Page 14

Gravel crunches under my feet as I run, each step sending tiny stones skittering into the darkness.

My breath comes in jagged gasps, scraping my throat raw.

The maze of Parisian backstreets swallows me whole—narrow passages between buildings where the moonlight barely penetrates, where the air hangs thick with the stench of yesterday’s rain and today’s garbage.

I have no idea where I’m going. Just away.

Please don’t let him find me. Please don’t let him find me. It’s a childish thing, this begging to a God I stopped believing in years ago, when I first understood what my father really was. It’s incredible how desperation has a way of bringing faith back from the dead.

I duck behind a dumpster overflowing with restaurant waste, the smell of rotting vegetables and discarded fish heads making my stomach heave. My legs burn, unused to running, I never felt that urge here where no one knew who my family was. My lungs feel like they’re lined with sandpaper.

A sound makes me freeze; voices, male, coming from the direction I’m heading.

I peer around the corner of the dumpster and spot them: two men in dark suits, their silhouettes unmistakable even in the dim light.

Vittorio’s men. They must have been watching the restaurant, waiting for exactly this scenario.

I back away, changing direction, taking the next turn blindly. Left, then right, then left again. The alleys grow narrower, the buildings pressing in on either side. The ground beneath my feet transitions from gravel to slick cobblestones.

And then I turn one corner too many and find myself staring at a wall. A dead end. Fifteen feet of solid stone looms above me, too high to climb, too smooth to find purchase. I spin around, ready to backtrack, only it’s too late.

The footsteps approach unhurriedly. The sound of a predator who knows his prey is cornered.

“Such a shame.” Vittorio’s voice floats through the darkness before I see him. “I was hoping not to have to do this.”

He steps into view, the dim light from a distant streetlamp casting his face in shadows. Two men flank him, the same ones I spotted earlier. They block the only exit.

I back up against the cold stone wall, feeling its rough surface scrape against my palms. My gaze darts frantically, searching for something, anything, a fire escape, a service door, a Goddamn miracle. There’s nothing.

“Did you really think you could run from me?” Vittorio asks, his voice almost gentle. “From your father? From… who you are?”

“I’m not who you think I am,” I say, hating the tremor in my voice.

He smiles, a slow, predatory curl of his lips. “You’re exactly what I think you are. A Pressutti. Your father’s daughter. My future wife.”

“Never.” The word rips from my throat, raw and defiant.

“Never is a very long time, Gina.” He takes another step closer. “And I’m not a man of patience.”

I see my chance, a slim gap between him and the wall. If I’m fast enough, if I catch him off guard, maybe I can slip past. It’s a desperate plan, and the only one I have.

I lunge forward, trying to bolt past him, putting all my remaining strength into a final sprint toward freedom.

I don’t make it three steps.

Vittorio’s arm snakes around my waist, yanking me backward with such force the air rushes from my lungs. His grip is iron, fingers digging into my flesh through my clothes. I scream, a sound of pure rage and fear that echoes off the narrow alley walls.

“Let me go!” I thrash against him, my elbow connecting with his ribs. He doesn’t even flinch.

In desperation, I twist in his grip and sink my teeth into the hand that’s restraining me. The taste of copper floods my mouth as my teeth break skin. Vittorio curses, his grip loosening just enough for me to wrench free.

Freedom is short-lived. He grabs my arm and throws me down, my knees hitting the cobblestones hard enough to bring tears to my eyes. I peer up at him, at the blood welling from the bite on his hand, at the cold fury in his eyes.

“You touch me and my father will fucking kill you!”

“Your father won’t risk the shame,” he sneers, wiping his bleeding hand on a handkerchief pulled from his pocket. “No one wants a whore for a daughter.”

Vittorio kneels, his face inches from mine. He grips my chin, forcing me to look at him. His fingers press into my jaw hard enough to bruise.

“Your father gave you to the wrong man,” he says softly, his breath warm against my face. “You belong to me now. The sooner you accept that, the easier this will be.”

I wrench my head away, a small act of defiance that costs me immediately. His hand cracks across my face, the slap echoing in the narrow alley. Pain blooms across my cheek, hot and sharp. I taste blood where my teeth cut into the inside of my cheek.

The shock of it silences me. In all my seventeen years, no one has ever hit me. Not even my father, with all his faults, with all his criminal enterprises and moral bankruptcies, has never raised a hand to me.

