“I saw them. They all died,” I tell him.
“That’s not true. I wasn’t on the island. And Cristiano survived. You met his wife, Scarlett.”
“Scarlett?” I feel my forehead furrow.
He nods. “They started a family. They have a little boy. Well, more of a little hellion,” he says proudly. “And another one on the way.”
“She’s alive?”
He nods. “Because of you. You made that deal with Petrov and saved her life.”
No, I didn’t. I hadn’t been smart in how I’d said it, but I only realized it later. And I don’t like that he is trying to flatter me. I’m about to tell him so when his phone buzzes and he turns his attention to it.
“That’ll be Cristiano. They’re anxious to hear from you. Your grandmother especially.”
My grandmother is dead. They killed her too. Felix told me. Showed me the pictures. I’d been five at the time, but I still remember the mess they made. The ruin they left in their wake.
Why is he doing this? Why is he lying to me like this? Playing with me. Is this one of Petrov’s tricks? Did he stage it all only to punish me again? He’s done it before. He likes playing with me. Making me fall into his traps for his sadistic pleasure.
“Is this a test? A trick?”
“What?”
I push my fingers into my hair trying to think.
“Have a shower, Mara. Get cleaned up. Put on fresh clothes. Then we’ll talk. I’ll tell you all about them. We can even call them.”
I stare up at him.
“Lock the door if you want. I won’t hurt you or punish you.”
I study him and as much as I want to believe him, I can’t afford to. I look down at my lap, thinking what to do. How to get back to the penthouse.
“All right?” he asks, taking a step back into the room, back toward me.
He dips his head to see my face, eyebrows high and I want to believe him.
“What happened to your eye?” I ask before I can stop myself. I don’t want to care.
He straightens again, expression hardening a little. “There was an explosion. I lost my sight in that eye soon after.”
“Explosion?”
“Five years ago. The night Petrov took you. The night Scarlett killed Helga.”
He knows all of that? He was there, in that house? If he was there, then why did he let Petrov take me? If he cared so much, why would he let Petrov have me? It doesn’t add up.
“Go get cleaned up. We’ll talk after.”
I nod so he’ll leave and watch him finally walk out of the room. When the door closes, I take a moment to really look around. It’s a big room, bigger than even Petrov’s bedroom was. But his was tacky. This is minimal. Industrial. I like it. Even the mattress is set on piles of crates. No bed frame.
One wall has large windows without any curtains. I climb out of the bed, the cement floor cold. No carpet. The first thing I do is go to the door and lock it. I have the feeling if he wanted to, he could kick it in pretty easily, but I do it anyway.
I walk to the window, put a hand against the glass. It’s cold and a light snow has begun to fall. On the pavement below I see the remnants of the last storm from a few days ago. It’s black slush now. It had been cold the last time I was in the city too.
I see why he doesn’t have curtains here. There isn’t another building nearby, not a high one at least. We must not be in the city proper. Assuming we’re still in New York although the helicopter ride wasn’t very long so I think we are. Maybe New Jersey.
The urge to pee has me turning to go into the bathroom. I check out his things as I go, a few sweaters, some shirts, jeans. His wallet is sticking out of the pocket of the jeans, and I glance to the door before slipping it out. He must have forgotten it was here.
I bite my lip as I touch the soft black leather. It could be a test, so I just decide to have a look. See if he really is who he says he is. I open it but inside only find cash. No ID. Not even a credit card. Convenient. I count the money. Eight hundred-dollar bills.
I close the wallet and slip it back into his pocket. I won’t take it. What would I do with it anyway? I go into the bathroom, switch on the light, close and lock the door. This is spacious too and everything looks new and nice. I run my fingers over the stone countertop as I head to the toilet. I really need to pee. I pull the hoodie up—it’s big enough that it falls to mid-thigh—and pee. That’s when I notice the bandage on my hip over the P.
