by Eva Charles
He squares his shoulders, glowering at me.
“My prisoners aren’t given soft, clean beds to sleep in, and warm food to fill their bellies. But holding you captive, even in luxury, only buys me more capital—much more. If I’d keep the D’Sousa princesa against her wishes, there’s no end to what else I might do, if it suits me.”
The D’Sousa princesa. Fuck him.
But he’s right. Of all the things Antonio needs to stay on top in his rough-and-tumble world, being feared is perhaps the most vital.
I need to come up with something—anything, at this point. Think, Daniela. Think. Remind him how unpleasant this is going to be for him.
“I’m more trouble than I’m worth. The land is the real value.”
“I decide what has value, and what doesn’t. But hear this clearly: Under no circumstances are you going back to the US. Your life is here, by my side. It can be an enviable life or a miserable existence. It’s your choice.”
He takes my hair between his fingers and brings it to his nose before letting go.
“I don’t give a damn what kind of life you choose for yourself, but you’re not going anywhere that I don’t sanction.”
His words fall with a loud thud as he opens the door and stalks past the guard in the hall.
I wrap my arms around my midsection.
What am I going to do about Isabel and Valentina? They’re in trouble without me. Penniless. But for now they’re safer in Fall River. Aren’t they?
6
Daniela
“Senhora,” a tall man with broad shoulders calls politely from inside the doorway, “we need to be on our way.”
Cristiano. Growing up, there were three of them: Antonio, Cristiano, and Lucas. They were thick as thieves, and while everyone crushed on Antonio, they would have gladly settled for one of the other two. Except for me. I was only ever interested in the ringleader.
“I need your phone,” he continues.
My phone? “You can’t have my phone.”
“My orders are to take your phone. And I will.” He speaks so calmly it doesn’t register as a threat, but I have no doubt he means it.
“My hope is that you’ll hand it over,” he continues. “We all follow orders. It’ll be much easier on everyone if you do as well.”
“Before I give you my phone, I need to let my roommate know where I am. She’s expecting me home tonight. She’ll worry and call the police. In the US, the authorities take missing women seriously.” I add the last part, hoping it will incentivize him to let me place the call. I can’t just disappear—like Jorge. Isabel will be frantic.
“Give me her contact information,” Cristiano says with that same cool demeanor, as though nothing rattles him. “I’ll make sure a text or email is sent from you, letting her know you’ve been delayed.”
He doesn’t miss a beat, as though they abduct women all the time and are used to dealing with the pesky details. Maybe they do.
As I pull a pen and scrap paper out of my tote, it occurs to me that this is nothing but a ploy. He already knows how to reach Isabel. I’d put money on it.
“You don’t have my roommate’s contact information? I don’t believe that for a second.” I glare at him, waiting for a response.
“There’s very little information we don’t have about you, and those directly inside your orbit. It sounds like you already figured that out,” he says pointedly. “It’s for your safety. But I thought it might be less overwhelming for you if I didn’t rub it in your face.”
“How sweet of you to think about overwhelming me while you’re holding me against my wishes.”
“Your phone, senhora.” He holds out his hand.
I think about making Cristiano wrestle it from me. It’s clearly not his preference. But he’ll do it, if necessary. I can see that too.
It’s not worth it. Better to bide my time and wait to pick a fight I might actually be able to win.
I check my messages and email one more time, then sneak a peek at a photo of Valentina. It’s going to be okay is my silent promise to her. “You’ll both be fine until I get home.” It’s the last thing I said before I kissed them goodbye.
“When I get this back, I expect every photo to be there.”
But for those photos, I have little else of any value. I steel my spine and slap the phone into his outstretched palm harder than necessary.
He doesn’t blink.
“How are your sisters?” I ask as we descend the stairs. “And your mother? I remember how she would sing at Mass on Christmas Eve. The voice of an angel. She must be so proud of the man you’ve become.”
He doesn’t say a word, but when I glance at him, there’s a flash of humor in his expression. I feel like kicking him in the shin to wipe away the amusement.
As we get to the lobby, the traitor in the sophisticated blue dress is nowhere to be found.
“Where’s the receptionist? Preparing to kidnap the next victim?”
“There’s a car waiting out front,” he says, ignoring my sarcasm. “They’re expecting you at the house.”
“Who is they?”
“I’ll introduce you when we arrive,” he replies, evading any meaningful response.
I don’t waste another breath asking the bastard any more questions about who is expecting me. Although I can’t help but wonder what kind of people would be willing to hold me captive.
7
Daniela
Cristiano and the burly guard lead me to a black sedan pulled up in front of the building. It’s daylight now, but early. No one is around who might be willing to help me. Still, marching me out the front door demonstrates how confident they are that they can quash any problems if I cause a scene on the street.
Once I’m in the car, Cristiano nods at the guard on the sidewalk. “I’ve got it from here,” he informs him before getting into the front passenger seat.
The man behind the wheel is the cab driver who picked me up at the airport. Another setup. One thing after another. How could I have been so stupid? How?
