I look down at myself, at the torn, ruined dress, then shift my gaze around the room. I thought maybe we were at Rinaldi’s compound where he’d been keeping me the days leading up to the wedding. But I don’t think that’s right. I only saw that tower room, but this isn’t the same place.
I’m in a large room. A master suite with what looks like a custom-made King-size bed against one wall and antique looking furniture, a desk, a dresser, and the nightstands. One door for the closet and another to the bathroom. The last one leads out into the hallway where I have no doubt Alec, the soldier, is still standing guard.
There are three windows along one wall. The other walls don’t have windows.
He’d said island. He didn’t want my brother’s bodies on his island.
I walk to one of the windows and look outside, gasping at what I see because for miles and miles it’s just blue. The view from the next window, and the one beside it, are the same. I open one, only to breathe in cold, salty air and listen to the sound of the ocean. Are we still in Italy? I was passed out overnight. He could have taken me anywhere.
Rinaldi’s complex is just outside of Rome. We aren’t anywhere near Rome.
Just then I hear a loud sound from overhead. I’m about to lean my head out to see what it is when the helicopter comes into view, turning sharply as it flies over the water and out of sight around the building.
A helicopter. An island. My brother downstairs in some cell.
Fuck.
Where the hell are we and how are we going to get out of here?
I close my eyes and force a deep breath in then out. I have to stay calm. I have to think.
Peering out the window, I look down and my belly flips. I hate heights and there’s a good hundred-foot drop into the ocean. The house is built into the rocky cliff face of the island. This wouldn’t be my way out even if my brother weren’t locked in a cell below ground.
I close the window with a shudder and turn back into the room. When I move to rub my eyes, I get a look at my hands. I’m covered in dirt and blood and am suddenly very aware of the caked-on brains and blood on my skin. My face. My mouth.
Hurrying into the bathroom, I close the door behind me and brace myself to meet my reflection. Even though I think I’m ready for it, even though I’ve seen blood and gore and death before, this is different. And I’m in no way ready.
In my panic to get the dress off, I rip it the rest of the way, letting it pool around my legs where I’m standing. I do the same with my bra, panties and stockings, stepping over everything and into the shower.
The floor is still wet from Cristiano’s shower. I have a flash of his naked body just then. Him asking me if I’d seen a dick before. I squeeze my eyes shut and tell my brain to banish the image. I can’t think about that right now. And it’s not hard to do when I open my eyes to watch pink water run down the drain.
Death. That’s what that is. The deaths of three people, that woman and two of my brothers.
Condensation from his shower hasn’t yet faded from the glass walls as I adjust the water as hot as I can stand it. I scrub my face, my hair, and my skin, trying to process what just happened. What I bore witness to.
My uncle executed my brothers on Cristiano Grigori’s command. My own uncle.
No, that part isn’t what’s hard to process. It’s shocking but I know what kind of man Jacob De La Cruz is. I’ve known since my twelfth birthday.
My stomach turns at the memory. That’s the thing that almost makes me puke when seeing my brothers faces blown off didn’t.
There’s something seriously wrong with me. I’m not upset that my brothers are dead. The only thing we shared was the blood of our father and a mutual hate for each other.
Noah and I are from his second marriage to his one-time mistress. He set Diego and Angel’s mother aside to marry my mother when she became pregnant with me. I’m a bastard. Can women be bastards?
I shake my head. Telling myself to focus.
Is that when my half-brothers decided to do it? To kill our father and my mother? To take over the cartel? But then they waited twelve years to do it? I don’t think so. They were never that smart. Even though I believe their hate brewed in those twelve years since my birth, it wasn’t them who came up with the plan to turn on our father. It was only with the Rinaldi family’s help that they could have executed their plan so seamlessly. Which is why I was set to marry the heir to the Rinaldi mafia family. It would seal our union, the De La Cruz Cartel and the Rinaldi Mafia. They’d own Europe with the drugs my brothers could bring in. Not to mention the more lucrative flesh trade.
It makes me sick to think of it. Of how much suffering my brothers caused before their too easy deaths.
Cristiano’s family stood in the way, though. No flesh trade. Their one rule.
But greed won out. Greed fueled by years of hate.
I thought the Grigori family was wiped out but that’s clearly not the case. I remember the other man in that cell. The casual one. Brothers. Two survivors. Have they been in hiding all this time?
After shampooing three times and scrubbing my skin raw, I switch off the water and look around. I locate a stack of towels on a shelf and reach out to grab one, twisting my hair into it. I take a second one to wrap around myself. I look down at the pile of the wedding dress and underthings. Blood even managed to get on my bra.
I step around them and walk back into the bedroom. Clothes. I need clothes. But the first thing I see in the bedroom is a tray of food on the table. My stomach growls at the sight. I don’t remember the last time I ate. Days ago. I went on a hunger strike before the wedding. It was the only thing I could control.
Walking toward it, I see it’s a sandwich with fresh mozzarella, tomatoes and basil on still-warm ciabatta. There’s a small salad beside it and even a slice of chocolate cake. I pick up the bottle of water and drain half of it, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand before taking a bite of the sandwich. It’s good. I shove another bite into my mouth, then another before forcing myself to set it down. If I eat too fast, I’ll throw up. I make myself chew before swallowing as I walk into the closet.
Cristiano’s closet smells nice. Like leather and man, a scent I’d picked up off him earlier. Something I hadn’t registered I’d done. It’s not an overpowering amount of it like my uncle likes to wear. Even smelling just a hint of Uncle’s cologne has the effect of making me want to puke.
The closet is huge and lined with more suits than even my father owned. I marvel at how precisely everything is in its place. He or his housekeeper must be a little OCD.
In one of the drawers on the middle island I find a pair of gray sweats and a sweatshirt, the only things that I can come close to fitting into. I drop the towel and put the pants on. I have to roll the waistband over three times and even then, I still have to fold up the legs. But they still keep sliding down so I choose one of his ties and use it like a belt around my waist. His actual belts will be too big. The sweatshirt hits the middle of my thighs, but I’m very aware of not having anything on underneath.
While I’m here I search through the drawers to see if there’s anything I can use as a weapon, if I need to.
I chuckle to myself at the thought.
If I need to.
I will need to. He’s told me what he plans to do. Is that really the only reason my brother and I are alive? And is Noah truly alive? Or did he just say that to appease me? To ensure I wouldn’t fight too hard when he lays his hands on me?