When I’m finished, I wash my hands and twist a little to inspect the dressing in the mirror. I peel it back and see the remnants of a white ointment. Did he do that? It hurts less than it did, so I gently press it back on and look at my face, my hair. I look gaunt, shadows under my eyes, my cheeks hollowed out. My stomach growls as if reminding me why that is.
I don’t need a reminder. I’m hungry. Always hungry. I’ve been starving for years.
On a stool across the room is a pile of folded clothes with tags still on them. I guess they’re for me. Jeans, a sweater. Underthings. A pair of boots. All new.
I should shower before I put them on, but I just splash water on my face in the sink and return to the bedroom. Because I’d seen something at the window.
I go to it and look out, watch the train that runs along the elevated track not too far away and I realize I don’t hear it. He must have the place soundproofed. A fence circles the parking lot around the building but it’s old and not maintained. Not as secure as I’m used to.
And when I press my forehead to the window, I see the ladder I’d just glimpsed against the wall of the building. I can’t tell if it’s broken. If it reaches all the way down to the parking lot. I glance at the closed bedroom door then back to the window. I unlock it. It’s easy. Too easy. But the window itself is jammed and harder to open. It takes a few minutes but soon enough there’s a creak and I push it up. It only goes half-way then gets stuck again but that’s all I need.
Bending I stick my head out into the cold evening and see the remnants of the fire escape. The ladder is intact, and it goes almost to the parking lot. That last part I’d have to jump but it looks like it’s only a few feet. I can do that.
I hurry back to the bathroom and switch on the shower, leaving the bathroom door open as I pull off the hoodie. That’s when I notice the band aid stuck to the crease of my forearm. I take a minute to look at it, peel it back to see the miniscule puncture. Another injection.
He doesn’t want to drug me. Yeah, right.
I yank the band-aid away and let it drop to the floor. Quickly, I put on the folded clothes, fresh underthings, a warm, soft sweater. No coat, though. I’ll need a coat.
After slipping my feet into the boots I put his hoodie back on over top of my clothes, catching that faint scent of him. The feeling it gives me goes against what I’m thinking, against the warning in my head that this is all a lie. A trick.
I shove the feeling away and leave the shower running when I return to the bedroom, pausing when I see the wallet again, knowing there’s eight-hundred-dollars inside. I slip one of the bills out. I may need it when I get out of this room. I don’t know how far I am from the hotel. The Hudson, I remember the name. Like the river.
I head to the window and pause when I hear men’s voices inside speaking quietly. I wonder if they’re all still here, but I can’t think about that right now. Fear paralyzes. I know that well.
I can’t be afraid.
So, before I get to that point, I bend down and climb out of the window. The landing is not quite stable, the metal of the ladder rusty and cold. I hold on tight as I toe the first rung, just barely managing to touch it. My heart races and my breath mists in the morning air. The hoody catches on something, tearing, and I feel a sting as I swing the other leg out, but I don’t care. I’m out. And I climb as fast as I can manage, which isn’t very fast because it’s so cold my fingers are freezing. I’m also scared of falling. But soon I’m at the end of it and I look five or six feet down to the ground. It seems higher n
ow that I’m here.
But I have no choice.
So, I turn carefully and when my back is to the wall, I take a deep breath and jump.
5
Dante
“This wasn’t what we fucking agreed!” Cristiano bellows.
I bite into a piece of crispy bacon, enjoying the saltiness, the texture. I eat the rest of the strip. “Any word on that fuck’s location?”
“Dante,” my brother starts. I can almost hear him forcing himself to breathe, to calm down. “You were going in to get her. To bring her home safely. That was the plan.”
That was his plan. I want Petrov. He’s at the top of my list of assholes to kill and I’m not leaving the city until he’s dead. After what I did last night, I know he’ll crawl out of whatever hole he disappeared into. He won’t be able to resist.
“Charlie?” I ask, again, ignoring my brother. He and Charlie are in his office back at the house in Italy. Charlie’s been monitoring for Petrov’s location but nothing as of last night.