I squeeze my eyes shut to prevent the tears that are threatening.
The effort Antonio put into getting me here is staggering. His power is formidable. I’m familiar with this kind of unchecked authority. My father had it—although maybe not to this degree. I’m not sure anymore. Regardless, even though I recognize the power, it’s unnerving to be the target of such a bold display.
The driver makes a right and then a quick left. We’re leaving the city.
“Cristiano will take you to our home in the valley.” Your home, not mine.
“Where are we going?” I ask from the backseat, although I suspect they’re taking me to Antonio’s family home.
“The valley,” Cristiano replies, as though the Douro Valley is a specific location, like a restaurant or a store, rather than a vast region where a majority of the vineyards are located, including Quinta Rosa do Vale. Although I doubt we’re going there.
“Cristiano, your obtuse responses try a woman’s patience. For all you know, I have a knife in my bag and I’ll stick it in your back when I tire of your evasiveness.”
His shoulders stiffen. “You boarded a plane in Boston and went through security with no issues. You landed, stopped in the ladies’ room, and then went directly into the cab we arranged, and to Moniz’s office.”
So much for not overwhelming me with how closely they’ve been monitoring.
He glances over his shoulder at me. “If we even suspected you were carrying a weapon, you wouldn’t have been allowed anywhere near Senhor Huntsman. We’ve been ordered to keep you safe. But don’t do anything foolish, because no one will hesitate to protect Antonio—at whatever cost.”
It’s a clear warning: When it comes to protecting Antonio, we shoot to kill. I don’t doubt it.
When the car stops for a bus to pass, I try the door handle. It’s locked. Probably just as well. I doubt I can outrun the two men in the front seat, even with a head start. Besides, there�
�s a high price to pay for running. I’ve already been warned. Antonio Huntsman doesn’t seem like a man who gives second chances.
I glance at my watch. It’s already been the morning from hell, with hours left to go.
My father arranged a marriage between me and Antonio Huntsman. He took a solemn blood oath, and he didn’t have the balls to look me in the eye and tell me any of it.
Marriages are made between important families all the time, especially here, and land is often a dowry. I know this.
The bride, and even sometimes the groom, have no say in any of it. My parents had an arranged marriage. It worked out better than most, but still.
You don’t marry your daughter off to your enemy.
My father saw it differently, though. Even after we buried my mother. Even when he sent me away to recover. Even with all the time he spent alone, grieving, drowning in profound sorrow, not knowing if I would survive the tragedy, as he called it, he never stopped believing what was best for the region was best for us.
He wanted Antonio to keep me safe. What bullshit. What he wanted was to keep the grapes safe, and the vineyards out of the hands of an eighteen-year-old girl. He didn’t trust me to manage any of it. Or more to the point, he didn’t trust me to do right by his precious valley.
My father believed, with all his being, that Antonio Huntsman was born to rule the region, to move the valley forward in a way that would ensure it continued to prosper into the next generation, and beyond. He refused to see him as the enemy. “Hugo Huntsman was the enemy. Abel and Tomas Huntsman are enemies. Antonio is not our enemy.” He said it more times than I can count.
Are you happy now, Papai? You didn’t have the courage to face me on Earth, but one day you’ll have to face me, and if you ever make it to heaven, you’ll have to face my mother and explain your actions to her. You can tell her what you did to me, and Isabel, and Valentina. She’ll look at you with the revulsion you deserve.
Isabel and Valentina. Despite my assurances to them, they won’t fare well for long. Isabel has been on pins and needles since Jorge . . . disappeared. She doesn’t have the confidence to speak English in public or to venture far from the apartment alone. She’s never held a job in the US—she was too afraid that the immigration authorities would discover her documents were forged.
Valentina just turned twelve. She can’t work. Besides, she needs to be a girl—we’ve always wanted that for her. We don’t have extra money for trendy clothes or electronics, but we do everything possible to ensure she doesn’t grow up too fast, and that her life is happy and carefree. Until Jorge started drinking heavily and disappeared, it was a happy childhood, free from the worries that burden adults. The kind every girl deserves.
Stop, Daniela. Ruminating about the past is not going to get you out of this mess. You need a plan forward.
8
Antonio
I lean back in my office chair, the rolled leather armrests flexing beneath my hands.
This is exactly where I sat when I issued the order. “Bring her home. I want her here within the week. Use whatever means necessary to make it happen.”
Three simple sentences, strung together and spoken without a whiff of emotion. Although even then I knew there would be nothing simple about it.
Within the week. The words hung in the air, heavy and somber, while the blood pounded in my ears. I’ll never forget it.
I’ll also never forget how Cristiano and Lucas gaped at me from across the conference table that day. Faces wary. Shoulders slumped.
Having Daniela in Porto would be life-changing—for me and, to some extent, for them too. Her life would also be upended, but at the time, I had too much on my mind to consider anyone beyond the valley.
The consequences of that order still weigh heavily on me, and the real trouble hasn’t even started. Aside from a handful of trusted people, no one knows she’s here or that I’ve acquired the property.
