63. War of Hearts
WAR OF HEARTS
Unlike during my last visit, Tre Limoni is bustling and busy this afternoon.
I smile at the man who holds the restaurant’s door open for me, scanning the occupied tables once I’m inside.
Isabella is seated right beside one of the lemon trees.
I head that way; she rises from her chair as I approach.
I beam at her as I skirt around other patrons.
When I ran, I thought I’d never see her again. If there’s one thing I’ve learned since, it’s that home, for me, is people instead of places. Isabella was my safest harbor for the longest time. The closest to a mother I’ve ever had.
I know her well.
So, I notice how her smile falters and how her fingers twist the cloth napkin she’s holding.
I walk faster, wondering what’s wrong. She sounded normal on the phone.
I called her shortly after Lev left with my father and brothers for lunch at Salvatore’s vineyard, bored alone at the villa.
I planned to swim, then decided I’d rather wait for Lev to return.
I want Isabella to meet him, but figured it’d be better if I had a chance to explain everything to her first.
Isabella is still fidgeting with the napkin. Does she think I’m back in Italy against my will?
I want her to know I’m okay, that all the years we spent together didn’t culminate in a miserable existence, married to a monster.
Everyone seems to have heard—and drawn the worst conclusions—about my new last name.
Being back here, comparing it to my last visit, it’s exceptionally evident how much happier I am.
There are obvious differences from my new life. I understand all the surrounding chatter. I knew the route to Tre Limoni—drove myself here, which I’ve never done in Russia. Lev would insist I were accompanied by security. He’d probably have insisted here, too, if I’d told him—
The dull jab of a barrel prods against my lower back.
I freeze, a cold sweat prickling my skin.
Dread and fear trickle through me like a melting icicle.
Incredulous laughter threatens to spill out of my mouth.
The fucking irony, of this happening while I was appreciating how it felt to be out in public and at ease, like I could retain some slice of my former life of anonymity.
Even if I can’t, this is Caruso territory. I should be safe here.
A few feet away, I watch as blood drains from Isabella’s horrified expression.
She looks scared. She doesn’t appear surprised.
A hood is dropped over my head, muffling sounds and limiting my vision to an endless stretch of darkness. I hear distorted commotion, but there’s no gunfire.
I’m pulled along, outside, then shoved into the trunk of a vehicle.
There are at least two of them. I’m able to distinguish the different timbres to their voices, but not much of what’s being said.
The fabric covering my head is thick, and blood is pounding in my ears as my heart circulates adrenaline.
This was planned, not spontaneous. Someone is making a statement, taking me from Salvatore’s restaurant, and they were bold enough to use Isabella as bait.
I close my eyes, which looks exactly like having them open, and focus on taking deep breaths.
They took my purse, which has my phone, and likely left it at the restaurant.
There are cameras there. They couldn’t have been wearing masks, or I would have noticed them as soon as I entered.
And we didn’t walk far to reach the car. License plates can be tracked and—
The car stops moving. The men are talking. I hear a door open.
It’s only been a few minutes. We can’t be far from the restaurant. I raise my shaking hands, feeling around my neck until I find the clasp of my necklace. The chain and charm fall into my hand. I shove it into one corner right as a gust of fresh air fills the trunk.
I’m yanked unceremoniously, pulled in a series of stumbling steps, and shoved again. Hope sinks as I land somewhere solid.
They’re changing vehicles. And based on the utter lack of commotion, they’re doing it somewhere with no cameras to capture it.
Hot tears trickle down my cheeks and wet my lips. At least the hood hides them.
They’ll look for me. My father … my brothers … Lev—they’ll all look for me. But I’m on my own for now.
I have no sense of how long we drive for.
I attempt to track turns, to judge from the car’s speed how far we’re traveling, but I eventually give up.
I pretend I’m back in the water with Lev, floating.
Last night. Twelve years ago, as a drunk teenager.
The details of our surroundings or our ages don’t matter.
I just want me and him and the serenity of being adrift like Velella.
The lack of direction no longer strikes me as scary.
It feels like opportunities. Like freedom.
Freedom I may never experience again.
We stop again. I’m pulled upright again.
We walk for longer. There are voices. Varying smells. Someone laughs as I pass, and my shoulders stiffen. This doesn’t feel like another stop. It seems like a destination.
The hand guiding me jerks me to a sudden halt. Momentum nearly makes me fall. More laughter.
I grit my teeth as the hood is pulled up, blinking at the burst of light like a blind bat.
I’m in a house. A very nice, very large house.
Nothing like the proverbial shack in the woods where kidnapped women are stashed in horror films. Armed men swarm around, their overlapping voices and angry eyes especially overstimulating after my time in the dark.
I sway a little, and the grip on my arm tightens.
I glance up at the man holding me. I don’t recognize his stoic face.
We’re waiting for someone.
I swallow hard, trying to get my breathing under control. We’re still in Italy. They didn’t take me far. They chose not to, which makes me uneasy because that suggests confidence and connections. But it also means I’ll be easier to find.
A side door opens, and a man enters.
I stiffen, immediately recognizing him. I’ll never forget that face.
Would recognize him anywhere, minus the suit and sandwich, happily snuffing out what I’d thought would be my only shot at escape.
He smiles coldly, recognizing me, too, before stepping aside so a second man can enter.
I know who it’ll be, which makes it easier to school my reaction.
But it’s still an unpleasant shock as I watch Nico Morello stride toward me.
