Leave Me (Touch of Death Book 2)

by LP Lovell

  “You are not in a position to make demands,” he says casually, his tone rife with boredom.

  That familiar rage bubbles inside me, and like the feral entity that it is, I have to fight it back. “Am I your prisoner?”

  There’s a moment of silence before he leans forward, bracing both elbows on the desk and steepling his fingers in front of him. The sleeves of his jacket ride up, revealing shiny, gold cufflinks against a crisp white shirt. “Are you?”

  “I don’t know. That’s why I asked.”

  His eyes pinch at the corners ever so slightly, the only sign of his annoyance. “I do not trust you.” That’s rich coming from him.

  “Then why marry me? I’m sure you could find another girl.” If only.

  His lips twitch. “Another girl would not carry the name Ricci.”

  A lie. “I know my sister offered herself to you.”

  His head tilts to the side, eyes sweeping the length of my body before they pause on my shoulder, where he knows his twisted brand mars my skin beneath the cotton of my dress. “She is not you.”

  My fists clench, and I feel the sharp sting of nails slice into my palms. I force a small smile onto my lips. “So, what? You’re going to marry me and keep me locked up? I thought a man like you would want a wife, not a pet.” Lies, lies, lies. There’s nothing honorable or truly manly about him.

  He rises to his feet and slowly approaches. Reaching out, he pinches a piece of my hair between his fingers. He inches closer until I can feel the heat of his body and smell the woodsy scent of his cologne. I hold my breath, expecting him to kiss me. His lips brush the corner of my mouth before skating across my cheek to my ear.

  “Oh, but you’ll be both, principessa.” His palm lands on my waist and slides to the small of my back before moving lower and lower. He cups my ass and squeezes. “But for now, you’re just my pet.”

  I feel instantly soiled, and for a second, I freeze. But then I remember my sister’s words. He wants to tame you. Enrique enjoys the fight. I trail my fingers down the length of his forearm before wrapping them around his wrist and yanking his hand away. “Careful, Bianchi. You haven’t put a ring on it yet.”

  A grin splits his face before he winds his hand around the back of my neck, imprisoning me with his lips still at my ear. “I own you, Adelina. I will have every part of you before this is over: heart, mind, and body.”

  Never. I shove away from him. “Well, letting me speak to my sister might help.”

  “You act like a fugitive, and so you will be treated like one.” He lifts one arrogant brow. “Until I feel you can be trusted.”

  That will be never; shit, I really need to speak to Gabi. She’ll be worried, no doubt gathering what few allies she has and getting ready to start a war.

  “Because I ran? I told you; I had no choice,” I grit out.

  A mocking smile dances over his lips. “Ah, but with the right motivation, you were able to walk right up to me.”

  “Because you distracted them.”

  “Do not take me for a fool, Miss Ricci.” He steps away.

  “I just want to speak to my sister,” I blurt, sensing that he’s bored of our conversation already. “You don’t trust me. I don’t trust you. We have to start somewhere. We’re going to be married.” The words are like acid on my tongue, and I fight to get them past my throat.

  “Act like a bride and I’ll treat you like one.” I want to kill him. “David!” he shouts, his eyes never wavering from mine. The door opens.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Take Miss Ricci back to her room.”

  He turns away and walks back to his desk. The scarred brute grabs my arm and tries to move me, but I snatch my arm away, glaring at him. My gaze shifts to Enrique, and our eyes lock for a moment.

  “I will speak with Gabriella,” he says, dropping his gaze to his paperwork once more.

  That’s the only response I get before David shoves out of the room, and the door slams.

  3

  Sasha

  I watch her. Day and night. She lingers on the balcony most days, like a princess locked in a tower.

  I could have taken her away from this. She chose his cage. Our encounter plays through my mind over and over, and yet, I still can’t fathom what happened. I want to throw her over my shoulder and drag her out of that house, but I know I can’t force her. Adelina is wild and rebellious; the more I push her, the more she pushes back. There’s no way to get her out of that house without her cooperation.

