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Chapter Thirteen

COLETTE

Marcello doesn’t even look me in the eyes. He stands across from me, but he’s not seeing me at all. Instead, his gaze is directed over my shoulder. He knows my fate, and he’s not telling me.

“I didn’t know you hated me,” I whisper.

Marcello must hate me if he’s okay with sending me wherever I’m going, no doubt knowing that it’s going to be pure hell. He shakes his head, reaching for my hand. He doesn’t hold me, not that I would necessarily want him to anyway. Instead, his fingers curl around my wrist before he tugs me against his chest.

“I don’t hate you, but it’s time for you to go.”

There it is—the truth of it all. I was supposed to be taken away to unknown destinations this afternoon, but it’s only eight in the morning, and now it’s all of a sudden time for me to go, right now.

Something is happening. I may never know what it is, but something is going on, and it has to do with me, Malcolm, those people who were here yesterday, or with my father… maybe even all of the above.

Opening my mouth, I start to ask him some more questions, but I snap my lips closed and decide against it. It doesn’t matter—nothing does.

Marcello dips his chin, taking a step backward as he releases his grasp on my wrist. I tell him that I’ll be ready in just a few minutes. It doesn’t take me long. I’ve already showered the sex smell from my body.

I dress in a pair of leggings, throw on a tank top before I slip on a sweater, and then tug a pair of boots on. If I look crazy, well, then I look crazy. I don’t care. Wherever I’m going, I know without a doubt it’s not to a fashion show.

A few moments later, Marcello is dragging my luggage down to the main room of the house, and I’m hesitantly descending the stairs behind him. I watch as he stops when he’s in the middle of the foyer, and I hesitantly stand just a few feet away from him.

When he speaks, my whole body jerks because he says something I’m not expecting. “You want me to fight for you, Colette? I will.”

It would be sweet if I didn’t already know that his words could send him straight to his death and possibly me, too. Shaking my head, I don’t verbalize anything because I know that we’re being recorded and observed right now, probably for scientific purposes if I had to guess.

My father does love to pick people apart. He likes to know how they think so he can anticipate their next move and stay one step ahead of them at all times.

“No,” I exhale. “I appreciate all you’ve done for me, Marcello, but your watch is over.”

He winces at my words. No doubt they mean more to him than even me at this point, considering he clearly knows what I’m about to walk into. It would be fruitless if I went with him. I know I don’t feel anything for him at all. Marcello could rescue me right now and be my knight in shining armor, but I would still ask where Merrick is and how to get to him.

It’s just who I am now—Merrick’s woman. I can’t change that. I am part of Merrick, and he is part of me. I fell in love with him the moment I laid eyes on him in the formal receiving area. I fantasized about him while he measured and worked throughout the house, and I selfishly threw myself at him.

“You just say the word, Colette.”

Giving him a watery smile, I thank him for his help and support during all of this, and before anything else can be said, my father appears. I don’t straighten my spine at the sight of him, but I swear Marcello whimpers.

That right there tells me all I need to know. Marcello might be trying to be a good person, but when push comes to shove, he won’t make it five minutes. I’ve seen enough of my father’s men through the years to know when someone has the moxie to stand up to them or not. Like me? I do not. Merrick, he does.

“The car is here, Colette,” my father murmurs as he emerges from the hallway. His office is down that hall, and I’m sure he’s been sitting in there watching everything, just like I anticipated he would be. “Marcello will load up your bags. Let’s go,” he continues.

He shifts his elbow toward me, and I almost tell him that I don’t need his help, but I decide against it, mainly because I don’t need to witness another temper tantrum in my presence for as long as I live.

A few moments later, all my bags are loaded into the trunk, and I am ushered into the back seat of the black car. I watch from the window as my father says something to Marcello. He dips his chin in acknowledgment, but I notice how he flicks his eyes at me. I don’t know if either of them can actually see me through the dark tint, but I assume they can.

Marcello turns around and walks back into the house. At the same time, my father settles in the seat beside me. Feeling his gaze on my profile, I turn my head and look at him. His dark-black eyes narrow on me, and he snorts before he moves his head from side to side. I expect him to make a tsking sound, but he doesn’t.

Then he lifts his gaze to meet mine. His expression is cold, hard , and calculating.

I decide that this is the perfect time to ask some questions. Like, I want to know what happened to my husband and what my father truly wants from me in this marriage to Malcolm. I’m under zero illusion that this is some love match that he just happened to cultivate for me.

Malcolm Ravet is creepy as hell, and I want no part of him.

Ever .

MERRICK

Boden is waiting for me when I walk into our shared hotel suite. I’m not surprised that he didn’t go to sleep. He sleeps about as much and as well as the rest of us, which is to say not well at all.

Also, because I had my phone turned off, he likely had no idea where I was until I texted him and asked him to help me get into Colette’s room. Which probably freaked him out even more. So, needless to say, I am not shocked he’s waiting for me, given all of the circumstances.

“You want to talk?” he asks as soon as I flop down on the sofa with a groan.

I rest my elbows on my thighs and bury my face in my palms as I let out a frustrated noise. Slowly, I lift my head, my eyes finding his. He arches a brow, and his eyes search mine as he waits.

“You got any whiskey?” I ask.

Boden lets out a snort, then reaches over to the small table next to him that holds a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. I watch as he pours two fingers into each one, then extends one to me as he lifts the other to his lips and takes a sip.

“Continue,” he says, jerking his chin toward me.

Anyone else other than one of my trusted brothers, I would tell to fuck off. But since it’s Boden asking me, I clear my throat and tell him.

“She’s being moved today,” I murmur.

“Moved?”

Clearing my throat, I lean back onto the sofa and take a long drink from my glass, hissing when the liquid burns my throat on the way down. I waste as much time as possible. Not sure how I’m going to answer this shit.

“Adriano Bellucci told her to pack her bags and that she was being moved. I don’t know where. All I know is that it’s supposed to happen later this afternoon.”

Boden frowns, lifting his drink to his lips and taking another sip. I can tell he’s thinking, although I can’t even begin to imagine what is going on inside his head before he begins speaking.

“The wedding is in a couple of weeks. Where the fuck would he be sending her unless he’s got a safe house that he’s going to hold her in.”

“For what purpose?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “I don’t know, but I can’t even pretend that this doesn’t have anything to do with the visitors they got earlier yesterday. Why does she need to be moved so urgently?”

Boden is right. This has to be connected. It is just too fucking weird not to be at this point. I’m not sure how to figure out the puzzle, though. The pieces are coming so sporadically, and so fucking oddly that I’m afraid we won’t be able to see the complete picture.

“I have no fucking clue,” I say. “We’re missing pieces to this, and I’m afraid we won’t find them until it’s too late.”

He jerks his chin, his gaze searching mine for a moment. “I agree. Right now, I think our best bet is to take her from the wedding. I don’t think we’ll be able to get her before that, and the wedding is going to have a lot of action and distraction.”

“That means we won’t be married any longer. The annulment should be finalized a week before her nuptials.”

“Do you care?” Boden asks. “Will it make a difference if Colette is legally your wife or not?”

Thinking about his question, I realize that it doesn’t make a fucking difference, not a single goddamn one. She’s mine. Plain and simple. She’s mine, legally or not. I’m going to get her and bring her home where she belongs—naked and in my fucking bed.