“That,” Vittorio says calmly, “was a warning. The next time you run from me, the next time you try to embarrass me in public, it won’t be a slap.”

I stare up at him, my vision blurring with tears I refuse to let fall. This is who he is. This is what my life will be if I don’t escape.

“I hate you,” I whisper, the words thick around my swelling lip.

“Hate is a passionate emotion,” he says with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “We can work with that.”

He grabs my arm to pull me to my feet. “Now you will come quietly,” Vittorio says when a voice calls from the entrance to the alley.

“Gina!”

I turn, hope flaring briefly before crashing down into horror. Because standing there, zip-tied and bleeding from a cut above his eye, is Adrien.

And I know, with sickening certainty, that things have just gotten much, much worse.

Adrien is barely standing, his face a mask of blood and confusion.

His wrists are bound in front of him with plastic zip ties, cutting into his skin.

His eye is swelling shut, his lip split.

This is my fault. All my fault. The guilt hits me with such force I physically stagger, my knees threatening to give out beneath me.

“No! Leave him alone!” The words rip from my throat, raw and desperate. I lunge forward. Vittorio catches me by the hair, yanking me back against him. Pain shoots across my scalp, stars dancing at the edges of my vision.

Adrien tries to step forward, and one of Vittorio’s men shoves him hard, sending him stumbling against the brick wall. He doesn’t make a sound, and his eyes—God, his eyes—fixated on me with a mixture of confusion and concern. Even now, bleeding and bound, he’s worried about me.

“Please,” I whisper, the fight draining out of me. “He has nothing to do with this. Let him go.”

Vittorio’s fingers tighten in my hair, wrenching my head back until I’m looking up at him. His face is calm, almost bored, while his eyes burn with a dark and possessive intensity.

“You better still be a virgin,” he says, his voice low enough only I can hear. “If I find out I’m not the first, his death will be slow.”

The words turn my blood to ice. “He’s just a friend,” I say, my voice breaking. “We have classes together. That’s all.”

Vittorio laughs, the sound devoid of humor. “Don’t lie. I’ve watched you for days.” He leans closer, his lips brushing my ear. “You don’t kiss friends like that.”

Days. He’s been watching me for days. Following me, tracking my movements, learning my routines. The realization makes me sick. How many times did I think I was free, safe, only to have him lurking in the shadows?

Adrien shifts against the wall, his eyes never leaving mine. I can see him trying to piece together what’s happening—who Vittorio is, why I’m so afraid, why he’s been dragged into this nightmare. There’s blood trickling from his hairline, staining his collar crimson.

“Let him go,” I try again, forcing strength into my voice. “I’ll come with you. I’ll do whatever you want. Just let him go.”

“Oh, you’ll come with me regardless,” Vittorio says, releasing my hair to grab my arm instead. His fingers dig into my flesh hard enough to leave bruises. “But I’m afraid your friend has seen too much. Knows too much.”

My heart slams against my ribs. “He doesn’t know anything! He’s just a film student!”

“A film student who knows your name. Your face.” Vittorio’s grip tightens. “Who would go to the police when you disappear?”

One of Vittorio’s men steps forward, a hulking shape in the dim alley. He moves toward Adrien with the deliberate pace of someone who enjoys what’s coming next. Adrien tries to back away, only there’s nowhere to go. His back is already against the wall.

“Stop!” I twist in Vittorio’s grip, panic making me wild. “Don’t touch him!”

Adrien’s eyes find mine across the alley.

There’s resignation there now, mixed with something else.

Understanding, maybe. Or forgiveness. As if he’s putting the pieces together and realizing I’m not just some normal girl, that my world is one of violence and danger, that loving me has brought him here, to this moment.

“Gina,” he says, my name a plea, a question, a goodbye.

I wrench free from Vittorio’s grip with strength born of desperation and throw myself between Adrien and the approaching man. My back presses against Adrien’s chest, my arms spread wide, as if my small frame could somehow shield him from what’s coming.

“If you want me,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel, “then you leave him alone. Or I swear to God I’ll fight you every step of the way. I’ll make your life hell. I’ll ? —”

The blow comes from the side, a fist or maybe something harder connecting with my temple with stunning force. Pain explodes through my skull, white-hot and blinding. I hear Adrien shout my name, the sound distorted as if coming from underwater.