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“Do you really think you’ll get away with it? Maybe you will today. Maybe no one will care because you’re Roman fucking Volkov. But I’ll keep screaming it. Over and over. Until someone listens. Until someone stops you. Or until you finally put a knife to my neck and silence me for good.”
For a heartbeat, neither of us moves. The air stretches thin between us.
I don’t want to die.But I’d let him think death is better than his mercy. Turning away, I march down the stone steps and yank open the car door, throwing myself inside.
I tearthe dress away from my body the second I get home, pulling and ripping at seams that refuse to budge. Large holes appear where my fingernails dig into the lace, and when I toss it to the floor, it’s in tatters.
“Good riddance,” I mutter, kicking it for better measure. I thought I was making a statement by wearing black, but I should’ve known it wouldn’t matter to him. It wouldn’t make a dent in his plans.
He knew I was drunk. I wasn’t trying to hide it, and he didn’t say anything.
Because finishing the ceremony and getting that?—
I lift my hand, staring at the plain gold band. I wasn’t completely aware when he slipped it on my finger, and I forgot to throw it at him when I stormed out of the church. Ripping it off, I chuck it at the wall.
It hits, bounces off, and vibrates on the floor for a good minute before settling.
“Mrs. Volkov.” I mouth the words, too irritated to say them out loud. I’m no longer Isabella Ricci, the only child and heir to Marco Ricci. I’m now wife to a crazed, egoistic, self-centered, controlling man.
I’ll never say it out loud. The wordsMrs. Volkovwill never slip past my lips as long as I’m alive, nor will his ring touch my finger again.
“I don’t care what you scream, Isabella. But you will come with me.”Roman’s words echo in my mind, and I see his impassive, unbothered face. It didn’t matter to him that I was willing to tell everyone who he truly was.
Murderer. He would’ve done as he said, because he did it once, at the cathedral. It’s almost as if nothing affects him.
The asshole!
I drag my fingers through my hair, biting my cheek to keep from screaming in frustration. I’ll show him. Someway, somehow, I’ll make him regret forcing me down the isle.
As I walk to the bathroom, fuming, I hear a vibrating sound. I spin, gaze cutting to my bed. My phone? I haven’t used it since I tried contacting my father, but he didn’t respond.
And after Roman scared me into thinking we were going to start sharing a bed, I hid my phone under the bed. In hindsight, if he had followed through with his word, he might’ve found it easily.
I hear it vibrate again.
Dad?
I sprint to the bed, yanking up the mattress and slipping my hand underneath. It’s my phone. But it’s not my father; an unknown number flashes on the screen.
Desperate, I answer and place it against my ear gingerly. “Hello?”
“Miss Ricci?”
Nico? My heart leaps. Nico was one of my father’s closest friends and his attorney until they had a falling out. My father neverexplained why, and I knew better than to ask, even though Nico had been like a second father to me.
“Nico?” I whisper as my eyes dart to the door. It’s closed, but I don’t have a lock, so Roman can come in any time.
Now that we’re married.
I drag the chair with one hand, straining against the weight as I make it to the door. Wedging it under the knob, I return to the call.
“Nico?”
“Miss Ricci,” he says, and I almost exclaim with joy. “I’m sorry I haven’t reached out since…” He trails off, but I know he’s referring to my wedding—the one where I was taken. “Your father is in a peculiar situation, so he asked me to convey his message.”
My father? Hope and doubt strain against my heart. I thought he abandoned me, leaving before my wedding and going radio silent after I got here.
“He killed my father. Betrayed a blood oath…I will kill him.”