A seismic shift will rock the region when our competitors realize that Quinta Rosa do Vale is mine, and that I hold all the cards—every single one. I snatched them up right under their noses.
When the news gets out, at best it will require extinguishing dozens of small fires. At worst it’ll be all-out war, family pitted against family. It could result in a black eye on the entire Port industry, with irreparable damage costing billions. It keeps me up at night, and I’m sure it weighs heavily on Cristiano and Lucas too.
I put it off for as long as I could, but the second my blood stained the betrothal contract, it was inevitable. We would marry, and I would be responsible for her safety. The fallout be damned.
For the first five years she was in the US, we monitored her closely. She had guards shadowing her—discreetly, of course. But otherwise I let her spread her wings.
It bought us time to prepare for a siege.
During those years, we made sure every port house got their fair share of D’Sousa grapes. Lucas also continued to plant disinformation about Daniela’s whereabouts—and cover her tracks so no one would find her. It worked.
But six months ago, something changed. Someone started looking for Daniela, and they were getting close. Her name started popping up in search engines, again, and in dark corners of the web—all encrypted, layer upon layer, so deep Lucas and his team still haven’t been able to trace the footprints.
We still don’t know who has their sights on her, but from the cryptic bits and pieces we could put together, it was clear they knew she was in New England. They hadn’t tracked her to Fall River, but it was only a matter of time. At that point, I had no choice. I could no longer keep her safe with an ocean between us.
In the last six months, we’ve made Daniela’s life hell, putting up one obstacle after another, hoping to wear her down so she’d come back of her own volition. But we underestimated her.
Despite how hellish we made it, she toughed it out. Princesas are normally more fragile—but not her. Even Lucas was impressed by her resiliency.
We were mere hours from drugging and kidnapping her across international borders when Moniz finally got her to agree to come to Porto to sign the paperwork.
There’s a quick rap on the door, and I look up as Lucas breezes in. “What took you so long?”
“Sorry. I was waylaid. We have a situation with missing cargo.”
“You are fucking kidding me.”
He shakes his head. We don’t discuss cargo in detail anywhere but the villa, where we’re not vulnerable to eavesdropping. But his scowl tells me we have a big fucking problem.
“How did it go at the lawyer’s office?”
I glower at him. “Have you heard from Cristiano?”
“They’re en route. He’ll call you on his way back from the valley.”
I nod. “I want to go to the docks tonight and chat with those motherfuckers myself about how they lost cargo. It’s not like it got up and walked away.” Well, it could have, but I guarantee it didn’t.
“You don’t need to get your hands dirty. We can take care of it.”
Missing cargo. The rage coils in my chest, like a venomous snake, waiting for any opportunity to strike. “I’m not afraid of getting my hands dirty.”
“Antonio.” Lucas looks pointedly at me. “We don’t know everything we’re dealing with yet. We don’t know anything. It might be a trap.” He shakes his head. “It’s dangerous.”
It’s dangerous. It was Cristiano who said those exact words six years ago, when I insisted on paying a condolence call to Daniela without taking guards with me. I blew him off.
Manuel D’Sousa had just died, and there was lots of unrest while people jockeyed for power. On the way back to the helipad, a large rig forced my car off the road into the raging river. Fortunately, when the car hit the water, the doors opened. If it hadn’t been for that safety feature, my driver and I would have both been a casualty of the river.
It was touch-and-go for more than a week, but in the end I fared significantly better than the sonofabi
tch driving the rig. Although, even after days of gruesome torture, he never gave up the name of the person who sent him after me.
Apparently death was a better option than giving us the name of the bastard who hired him. That narrowed the pool of suspects significantly. Although not enough to retaliate—not yet, anyway.
“Unless you have something more pressing, I’m going back downstairs to see if I can locate the cargo.”
“Do it. I’ll be down in a few minutes to help.”
We have so damn much on our plate right now—the last fucking thing we need is this shit.
When Lucas closes the door behind him, I go over to the window and gaze across the Douro River. It’s still early, and aside from a shopkeeper sweeping the sidewalk outside his café, there’s little sign of life in the hilly neighborhoods beyond the river. The peaceful aura surrounding the sleepy city—my city—is deceiving, but for a minute I let myself pretend that the worst kind of evil isn’t skulking in the shadows.
I might not be a good man, but even I don’t play in the worst of the devil’s playgrounds.
Don’t kid yourself. You were prepared to allow an innocent woman to be drugged, stuffed on a plane, and trafficked across the ocean.
I was.
It wasn’t my first choice, not because it was such a despicable thing to do but because it was too risky. If something went wrong, we couldn’t count on help with the cleanup—not like here.
But payback is a bitch, and Daniela D’Sousa is gunning for my balls now. After today in Moniz’s office, there’s little doubt she’s going to make my life a nightmare.
“I’ll go to the police. Or the UN.” The UN—I hadn’t anticipated that one. Fortunately, I can think on my feet.
We’ve learned enough about Daniela over the past six years to know she’s strong-willed and determined. I went in prepared for a battle, and I got it. No surprise there.