My wife dumped me via text message.Either everything I thought we had was a carefully constructed lie.Or something is very, very wrong.
Right now, I can’t tell which possibility terrifies me more.
But the happiness I carried with me from Brazil?The certainty that I’d finally found something worth fighting for?
That’s already gone.
23
Serena
The late morning sunlight streams through the tinted windows of the armored limo as we navigate through Boston’s traffic.I might be heading to the mall for a mindless day of retail therapy, but my thoughts are still tangled in Brazil.In the salty air and the turquoise water and the way Shelby looked at me when he asked me to marry him again.
For real this time.
Forty-eight hours ago, I was the happiest I’ve ever been.Swimming naked in the ocean with the man I love.Making plans for a future I never thought I’d have.Letting myself believe that maybe, just maybe, I could have it all.
Now I’m heading to Copley Place to pretend I’m a normal woman with normal problems, like whether to buy the red Louboutins or the black ones.
Marcus catches my eye in the rearview mirror.“Traffic's backed up near the Common, Mrs.Boyle.I'll take the side streets.”
The title still sends a thrill through me.Mrs.Boyle.Shelby’s wife.Not just on paper anymore, but in every sense that matters.His.Just like he’s mine.
“Thanks, Marcus.”
He nods and turns onto a quieter street.This is my life now.Armored cars and professional drivers, and the constant awareness that danger lurks around every corner.I should be used to it after twenty-five years as Giovanni DiLorenzo’s daughter, but somehow the stakes feel higher now.Now that I’m poking around in very dangerous people’s businesses.And now that I have something real to lose.
Now that I have Shelby.
The car slows as we approach an intersection.The fine hair at the back of my neck stands on end.Something’s off.I glance around.There is only one vehicle on the one-way street we’re on.About sixty yards ahead of us, a black SUV is parked.It makes a U-turn, burning its tires, and accelerates towards us.
Marcus’s shoulders stiffen.“No worries, Mrs.Boyle.I’m going to?—”
The rest of his words are swallowed by the screech of tires behind us.I whip around to see another SUV blocking our retreat.We’re boxed in.
“I’ll get us out of here!”Marcus shouts, gripping the steering wheel to evade the attackers.
I brace myself, digging my nails into the soft leather of the headrests.He manages to turn the town car to the left.Seconds later, the SUV that was barreling towards us hits the right side of the limo.The violent T-bone collision triggers the side and front airbags.Marcus's head snaps sideways, then lolls forward, his forehead resting on the deflating white balloon.
“Marcus!”I scream, but the thunder of more gunfire drowns out the sound.The armored plating holds, but the men outside aren’t aiming for me.They’re aiming for the parts of the door already damaged by the SUV’s impact.They fire at the locks, the seams, and every weak point in this fortress on wheels.
Think, Serena.Think.
I fumble for my phone, trying to dial Shelby, but the door beside me wrenches open before I can press send.Hands grab my arms, my hair, yanking me from the vehicle with brutal efficiency.I kick and claw and bite, connecting with something soft that earns me a satisfying grunt of pain.
But there are too many of them.
A black hood descends over my head, cutting off the world.I suck in a panicked breath, tasting wool and dust, and swallowing my fear.Someone wrenches my arms behind my back, and I feel the cold bite of zip ties tightening around my wrists.
“Stai ferma, principessa.”I recognize the voice in the Sicilian accent.One of my father’s bodyguards is telling me to stay still.He always uses the endearment in a cruel tone.
I stop fighting.Not because I’m giving up, but because I need to think.I need to conserve energy for whatever comes next.
Something sharp pricks my neck.A needle.
Fuck!No, no, no?—
The world tilts sideways, and then there’s nothing at all.
