"I'm not," I say, with more confidence than I have any right to feel. Gabriele and I never used contraception. With the arrangement we made it was always expected there would be a child. "And even if I were, it would be a legitimate Volante heir. Does that not concern you, Sergei?"
"The Volantes think too much of themselves," he says. "In Russia they are nothing."
His dismissive attitude irritates me but in the end, hubris will be his downfall.
My husband will come for me and he'll rain down hell on the people who dared to take me from him. Every part of me believes that.
But I can't wait for him, not if there's any chance I'm pregnant. What Sergei would do doesn't bear thinking about.
I need a plan.
There's a path through the gardens that leads to the woodland beyond the estate wall. From there it's a short walk to the main road heading northwest. I could get to Finland if I had to. I could call Gabriele and have him meet me there.
It's an insane plan but I'm not sitting at this table waiting for a better one.
When the next course arrives I slip the steak knife from beside my plate and move it up my sleeve. Nobody notices. They underestimate me. It's one of their greatest flaws.
Dinner drags on for another hour. I eat a little of the lamb but barely taste it. Sergei refuses he offer of sharlotka, something Iwould have enjoyed even under these circumstances and waves one of his goons over from the door. He grabs my arm and hauls me out of my seat.
My mother steps in front of me and takes my face in her hands. Her grip is firm. Her eyes are entirely dry. She doesn’t feel an ounce of pity for me.
"Do your duty by Sergei, Katyusha," she says. "You owe it to this family."
I look at her for a long moment, this woman who carried me for nine months but never showed me an ounce of affection, and spit in her face.
By the time she recovers I'm already moving.
They drag me toward the front entrance and the waiting cars. I can see three of them through the glass of the door, exactly as I predicted.
As we reach the front steps. I recite the golden rule in my head. Never let them take you to a second location. I suppose, in this case, it's a third, since I was foolish enough to let myself be taken in Rome.
I pull the knife from my sleeve and drive it through the hand of the man holding my arm. He roars in pain. I kick my shoes off and run.
The grass is cold beneath my feet, damp, as I sprint across the lawn. Footsteps thunder behind me. They're fast, but these muscle-bound idiots aren't as nimble as I am. I jump over the flowerbeds my mother is so proud of and head for the woods.
I'm almost at the trees when the gunshots start. Is someone shooting at me?
With no idea which direction they're coming from I do the only safe thing and drop to the ground. I cover my head as chaos erupts around me.
The night explodes with gunfire. Men shout orders at each other in Italian. Wait. Italian? It's then I realize what's happening. My husband has come for me.
I start to crawl toward the line of trees up ahead, determined to reach safety. Hands pull me to my feet and I open my mouth to scream, only to find it's Lukas who has me.
He drags me from the line of fire with the calm efficiency of a man who's done this a thousand times before.
There are men everywhere, including guards I recognize from the villa. I look for Gabriele and see him, striding toward me.
Closing the distance between us, I fling myself into his arms. I press my face against his chest and cry as relief sweeps over me.
"I've got you, dolcezza." His voice is rough. "I've got you. You're safe."
"Yes." I look around at the organized chaos of my rescue. "You brought an army."
"For you, Katya, I did." He brushes my cheek with the back of his hand. "My brothers came."
"Good." We'll unpack the significance of that later. I let him lead me toward the car. "That's good."
As we reach the car, I stop. Before I leave this place I have to know. "Santo?"