Realizing this nightmare is only just beginning.
“Where is the other one?” Nico asks the guard holding me.
“In the garage,” he answers.
“Get her.”
The man from the shuttle replaces him as my captor. “Nice to see you again, bella,” he whispers in a menacing tone that makes me want to shudder. Spit and insult him.
I remain silent and still.
It’s the smartest strategy, until I better understand what is happening.
It’s harder now than it was in Dublin. I’m capable of more.
I’m not restrained in any way. I could grab his gun and shoot at least one of them before the rest reacted.
I know how to duck and punch, where to hit to inflict the most damage.
But I’ll only have one chance to surprise them with my abilities. I can’t squander the opportunity.
So, I wait, watching Nico converse with two of his men like I’m not even here.
Then I hear Isabella’s voice. The high pitch of terror as she pleads for answers. She appears a second later, led by the guard who left. Her wide, worried eyes meet mine, and they soften with relief. She apologizes over and over again—
Bang.
I go rigid, like I was the one hit. Stare in stunned disbelief at the dead woman who spent the past twenty-eight years of her life taking care of me. Who played some unknown part in my abduction.
“Take her downstairs,” Nico orders, holstering his gun.
I’m steered left by the man from the shuttle. The other guard, the one who retrieved Isabella and led her to her death, follows us.
I go willingly. I’d like to get as far from that room—from Nico and from Isabella’s body—as possible. The numbness spreading through me is almost a relief. A respite from the fear and the betrayal.
Will I ever find out why? I can’t stomach asking Nico or the men escorting me for answers. They must have threatened someone else Isabella loves. Her parents or possibly her sister. Forced her to make an impossible decision.
If Lev were taken, what—who—wouldn’t I trade for his return? It’s not a long list. It’s not actually a list at all.
Buried beneath grief and shock is the growing realization that there are only two of them and one of me. Unless more men are waiting downstairs, those are decent odds.
We reach the bottom of a stairwell and walk along another hallway. It’s dim and quiet, almost like being back under the hood. Neither man says anything as they lead me along.
We reach a door. It doesn’t match the older building.
It appears to be made of metal, heavy and industrial-looking.
A keypad is attached to the wall next to it.
One of the men punches in the code, not bothering to hide the series of numbers, and my apprehension grows.
Should I act now? This is the only door I’ve seen.
The sole exit seems to be back the way we came, upstairs, where my odds are much worse than two-on-one.
I’m yanked back before I can make a decision. The door swings outward, like a fridge.
White. It’s very white inside, the utter lack of color blinding.
The exception is the silver cage against one wall.
It’s massive, similar in size to a holding cell at a jail.
Large enough for a person or persons. I’m tugged left, toward it.
The door swings shut, closing with an ominous click.
The man from the shuttle lingers by the entrance-slash-exit, waiting for the other guard to deal with me.
This is my last chance. I might have already waited too long.
I twist out of the guard’s hold on my arm, then jab my elbow into his nose, resulting in a satisfying crack as cartilage separates from bone.
His hands fly up to his face, and I grab his gun from his belt.
Take one step back and fire. He falls. I shoot again, higher, before pivoting toward the other guard.
Shock is visible on his face, but his gun is already out and raised.
We fire simultaneously. I feel the burn as his bullet grazes my bicep.
Mine hits his stomach. His gun is still raised.
I shoot again. And again, the final shot steadiest.
He’s dead, eyes vacant beneath the hole in his forehead. I turn back to the first man, confirming he is too.
Once that registers, my arm starts to hurt a lot more. Warm liquid is dripping down my arm. Some stains the cute sundress I changed into before leaving for lunch, wrinkled from the car trip.
I hunt through the metal drawers attached to one wall, finally locating some medical supplies.
They must treat prisoners so they can torture them for longer.
There’s an industrial sink, too, that I use to rinse away the blood before cleaning and covering the wound.
No painkillers anywhere, which is probably for the best. This is far from over, and I need a clear head.
The throb of pain lends a sense of urgency.
Another keypad is located on this side of the door. I walk over and type in the numbers the guard entered. The light remains red, not green.
The blood remaining in my body chills. The codes must be different for each keypad.
If I’d waited for one of the guards to enter it, I would have already been locked away.
But being trapped in a dead end isn’t ideal either.
I have a gun, but I’m nervous to try shooting my way out.
The metal door appears solid enough that the shot could ricochet.
“That was very stupid, Carina.”
I whirl, looking for the camera. I can’t find it or a speaker. The white sterility surrounding me is blinding. Like being stuck in a lab or a hospital. Nico can see me, so I assume he can hear me too.
“Says the man who stole from Lev Sokolov.” I smile, tightening my hold on the handle of my stolen gun. Nico could be standing on the other side of the door, about to enter at any moment. “He’s going to kill you.”
“I hope he hurries.” Nico sounds amused, not concerned. “You don’t have much time left.”
I’m not sure I believe him. Once I’m dead, he can’t use me as bait or blackmail. I think it’s a bluff to scare me, but I wasn’t expecting him to execute Isabella either.
“What do you want, Nico?”
No answer. Probably another scare tactic.
I drag the two men into one corner, breathing through my mouth the entire time. A feat I couldn’t have managed a month ago, physically or mentally. I’m stronger in both senses, and I’m furious with myself for ending up in this situation anyway.
Mad at Salvatore, the sole reason Nico Morello knows I exist.
Scared.
And alone, nothing except silence and the smell of copper keeping me company.