  Sweat trickles down the back of my neck, and I swat at an insect buzzing around my head. I can feel my skin burning under the roasting-midday sun. The small bush that I’m lying under is sparse, offering very little shade, but I have few options. Bianchi’s villa sits two miles from its nearest neighbor. This sun-beaten hillside is the only vantage point within a mile radius. I adjust the sights on my binoculars and focus on the bedroom window once more. The exposed glass walls are like a viewing window to Adelina’s self-imposed confinement. She won’t take my help. There’s nothing more I can do. I should leave, but I can’t. I have to know that she’s okay because the moment he lays another hand on her, I will kill him, regardless of her wishes. Every time I close my eyes, I see his initials carved into her skin, and I’m living in a constant state of rage. At him and her. He may be the attacker, but she’s willingly making herself a victim, and I thought she was stronger than that.

  I watch as she moves onto the balcony once more. The sun shines over her hair, and the golden tone of her skin has deepened. My chest squeezes painfully, and I frown, swallowing down the sensation.

  My phone rings, and I drop the binoculars, picking it up. “Yeah?”

  “Where are you?” Una asks.

  “You know where I am.”

  “What’s taking so long?” She waits, but I don’t answer. “Well? Do you have her yet?”

  On a sigh, I pinch the bridge of my nose, hating the words that fall from my lips. “She wouldn’t come with me.” There’s a long beat of silence.

  “I’m sorry. You tried,” she says dismissively, and I know that really she’ll be thrilled to see the back of Adelina.

  A low growl slips from my throat. “It’s not enough. She has to see—”

  “No. She doesn’t,” Una cuts me off.

  “She thinks she can kill him.”

  “Maybe she can,” Una replies.

  “He hurt her.” I can feel my pulse rising instantly.

  “She knew what she was getting into, Sasha. Just…I think you need to let this play out. If she kills him, everyone wins.”

  “And if she doesn’t?” I snap.

  “She made her choice.” The casual indifference in her voice grates over me.

  “No.” I shake my head. “No.” I hang up, clutching the phone in my hand so hard that the edge of the screen imprints on my skin.

  I resume my position. Watching. Waiting. The Sicilian countryside stretches out between Adelina and me, and I wonder if she senses me here. The rhythmic chirping of cicadas mixed with the distant hum of the ocean should be peaceful, but any semblance of calm is very much absent in the face of my own private torment.

  I’ve never been in a situation that I couldn’t fight my way out of. And I’ve never cared about anyone else enough to be concerned about their suicidal actions. Until now. I feel wild and confused, grappling with my own fundamental foundations.

  I wait for hours, unable to move. Finally, something happens. Adelina goes and opens the bedroom door to a man. They exchange words before she leaves with him. She’s wearing a white dress with little sunflowers on it. She looks pretty. Is that for his benefit?

  I furiously scan the windows, trying to catch a glimpse of her. She must be going to him. I instantly focus on the window that I know is his office, and I know he’s in there because I’ve been watching him, too. My main focus is Adelina, but Enrique is in my sights. I’m studying him, his comings and goings, his men, his defenses. When the time comes, I’ll be rea
dy for him. In theory, I could shoot him from here, but given how easy it would be, I have every reason to believe that glass is bulletproof.

  A couple of minutes later, Adelina steps into the office. My heart rate ticks up, and by the time Bianchi pushes to his feet, it’s like a drum beat, jolting my chest with every squeeze. He gets closer to her, closer, closer. His lips touch hers and brush her cheek. She looks scared, and my fingers tighten on the binoculars, wishing I could wrap them around his neck before I snap it. His hand lands on her waist, and though she has her front to me, I see his arm drop lower. My chest feels like it’s about to explode. I ball my fists until my knuckles crack. Adelina grabs his wrist and removes the offending hand, allowing me to breathe properly again. The realization of my own irrationality slaps me in the face, and I lower the binoculars. Closing my eyes, I take several deep breaths. I don’t know why I’m doing this any more than I can accept her doing this.

