Oh my god.
Where is the fourth guard?
I twist my head and catch a glimpse of him lying crumpled on the floor near Alonso. Two of the attackers are down as well.
My stomach lurches violently.
I can’t throw up. If I do, I’ll choke.
Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up.
I swallow down the bile as they drag me toward the exit, their grip bruising and unrelenting.
A memory cuts through the panic, the stern voice of the self-defense instructor from years ago floats into my mind.
Don’t let them take you to a second location.
I dig my heels into the carpet, forcing my weight down, angling my legs for leverage.
It slows them, but only for a second.
One of them bends to lift me, and I slam the heel of my stiletto into his foot with everything I have. He yells, but his grip doesn’t loosen.
His hand comes up, ready to strike. But another man steps in. A jagged scar cuts across his face. He grabs me and hoists me over his shoulder as if I weigh nothing.
Panic locks my body.
But then I kick and thrash, trying to hit anything, but his arm clamps down on my legs, holding me in place.
Doors swing open. Cold night air rushes over my skin.
Within seconds, we’re outside.
Tires screech.
A black SUV skids to a stop beside us. The back door is thrown open, and I’m dumped inside, landing hard on my back.
I kick wildly as the scarred man climbs in after me, but he’s faster. He pulls out more tape, binding my legs together in quick, practiced movements.
My pulse hammers in my ears, each beat louder than the one before. I twist against the restraints, testing them, harder, then harder again, but they don’t give. My fingers strain uselessly behind my back. I can’t get any leverage. I can’t break free.
This is it.
I’m going to die.
I close my eyes and try to drift away to a place not filled with horror.
But it doesn’t work. All I see is Oriana. Her body crumpled on the tiles. Blood seeping from the bullet wound in her forehead. Her eyes empty.
I shudder violently. I might not have liked her, but she didn’t deserve that.
None of us do.
Alonso. Please, God, let him be alive.
I’m forced to breathe through my nose, but it’s not enough. I can’t get air in fast enough.
How long before Tiero realizes something’s wrong?
He insisted on all that security. What good did it do?
My fingers curl against the tape again, but it’s useless. I can’t get free.
Who are these men?
Who’s taking me this time?
A car door slams. They’re taking me away.
Will I make it out of this alive?