The lock turns.
Outside, footsteps retreat.
For a moment, I stand there, breathing hard, staring at the door.
Then a voice filters faintly through the wall from the hallway beyond.
Moretti’s deep baritone is unmistakable.And the monster chuckles.
“Of course she made an attempt.”
I exhale again.
Since the moment I first set eyes on him, he’s been one step ahead of me.And that has to change.Starting now.
I look back at the tray.
The coffee steams gently.
My stomach betrays me with a low growl.
After a long moment, I pour a cup, and it’s every bit as wonderful as the one he brought me earlier.
The croissant I pick up is buttery and yeasty and warm.Impossibly it tastes homemade.
I’m tempted to start on a second when there’s another knock on the door.“Ten minutes, Ms.Russo.”
Instead of changing into the dress he has left for me, I remain in his sweats.
When my door is unlocked, I tip back my chin.
In between two massive, armed Moretti soldiers, I walk down the hall and toward my lifetime sentence.
ChapterSixteen
Valentina
“Ms.Russo, this way.”
A soldier extends his hand, and I’m assisted from the armored SUV and ushered into a special entrance at the back of the cathedral.Not that I’m surprised.The one my family attends has a similar set up.
Within seconds, I’m sealed inside.
The entire way over, I was on guard, expecting my family to intercept the vehicle and rescue me.
But the drive through Houston’s early-morning streets was uneventful.
No doubt Moretti sent a decoy vehicle, just as we would have done.Which also means my family expected him to make that maneuver.
The stone floors echo faintly beneath the soldiers’ footsteps, and the coolness brushes over my feet as we move down a quiet corridor away from the main sanctuary.
From somewhere deeper in the building, I hear the distant murmur of voices, but this wing is calm, sealed away from the rest of the morning.
We stop in front of an entrance, a female soldier steps aside, and I enter a small room unmistakably meant for a bride.
Tall mirrors framed in antique gold line one wall, reflecting soft light from a pair of high windows.A long table nearby is arranged with trays of food that look more appropriate for a luxury hotel than a cathedral dressing room—fresh fruit, delicate pastries, tiny sandwiches stacked with surgical precision.
Crystal flutes filled with pale gold champagne wait beside a silver carafe of orange juice.
