Panic.
I have to get out of here. The only hole in this godforsaken place is the ventilation gap, and that’s not big enough for a cat to squeeze through, not that I’ll ever reach that high, not even standing on the bench.
I go still, taking in the quiet.
Think, Zoe. Think.
It’s not completely quiet. The silence I registered after the absence of human voices—Maxime’s and my own—is in fact, now that I listen, permeated with the lap of water and the distant hum of a motorboat.
Maybe if I make enough noise someone will hear me. I grab the idea like a life buoy, kicking the walls with the heels and toes of my boots until my feet hurt. When that doesn’t work, I kick over the bench and drive it repeatedly into the wall with my feet, but I’m under the water level, and the stone walls must be thick. No one will hear me through the massive door.
The hopelessness of the situation drives me to my knees. I hit the wet, cold, hard floor with my hands handcuffed behind my back, staring up at the hole that goes black as the night sets in.
Despite my coat, hat, scarf, and gloves, I’m cold. I force myself back onto my feet, struggling to do so with my hands tied, but I eventually manage by using the wall as a support. I trace the diameter of the room, turning in circles to create heat and stay warm, but the space is too small for the exercise to work effectively. I jump up and down for as long as I can, but eventually I tire too much.
I turn the bench back over with a foot and sit down. The only way I’m getting out of here is if someone lets me. Maybe nobody will. Maybe that’s why Maxime left me here.
To die.
I start crying shamefully as the notion takes form like a living, breathing monster in my chest. A squeaky noise stills me. Something scurries over my hands. Screaming behind the duct tape, I jump up. More squeaking sounds.
Rats.
My teeth start to chatter. I huddle in a corner just like I used to when I was a child. Only, my fairytales can’t save me any longer. This is a nightmare, and it’s real.
Is Maxime coming back?
He has my letter and the photos. He has my phone. He can send the photos to Damian and my friends, showing them what a great time I’m having. Everyone who knows me even a little knows I’ve always wanted to come to Venice. Everyone knows I’ve stupidly been waiting for love to find me, for the right man to save me. Eloping with a stranger is such a me thing to do. No one is going to come looking for me. I’ll vanish off the face of the earth. My bones will rot in this burial chamber under the canals of Venice, the city of my dreams.
I can’t help but laugh hysterically through my tears. What a stupid idiot I’ve been. So naïve.
Sniffing, I wipe my cheek on my shoulder. Feeling sorry for myself isn’t going to help. It’s not the fear of dying that hits me hardest in the gut. It’s the regret. It’s not paying closer attention when Maxime said it wouldn’t always be like this. His meaning was obvious, yet my mind rejected it, choosing not to see it. It’s not heeding Maxime’s words when he told me to make the best of the day, most probably the last day of my life.
Chapter 6
Maxime
Back at the hotel, I dismiss my guards and have a long, warm shower. Then I order room service, put on a classical music collection, and arrange the roses in the vase while I wait for my food to be delivered.
It arrives promptly, a steak the way I like—rare—with garlic and parsley potatoes on the side and a bottle of their best red. The cutlery is silver and the glass crystal. The candle on the table is scented. It smells of lavender. Tomorrow, I’ll ask them to get some rose-scented ones.
I eat everything, enjoying the warmth of my suite and the view over the square. When I’m done, I pour four fingers of cognac from the wet bar and walk to the window to stare at the canal. It’s pretty at night with lanterns hanging over the bridges. So romantic. Such an illusion. Under the beautiful streets where tourists eat, laugh, and shop, lies my buried treasure. Somewhere down there under the dirty water is a little flower, a yellow daisy that will wilt and die without sunlight or water.
I stopped smoking years ago, but I wrap my coat around my body and take the packet I nicked from Gautier out onto the balcony. Lighting one up, I drag the smoke into my lungs. If she’s suffering, so will I. It’s the least I can give her. Stripping naked, I bare my body to the cold. As always, the freezing pain settling in my toes and fingers grounds me.
I don’t finish the cigarette.
I put it out on my chest.
Chapter 7
Zoe
When I doze off, the rats soon discover I’m a harmless target and nip at the exposed flesh of my wrists and even at my legs through my tights. I swat and kick at them, but they’re becoming fearless, even taking their chances when I’m awake. The broken skin burns at first, but after a while the cold numbs everything, so much so I don’t feel the bite of pain as their sharp teeth gnaw at my flesh. The best way of warding them off is moving, but they follow and try to climb up my legs when they can’t bite through my boots.
By the time the sun comes up, I’m exhausted and cold to my core. It’s as if the damp has infiltrated my bones. I can’t stand on my feet anymore. I think the rats may kill me before I starve. I’m not sure which is the most merciful. My stockings are torn and the expensive clothes ruined, dirty from the damp and black mold on the walls. It stinks worse than my apartment building down here.
Leaning against the wall, I kick at a rat that climbs onto the toe of my boot. The slosh of the water is quieter. It’s low tide. There’s something else, too, like the fall of a hammer. It comes closer. No, it’s the fall of footsteps. My heart starts thundering in my chest when they descend down the steps. I brace myself, praying for rescue, but the door swings open on Maxime’s face.
He’s wearing a pale suit with a pink tie, and his face is clean-shaven. When he opens the gate and enters my prison, a whiff of winter reaches my nostrils. It’s clean and fresh, a stark contrast to my dirt and exhaustion, like a magnifying glass on his cruelty. He’s cold and monstrous.
He’s not my savior.
I back away, but he grips my hair with one hand, and carefully pulls off the tape with the other. It hurts. The skin on my lips stretches and cracks. I drag my tongue over them and taste blood.
Something inside me snaps. My vision turns blurry.
He turns me around to undo the cuffs. The moment my hands are free, I jump at him. I claw and hit, screaming like a mad person. I must be mad, because what I should be doing is escaping. I kick. I punch him in the gut. He only stands there and takes it, my blows doing no damage. After the next fist I jam into his stomach, I shove him and run.
I’m not even on the first step before he grabs hold of my ankle. I go down, stopping my fall with my hands. The heels of my palms burn as the skin comes off, but I kick with all my might. I dig my fingers into the stone, my nails breaking as he drags me back into my cell.
“No!”
He flips me onto my back and covers my mouth with his hand. My lips are pulled back, my jaw wide. I bite down until the pressure of his hand becomes so severe, I think my skull may crack.
“Are you done?” he asks through thin lips.