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She had, in other words, every chance to memorize where they were going, but because Ysabel was in such a panic, everything outside the window had turned into a blur.

Dio aiutami! Help me, God!

Ysabel's fear turned into terror when the limousine rolled to a stop, and she realized where they had taken her.

Oh no.

This was the Marchetti warehouse, and everyone in Boston would always be quick to swear it wasjusta warehouse, even though they all knew it was not. This was where the city's rulingfamigliaconducted 'interviews', and there were times when the people they interviewed would leave with a missing digit or two...or worse, they would never come out at all.

Ysabel didn't even think of running away as Massimo's bodyguard opened the door to the backseat and helped her out. What was the point, when everywhere around her belonged to the Marchettis?

Once inside the warehouse, Ysabel was stunned to discover that everything was air-conditioned, and all the walls and floors were of glossy, pearl-tinted marble. Was that to make it easier to get rid of bloody evidence, literally? And what about the air-conditioning? Was it to keep the smell of rotting flesh from leaking out?

"SignorMarchetti asks that you wait here,signorina."

The room she was asked to enter was elegantly appointed. It had a lovely white velvet couch at the center, a glass-topped coffee table, and an area rug that was invitingly and cozily thick. But the lack of windows made Ysabel feel claustrophobic, and the way everything around her - from the furniture to all the paintings on the wall - was so terribly expensive only made her feel more hopeless.

Wealth equated to power, and this room effectively drove that point home. If the Marchettis wanted to kill her for Ynez's sins, they could certainly do so without consequence—-

The door to the room opened again, and striding in was none other than Massimo Marchetti himself.

"Voglia scusarmi, signorina." Please accept my apologies.

His voice was silkily unreadable, and his dark gaze veiled. He was also devastatingly gorgeous as ever, and Ysabel didn't know whether to feel annoyed, amused or terrified that he was acting like she was here by choice.

"I know this is highly unorthodox—-"

It was good for him to admit that at least, Ysabel acknowledged grudgingly.

"But as we are both adults and more importantly, we are alsofamiglia..."

Ysabel could feel her blood turning cold at his words. Only a stupid person would believe that it was entirely a coincidence that he had her kidnapped at around the same time her sister was having an affair behind his back.

"I will cut right to the point."

Ci siamo, Ysa! This it it!

Cutting to the point meant cuttingherlife short as payment for the sins of her sister, and so he would now kill her—-

"You are the next Marchetti bride,signorina."

—-by making her die laughing?

And in her nervousness, a laugh did crack past Ysabel's lips, albeit somewhat shakenly, the sound of which had Massimo's dark gaze narrowing.

"You think it is a funny matter,signorina?"

Ysabel looked at him in confusion. "But you made a joke—-"

"I did not."

"But you said I'm the next Marchetti bride—-"

"It was why your sister was calling you."

How did he know Ynez had been calling her?

"But I preferred to tell you myself—-"