"They will for you." His certainty chills me. "Love makes people stupid, Annie. Makes them reckless. Makes them take risks they'd never normally take. And both your brother and your lover love you enough to die for you."
"You won't get away with this."
"I already have." He stands, brushing off his knees. "The moment you stepped into this van, I won. Everything from here on out is just entertainment."
Then he's gone, climbing the stairs, and the door at the top slams shut.
The light stays on, but it's somehow worse than darkness. I can see the stains on the floor, the rust on the pipes running along the ceiling. I can hear squeaking, and I shudder, hoping it’s not mice.
I'm alone in this basement, tied to a chair, pregnant with Elio's child, waiting for Desmond to lure the two men I love most to their deaths.
And it's all my fault.
I test the zip ties, but they're too tight. I try to rock the chair, but it's bolted down. I look around for anything I could use—a sharp edge, a loose pipe, anything—but there's nothing within reach.
I'm trapped.
Completely and utterly trapped.
And somewhere above me, Desmond Connelly is setting his trap, preparing to destroy everyone I love.
27
ELIO
The hours crawl by in the darkness of the warehouse.
I've lost track of time—could be a few hours since I was left here, could be more. There are no windows in this section of the building, nothing to mark the passage of time except the growing ache in my shoulders and the numbness spreading through my hands from the zip ties.
I've tested them a hundred times. They're not budging.
I've gone over every word of my conversation with Ronan, analyzing every expression, every pause, trying to figure out what he's going to do. Whether he’s found Annie yet. Whether Annie’s told him she loves me or whether she's already convincing herself it was all a mistake.
The thought of her hating me is worse than anything else. Worse than being stuck in this chair, worse than losing Ronan's trust, worse than whatever punishment he has planned.
I close my eyes and let myself think about her. The way she looked the last time I woke up next to her, curled up in bed with the sunlight streaming through the window. The way she said my name when I was inside of her. The look in her eyes when she begged me to admit that I love her.
I wonder what she's doing right now. If she's safe yet. If she's crying. If she's angry at me for leaving. For failing to keep Ronan’s trust until the very end.
The sound of the door banging open jolts me back to the present.
Footsteps. Heavy, fast, angry.
Then Ronan appears out of the shadows, and one look at his face tells me everything I need to know.
Something's happened. Something bad.
He crosses the space between us in three strides, and his fist connects with my jaw before I can speak. The chair rocks back on its legs, and pain explodes through my face.
"Where is she?" The words are a roar. "Where the fuck is Annie?"
Blood fills my mouth. I spit it to the side. "I don’t know?—”
“Bullshit!” He grabs the front of my shirt, hauling me and the chair forward. "My men went to your fucking penthouse, Cattaneo, when they didn’t find her at any of the safe houses—one of which was shot up, by the way. They found your guards dead and no Annie. So I'll ask you again—where is she?"
Cold fear turns every drop of blood in my body to ice. "Dead? What do you mean dead?"
"I mean dead!" He shakes me hard enough to rattle my teeth. "Throats cut, shot, one of them had his skull bashed in. And if Annie was there, she’s gone. She’s nowhere to be found. But I know you fucking know something! Why would your safe house be shot up and your men dead if you didn’t?"