“Come home,” Cristiano says. “Bring her home. Get her safe. We’ll go back together. I want him as much as you do.”
“She is safe. And I’m not leaving the city until I take care of him.”
“He’ll be on high alert.”
“That’s the point.”
“You’re reckless, Dante. You’re going to get yourself killed. Please, for fuck’s sake, wait until I can do this with you.”
After giving birth to Alessandro, Scarlett and Cristiano’s little boy, Scarlett miscarried twice and now that she’s five months pregnant, he’s taking extra precautions to keep her and the baby safe. I’m pretty sure my brother hasn’t told her about last night yet. She’ll lose her shit when she hears.
“You have a family to look after, Cris,” I remind him.
“You’re my fucking family too.”
“This one’s for me and I’ll take care of it,” I finish. I check my watch, look at the closed bedroom door. “I gotta go. Charlie, you still there?”
“I’m here, Dante.”
“Call me as soon as you hear anything.”
He’s silent.
“I mean it. Cristiano means well but I’m not going to let him get himself killed.”
“I’ll call,” Charlie says reluctantly, but he agrees with me. Now that Cristiano has his family, there’s more at stake for him. I’m a one-man show. No one will miss me when I’m gone.
Not that I plan to be gone just yet.
“Good.” I disconnect the call and tuck the phone into my pocket. I put another strip of bacon into my mouth and chew. There’s a low rumble in the warehouse. An unusual sound now that it’s otherwise quiet. I sent the men away so as not to scare her. She’s skittish. Understandably so.
After a few minutes, I check my watch again. That rumble repeats and it bothers me. I hear the shower, but something doesn’t feel right. Setting my coffee mug down I walk down the hall to the bedroom and knock first, but there’s no answer which isn’t surprising considering the shower is going.
I try the door, but it’s locked as I expected, so I pull the ring of keys out of my pocket, unlock the door, and open it thinking I should make some noise so as not to startle her even though some sixth sense is telling me I fucked up. That I’m going to find the room empty. And it takes all of a moment for me to see my mistake. The open window.
“Fuck!”
I make my way to the bathroom, confirm the shower’s empty. Water left running. Clever. I reach in and switch it off, my sleeve getting wet. The clothes are gone. My bad again. I shouldn’t have left her alone. Shouldn’t have left her with an out. She didn’t have a coat. That’s in the other room. She probably wore my hoodie on top.
I return to the bedroom, go to the open window, see the strip of cloth caught on a rusty nail. I recognize the material of my hoodie. I should have pulled the rusted old fire escape out.
A train rattles by. That’s the rumbling I’d heard inside through the open window. The place is soundproofed otherwise. We’re about a fifteen-minute drive outside the city and it’s noisy as hell out there. I look at the train, at the myriad of tunnels created by the elevated tracks. At the bums gathered around fires they’ve made in barrels. At the snow that’s begun to fall.
I send a text to Matthaeus telling him to send the men out to look for her. He confirms before I’ve even grabbed my wallet from on top of my jeans. I shove it into my pocket as I hurry through the warehouse, putting my shoulder holster in place, tucking the pistol into it. I throw on my coat and head out into the icy night to find her and bring her back.
6
Mara
It’s bitterly cold. I’m shivering as I make my way beneath the train tracks, not really sure where I am or if I’m even going in the right direction. But at least under here I’m partly shielded from the snow that is now coming down hard.
It’s getting darker too. I’ve only been walking for about twenty minutes, maybe half an hour. I have to ask where I am. How to get back to the hotel or I could be going in circles.
Cars speed past me and there are so many people. My hood is up, and I’ve got my hands shoved deep into the pockets, that hundred-dollar bill crumpled in my palm.
The trains that go by overhead are frighteningly loud. I hear another one coming and look up at the rumbling tracks, to see them vibrate with the weight of it. I back up a few steps to get out from under it, scared the whole thing will collapse on me. Suddenly, I’m stepping into a pile of sludge as the back of my boot hits the pavement and I go down on my butt on the curb. At least I didn’t land in the sludge.
