But to keep Elle happy, I gave her freedom. Too much has already been taken from her. Helping the victims rescued from the Albanians’ trafficking ring has given her purpose, and I couldn’t cage that light, no matter the risk.”
Our actions have crippled their business, dismantling the organization piece by piece. Alban Berisha’s reputation lies in ruins. His clients no longer trust him to deliver their so-called ‘merchandise.’ Operating within Cosa Nostra territory has become nearly impossible. One might hope he’d walk away, deciding the fight isn’t worth the trouble—but I know better. His pride won’t let him retreat. He’ll be hungry for revenge, and I can’t imagine him leaving without a battle.
I should’ve guarded Elle more carefully. The image of her limp body slung over that bastard’s shoulder gnaws at me, each step carrying her farther away. Rage claws at my chest, fear pressing in—a feeling I never knew before her.
But if I let those thoughts consume me, I’ll lose focus. The minutes drag like hours as I drive toward the location Salvatore sent, that snake leading me into his trap
Half an hour later, I stopped at the darkened car park of an abandoned gas station outside of the city. My headlights illuminate the graffiti on the part of the walls that are still standing. The once paved ground is riddled with potholes and weeds. It is as empty as a graveyard at night. But I know thatthe scumbags are lurking somewhere in the darkness. Waiting to pounce on me.
When I exit the vehicle, there’s movement to my left, in the cover of darkness. I swing around and point my gun above the hood of the car in that direction. My eyes quickly adjust to the darkness. Three figures emerge from the shadows.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Vitelli.” The tallest of the three warns, his Albanian accent sharp as a blade. All of them level their weapons at me. “Drop the gun if you want to see your wife alive," I hesitated, rage burning in my chest, but finally let the weapon fall. What I really want is to smash their faces in. ‘Search him!’ the leader snaps, his gun never wavering from me.”
His two companions approached. My natural instinct is screaming at me to fight back. I don’t have a docile bone in my body, but I force myself to exercise restraint for Elle’s sake. They’ll pay, I just need to be patient.
My arms were bound tight behind my back, the ropes biting into my skin. They patted me down, stripping away every weapon—even my favorite blade strapped to my chest. My phone was yanked from my pocket, hurled to the floor, and smashed, its screen shattering with a sharp crack.
Bastards! My vision vanishes as a hood is yanked over my head, plunging me into darkness. Rough hands shove me forward. A door creaks open, then I’m hurled inside. I hit hard, tumbling onto my side. The door slams shut above me in the trunk.
The car lurches over potholes, tossing me like cargo. With my hands bound, I can’t brace myself, my body slamming against the steel walls. But they made a mistake—they didn’t tie my legs. I wedge my feet against the sides, absorbing the worst of the impact as the vehicle barrels forward.
The ride grows steadier as the minutes slip by. Then a phone rings from the front seat. I recognize the deep voice ofthe tall Albanian who spoke earlier. “Yes, boss—we have him.” The call isn’t on speaker, so the other side remains a mystery. “Yeah, we’ll be there soon.” When the line goes dead, their hushed conversation drifts back to me. “Salvatore Vitelli wants his nephew dead,” one mutters. “He plans to make him suffer.”
The laughter grates against my ears. “Yeah, he’s going to use that pretty wife of his.” They howl like jackals, unaware they’re already dead men. Dead men don’t laugh. “She’ll make up for the merchandise we lost,” one sneers. My blood boils as they reduce her to nothing but a bargaining chip. “Alban will collect the debt on her back. Shame we won’t get a taste first.” Their laughter erupts again, each sound a nail in my skull. I grind my teeth until pain shoots through my jaw. Bastards. Over my dead body will anyone lay a hand on her.
With my wrists bound, reaching the knives hidden in my socks is nearly impossible. But I force my body into motion. Knees bent, ankles pressed tight against my thighs, I arch backward, straining until my fingers brush steel. Small blades, but lethal. I slide them into my waistband, concealed, waiting for the moment to use them.
Chapter 39
~Elle~
Pain drags me back into consciousness, brutal and disorienting. It feels like a hammer pounding inside my skull, or the echo of a bat striking bone. A low groan slips from my lips before I can stop it. Instinctively, my hands reach for the back of my head—only to recoil with a sharp hiss as my fingers brush the tender, throbbing scalp.
Confused by the sticky dampness clinging to my skin, my eyes snap open. I lift my hands and stare, bewildered, at the crimson coating on my fingers. A sharp flinch escapes me as the blinding light overhead sears my vision.
Fragments of memory claw their way back — the bathroom at the Oasis, the sudden attack. That woman… I pitied her, and now she’s the reason I’m here. As my sight slowly clears, I take in the unfamiliar surroundings, a chill settling over me.
Where am I?
I’m lying in an unfamiliar bed with tall mahogany posts. The only other piece of furniture in the room is a dresser and a single wooden chair with a red cushioned seat. The furniture looks antique. Heavy drapes cover a single window.
Where the hell am I? My head is foggy, thoughts slipping through the cracks. Dominic—where is he? I shake my head, trying to clear the cobwebs, desperate to think straight. The last thing I remember: Catalina in the bathroom at the Oasis. Then a flash of pain at the back of my skull, and darkness swallowing me whole.
Catalina. The conniving bitch.
Not again. How many times can one person be kidnapped? Damn it—this isn’t some romance novel with a heroine who stumbles into trouble every chapter. That kind ofdrivel always annoyed me, and now it feels like my life is turning into one.
But panic is useless. I force a pep talk on myself. Being the victim is getting old. Anger rises, rage burns. Every time I taste happiness, the universe conspires to rip it away. Still, stubbornness and survival have always been my mantra. And now—now that the future finally holds promise—I have no choice but to fight.
As nausea returns, worse than what I’ve been experiencing for the last few days, I remember my suspicion. One that I’d wanted to confirm before sharing with Dominic. But I can’t think about that now. Filing away these thoughts, my determination to escape forces me into action.
Pushing up onto my forearms causes a bout of dizziness—the room spinning around me. Ignoring the retched feeling, I rally on until I’m sitting. Taking a deep breath helps. When the room stops spinning, I make an effort to move.
Somehow, I’m on my feet, standing at the door. It won’t budge—locked tight. I rattle the knob, useless. Turning my back to it, I scan the room for another way out. Only one option: the window.
Each step makes the pounding in my skull worse. When I reach it, I see the boards nailed across. Damn it. My legs weaken, frustration boiling over. I slide down the wall, back pressed against the cold surface, trapped.
Tonight was supposed to be special. Instead, it turned into a nightmare. Why won’t these people leave us alone?
