She frowned. “What would the Camorra do with a twenty-year-old wom—” Her expression smoothed over as she answered the question in her head. “Oh.”
“Oh.” I flashed her a rueful smile.
“Who’s she going to marry?” She was bone white. Didn’t take a genius to know why. I was the next in line to get hitched after Luca. And I wanted to become don. She’d put two and two together.
“Yours truly.”
For the first time since we’d broken up, I saw a pang of jealousy piercing through the woman who owned the very fabric of my fucking soul.
Years of parading women in front of her, of taunting her by dangling every piece of ass I tapped in her face, just so we could end up here.
“I suppose congratulations are in order.” She tried to recover, plastering on a wobbly smile.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Pretend like there’ll ever be anyone else for me.”
She opened her mouth, then thought the better of it and closed it. Whatever she wanted to say wouldn’t matter in the grand scheme of things.
For the first time in her life, the great Tierney Callaghan was rendered speechless. Pity, as I never craved her words more.
I stood up and kissed the crown of her head, thinking it was a damn shame it was too late.
“Follow my plan.” The order was clipped, cold. “Or both of us are dead.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Tierney
I chuggedtwo bottles of water as soon as I stumbled out of the motel, trying to push the nausea down my throat. I was numb head to toe, injured ankle included.
Achilles was getting married. It had never occurred to me that he would. Technically, there was no reason for him not to—he had a banging body, a fat bank account, and that dark, simmering energy that made women drop their panties. Why the hell not?
Well…because he was Achilles.MyAchilles. The only woman to ever chart for him, for better or worse, was me.
I realized how shitty that sounded, even in my head, as I tramped my way to a car rental place where a vehicle was waiting for me. Achilles made all the arrangements—maps, transportation, another fake passport, the routes I should take—to get me out of here and to safety. I should definitely have been more grateful than I was, but I couldn’t stop thinking about him screwing the faceless Katya Rasputin.
Soon to be Katya Ferrante.
Igor’s daughter.
The one I’d never met, since she hadn’t been sent to the Siberian camp her brothers were subjected to.
A fresh bout of bile traveled up my throat, threatening to spill out.
I had zero recollection of walking to the rental place, so it was a good thing I didn’t have to fill out any paperwork. Achilles said to just dump the vehicle across the border and pay for my next ride in cash. Maybe I was growing into someone resembling my age, because for once, I decided to listen.
The car they gave me was a white Dacia Sandero. One of the most popular cars in Europe, hence entirely unremarkable. Muttering my thanks, I slid into the driver’s seat and took out the maps Achilles gave me from my backpack. I was heading east, to Slovenia. I punched the address into the GPS device and started my journey. My next stop after Slovenia was Austria—Vienna—before finally arriving in Prague.
It gave me some time to marinate in my own thoughts. Thoughts I’d managed to push to the periphery of my mind because I was too busy surviving.
An hour into my drive, I couldn’t take it anymore. Achilles said not to contact Tiernan for at least a year, but my emotions overrode my logic.
I took out my burner and called Tiernan. The damn phone didn’t have a speaker option, so I had to hold it to my ear. He answered on the first ring.
“Jesus fuck,” he spat out. “I’ve been worried sick. Where have you been?”