Wet snow has gotten inside my boot and it’s cold. I dig some of it out. This close to the ground I swear I smell urine and other things I don’t want to think about. Someone laughs and I look up from my seated position to find three men huddled around a fire at the next corner. They’re watching me.
“Come here, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart. The man claiming to be Dante called me that, too. But it didn’t sound like this.
“Warm up,” one of them says. The other grins, showing a black hole where his teeth used to be.
I straighten, shake my head, turning fast, but crash right into another man.
“I’m sorry!” I start, bouncing back. The only reason I don’t fall is because someone else catches me from behind.
I look up at the first man, then turn around to the second. I pull out of his grasp. They’re heavily bearded, hair outgrown and dirty, smelly.
“Nothing to be sorry about, pretty girl.” He smiles. The teeth he still has are stained. He reaches out a dirty hand in worn gloves and fingers strands of my hair.
I back away a step, tug my hood back up.
The three in the far corner start to walk toward us and instinct takes over. I turn and run, only to hear the scream of horns when I do, the screech of brakes. I scream too, a car stopping inches from me.
One of the men behind me laughs and after a quick glance I charge across the street as the car window opens and the driver screams at me. I run for as long as I can without looking back, until I’m out of breath and have a cramp in my side. As I slow, I look over my shoulder sure the men are behind me. But the coast is clear. Just cars on the road and people rushing down the stairs from one of those platforms. A train must have just pulled in.
I stand there for a minute catching my breath, hand on my side. I look at the people in coats, some carrying briefcases, some talking into wireless earbuds in their ears. I follow a group of four women who walk down the street and enter a diner. I stop outside, my stomach rumbling at the smell wafting out, as the door swings closed. I’m so hungry. God, my stomach hurts.
The place is busy with people having food at the counter and sitting in the fifty’s style booths. Some have fancy drink glasses. The women are led to one of the few empty booths.
I take a deep breath in and walk toward the door, too. It chimes and I look up at the source of the sound. A little bell. I think ever
yone will turn to look at me, knowing I don’t belong here, but no one does. I step up to the counter and look at the meals the others are already eating. Plates of pasta or hamburgers and fries. My mouth waters but I don’t have time to eat. I need to hurry. This could all be a test. And I need to get to the hotel as fast as I can, or the punishment will be worse. Petrov is a sadist. He probably has someone watching me now and is gleefully counting the minutes. A stroke for each that he’ll make me count out. That’s one of his favorite punishments.
I look at the people around me, trying to work out which one works for him.
“What can I get you, hon?” a woman asks, and I turn to find a plump, middle-aged woman with graying blonde hair cleaning the counter before me. I feel that hundred-dollar bill in my pocket.
My stomach growls and I look behind her at the rows of candy and bags of chips.
“Um…” I point. “Chips please. And a candy bar.” I want warm food, but this will have to do.
She looks at me curiously for a moment and I wonder if it’s her. If she’s the one working for Petrov.
“Sure thing,” she says.
I take the now-crumpled bill out and set it on the counter. I push it toward her, and her eyebrows go up.
“That’s only a couple dollars. You don’t have anything smaller?”
I shake my head as I shove the candy bar into the pocket of my jeans and take the bag of chips. I hurry toward the door.
“Hold on there, honey.”
I stop, turn and it feels like everyone in the place is staring at me. I feel my face flush with embarrassment.
“Your change,” she says.
“Oh.” I walk back to the counter and shove the money she hands me into my pocket. “Do you know where The Hudson Hotel is?”
“The Hudson?” Her drawn-in eyebrows disappear into her hairline. “The swanky place in the city?”
I nod.
She looks me over. I look down at myself too and I’m sure she’s thinking someone like me doesn’t belong in a hotel like that. She’s right.
Stolen: Dante’s Vow Page 4