  This is a form of torture, and it’s pathetic. She makes me weak. The strong survive, and the weak die, forgotten and inconsequential. Nicholai’s words come back to me, and I can only imagine how disappointed he would be in me. I hadn’t realized how far I had fallen until this exact moment.

  I am not weak. I am strong. I am Elite.

  Pushing to my feet, I put my binoculars and water bottle in my backpack before taking my phone from my pocket. I dial Una’s number as I descend the hill and start walking back towards the road.

  “Hello,” she greets me.

  “I need a plane home. As soon as possible.”

  “Done,” she says before hanging up.

  I need to go back to New York, to the life I had before Adelina Ricci came crashing into it. I’m done here.

  4

  Adelina

  It’s been nearly a week since I tried to appeal to Enrique’s conscience. It seems he doesn’t have one, not that this is news to me.

  The lock on the bedroom door clicks open, but I don’t even turn around. I remain where I am on the balcony as my captors bring yet more food that won’t get eaten.

  “You look beautiful.”

  I stiffen at the sound of that voice and whip around so fast my hair temporarily blinds me. Enrique stands in the center of the room, his hands casually in his pockets. He wears a full suit, despite the heat, and the black material matches his hair, making him seem all the more demonic.

  “What do you want?” I ask.

  His head tilts, and a mocking smile makes an appearance on his face. I feel like he’s always laughing at my expense, as though I’m nothing more than entertainment to him.

  He turns, glancing at the barely touched breakfast tray on the side table. I had half an apple and some coffee this morning.

  “You need to eat,” he says, focusing on me once more. His gaze sweeps the length of my body. “You look thin.”

  “Your concern is touching.” I snort.

  “Skin and bones aren’t attractive, principessa.”

  “Aw, how sweet of you. Good to know my appearance is a top priority for you.”

  All humor wipes from his face. “Eat the food I provide you.”

  “Like a good little prisoner?”

  His jaw tenses, and he closes the distance between us. I take a step back, and my hips hit the glass barrier that surrounds the balcony. When he lifts his hand, I flinch, expecting his violence. Instead, he trails his fingers over my cheek gently. I imagine he enjoys taunting me.

  “I’ve spoken to Gabriella,” he says.

  My gaze snaps to his. “Can I speak to her?”

  “Yes.”

  “When?”

  “Five days. She’s coming here.”

  My stomach sinks. No, no, no. I don’t want her here. It’s not safe for her, and I certainly don’t trust him.

  He presses his body against mine more tightly, forcing my back to bow hazardously over the balcony railing. “I thought it was about time we had a meeting, renegotiated some things.”

  I swallow heavily because I know exactly what that means. He’s going to take everything that’s ours because he can. I’m his hostage. He has Gabriella backed against a wall. “I’ll let you see her,” he says. “If you’re a good little pet and eat your food.”

  “Why do you care?” I whisper.

  He smiles before sliding his hand around the back of my neck, and then he shoves me over the balcony railing. For one terrifying moment, I’m falling, but he catches me. His hand wrenches against the back of my neck, leaving my body suspended between safety and tragedy. My fingers instinctively grip the front of his jacket. That one hand is the only thing keeping me from falling to my death. Our eyes lock, and I see the twisted sense of power swimming in his, the smug satisfaction, the excitement of holding my life in his hands.

  “You seem to think you have some control here, Miss Ricci.” He leans in closer, staring right at me as though he could see my very soul. “You don’t. You are nothing here but what I make you.”

  My heart thunders, and my breaths hitch. I slowly release my hold on his jacket and allow my weight to fall completely into his arms. “Then drop me,” I say.

  His eyes narrow, and I know he’s trying to figure me out. Suddenly, I’m hauled back to my feet on the balcony. My heart races so hard my hands tremble, but I grip the railing to hide my fear.

  “You aren’t here to ask questions. Do as you’re told, and our marriage will be a success.”

  My blood pressure rises as though my blood were physically boiling in my veins. I’ve never hated anyone as much as I loathe him.

  He glances at the tray of food once more. “Eat. I can’t have Gabriella thinking I don’t treat my fiancé well.” He smirks and then turns and walks out of the room, leaving me to my simmering rage.

  I take several deep breaths and press my fingers to my temples, willing a sense of calm that is very much absent.

  Five days. Though I hate that she’s coming here, I know there’s nothing I could say that would stop Gabi. And I can’t pretend I’m not excited to see her. It feels like I’m left with very few friends these days, seeing as I keep betraying the few I once had.

  This task I’ve chosen is a lonely one.

  The tension in the room is so thick, I’m practically choking on it. That damn clock ticks incessantly until I wish I could tear it from the wall. I cross one leg over the other, remaining poised, the perfect lady. My eyes remain vigilantly fixed on the bookshelf directly across from my position on the sofa. I count the books, twenty on the first shelf, twenty-two on the second… But I can feel Enrique’s eyes on me from across the room, burning a hole in the side of my face. Tick, tick, tick. My spine gets stiffer, and my chest tighter with each marked second that clicks by. After what feels like an eternity, there’s a knock on the door. My lungs suddenly expel all the air they’ve been holding, and my body sags with the effort. Enrique gets to his feet, and I count eleven brisk steps as his shoes tap on the wooden floor. The hinges let out a short squeal, and there’s the low murmur of a man’s voice, though I dare not turn my head and look. A few seconds later, and I hear more footsteps, including the distinctive sound of stiletto heels clattering down the hall. I push to my feet and turn around just as my sister walks into the room, looking every inch a steely mob boss. The glossy black strands of her hair hang in a perfect sheet down her back, matching the tailored dress that clings to her curves so perfectly. That cool gaze sweeps the space before landing on me. She instantly softens, like ice cracking in water. Her hiked shoulders drop an inch, and a smile splits her face, changing her from a mafia boss to my big sister.

  “Lina,” she breathes.

  I should remain stoic, not give Enrique any more ammunition than he already has, but I can’t. My legs eat up the distance between us, and I throw my arms around her neck. The last time I saw Gabi, I was angry and hurt. Betrayal was very much a noose around my neck, and I severed it without looking back. That was then. So much has happened since that day. My father’s death set off a chain of events that ne
ither of us could have predicted. His loss has left its scars on us both. But Gabriella has become who she was always meant to be in his absence, while I’ve drifted into the vast black space of the unknown, more lost and out of place than ever.

  I’m so glad to see her, but I hate that she’s here. My trust in Enrique is severely lacking. Fear for my sister burrows under my skin, and I hug her just a little tighter before she pushes me away. Her open expression hardens and shutters before she turns to look at my would-be husband.

  I’ve always viewed Enrique as a snake, a weak man with a position he didn’t earn. As he stands across from my sister with two of her men lingering behind him, I realize that there’s an edge to him I didn’t see before. Gabi is smart, ruthless when she needs to be, and well respected, but next to him, she looks like a little girl. I have to ask myself how I didn’t see it before—the power he now wears so effortlessly. Growing up, I only ever saw him in the presence of both our fathers. I hate Enrique, but his father was a strong leader. In the shadow of two titans, he never stood a chance.

  “Gabriella,” he purrs, an annoyingly confident smile on his lips.

  She hates him, almost as much as I do, perhaps more since she knew about the marriage pact long before I did.

  “Enrique, it’s good to see you.” She offers him every courtesy we were taught. Charm and cunning are two of the best traits a woman in her position can possess.

  “I’m sure.” That smile remains on his face. “Please. Sit.”

  My sister turns, her eyes locking with mine. Something passes between us—an understanding, an awareness of the precariously dangerous situation we’re both in. Her two men remain by the door, though we both know they’re nothing but a token notion. If Enrique wants her dead, two guys won’t stop him, not in a house full of his own security detail. She moves past me and takes a seat on the sofa. One leg delicately crosses over the other. The material of her dress rides up slightly, and she smooths it back down, ever the image of grace. I take a seat beside her, knowing I probably look an absolute mess next to her. It’s always been that way. The fact that Gabi offered her hand in exchange for mine and he turned it down—I just can’t understand it. She reaches out, squeezing my fingers once before releasing them.