Leave Me (Touch of Death Book 2)

by LP Lovell

  His entire body heaves with ragged breaths, and his jaw tics, his teeth grinding over each other. I don’t react. I don’t flinch. My heart rate doesn’t rise. I’m just numb. It’s like something has switched inside me with Gabi’s escape. Fear has no place here, only acceptance.

  “Your sister escaped,” he growls in my face.

  “I know.”

  His fingers burrow into my skin, and part of me wishes he would just hold on a little too long.

  “And you know who helped her…”

  “No.”

  He snarls. “Lies.”

  “I guess your world-domination plan went out the window.”

  He seems to sense my sudden indifference, and his eyes narrow, skating over my face. “Do you think you’ve somehow won, principessa?” He leans in close, so close I can feel the warmth of his breath over my skin. “You may be grateful that she’s gone. You probably think that killing her is the worst thing I can do to you.”

  His lips brush over mine, and his tongue flicks out, caressing my cheek. His hand trails down my body before he shoves it down my pajama shorts. My indifference wavers, but I cling to it, snatching it around me like a blanket. He rams two fingers inside me, and though I was ready for it, nothing could truly prepare me for the instant degradation, the sheer violation. To be so utterly stripped of humanity in a single moment is terrifying. I close my eyes, and a tear breaks free, tracking down my temple.

  His hand shifts from my neck to my face, digging hard into my cheeks. “Look at me!” He roars.

  I slowly open my eyes, obliging the monster in front of me.

  “I can do much, much worse things to this tight little body of yours, Adelina.” He purrs my name in a way that makes me sick. He thrusts his fingers even harder, and then he pulls back, retracting his hand from my shorts. An ugly smile cuts across his face, all mashed teeth. “And then, when I have broken you so absolutely, I will still find Gabriella, and I will kill her in front of you.”

  He shoves away from me, leaving me there on the ground, taking a little more of my dignity and fight with him when he exits the room.

  As the copper rays of dawn creep across the sky, I drag myself from the bed and get in the shower. I vow that today will be different. Today will be the day that I take back control. I’ve realized something in the last few weeks. I came to Enrique, hoping to buy his trust, for him to see me as an equal and allow me close, but I see now, he doesn’t want an equal. He wants this—what I’ve become—a scared, broken girl who he can abuse. Right now, I am that girl, but I can’t keep being her. I have to remember what brought me here, remember what I’m fighting for. That fight was reignited last night because I know that Gabriella may be safe for now, but if I don’t do something, he will kill her.

  I wash my hair and dry it, making sure the long strands are smooth and shiny. As I look in the bathroom mirror, I study the tired-looking girl that stares back at me. I have no makeup, so there’s little I can do about the heavy purple marks that linger beneath my eyes. I slip into one of the many cotton sundresses in the closet, choosing one that’s on the shorter side. The material dips in the front, showing just a hint of cleavage.

  With one last mental pep talk, I leave the room, only to come to a halt. A man stands against the wall right beside my bedroom door. He makes no move to stop my leaving, just…stands. He’s younger, and I’ve never seen him before. Beneath his suit jacket, I see the outline of a gun strapped under his arm. I choose to ignore his presence as much as he ignores mine. But when I move down the hall, he follows. Of course, Enrique would up the security after last night. Sasha made a fool of him, and he thinks I’m somehow involved. I don’t care and simply keep walking through the house.

  Enrique’s men leer at me as I pass them in the hallways, making my way to the only room I really know in the house—his office.

  When I reach it, I take several deep breaths, trying to calm my racing heart. My stomach churns violently as I rap my knuckles on the door. I wait for agonizingly long seconds before the door is finally yanked open in front of me. The scarred man from before stands in the doorway; his displeased glare sweeps over my body like a stray, flea-riddled dog.

  “I need to talk to Enrique,” I say, squaring my shoulders.

  “Let her in,” a drawl comes from somewhere behind him.

  Scarface reluctantly steps back, and I move past him and into the room. Enrique sits at his desk casually, watching me approach with a smug smirk. He’s back in his usual suit jacket, looking like his normal, put-together self. It bothers me because only when he’s losing in some way does he look a mess.

  “You can go,” he says to his guy, and the door clicks shut, closing me in here with him. “What can I do for you, principessa?”

  Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump. “You need to agree not to kill my sister.”

  The smirk deepens. “No.”

  “Fine. Then I won’t marry you.”

  He laughs. “You act as though you have a choice.” Something long-dormant rises in me, and I let it out, closing the distance to his desk. Leaning over, I brace my hands on the wood and look him in the eye. “Without me, your plans aren’t worth shit.”

  “I believe I made myself clear. If you don’t do as I wish, I can make your life…unpleasant.”

  I laugh. “You still need me to stand at the front of that church and speak those vows. Trust me; there is nothing you can do to force me into that.”

  “No?”

  “No.” I hold his gaze, refusing to back down. “I agreed to marry you to form peace. If you can’t uphold those terms, then we’re done here.”

  He finally snaps, shoving to his feet so fast that his chair collides with the glass behind him. “I fucking own you!”

  I lean closer, and I can’t help the smile that pulls at my lips because he’s ruffled. “They saved my sister so easily. How many times do you think they could have saved me? Don’t you think they’ve already tried?” I tilt my head to the side, flicking my eyes over him. “I chose to stay. I can choose to leave.” I see the rage building in him as his face turns red. It’s satisfying watching him come undone.

  “I will kill you both.”

  “That’s a whole other world of problems for you. Politically, killing Gabriella might fly, but to take me out without a marriage, you have no claim to anything my family owns. The other families will all want their piece. And…if I know my sister, she’s probably already signed all the assets over to someone else.”

  He reaches for me, but I step back. When he rounds the desk, I mimic the action, keeping the slab of glass between us. I know I can’t outrun him forever, but just long enough to negotiate Gabriella’s safety.

  “This is a brave move, principessa, and for what? All so your precious sister lives? She’s weak. She’s ripe for the picking.”

  “If I marry you, you leave her alone. Do we have a deal?”

  A small smirk works over his lips. “You would marry me, knowing I plan to take your family’s business?”

  “Business means nothing to me. I only care about Gabriella.”

  “Then she’s safe. Once we are married.” My heart sinks. “Until then, I can’t make any promises, especially if she moves against me again.”

  “And when is that?” I don’t even know the details of my own wedding, not that any of it is my choice. I know he will pick everything, down to the dress I wear.

  “Two months.”

  “Move it forward.”

  He laughs. “These things cannot simply be moved.”

  “Then cut all the bullshit. It’s not like we’re truly some happy couple to be celebrated.”

  “Everyone likes a party.”

  “You and me, a small ceremony. Why not tomorrow?”

  He laughs harder. “No.”

  “If Gabriella dies, I’m not marrying you.” I throw down.

  He moves again, and we circle each other like sharks in the water, though realistically, he’s a shark, and I’m just
a small fish hopelessly out of my depth.

  “I can make your life a living hell, Adelina.”

  “Then, so be it. Those are my terms.”

  When he’s once again on his side of the desk, and I’m on mine, I back toward the door. He watches me go but makes no move to follow. My fingers clumsily grab at the handle, and I keep my eyes fixed on him until the very last moment. Then I open the door, and I’m gone. All the breath leaves my lungs the second the door clicks shut. My hands tremble, and adrenaline pulses round my body. I feel like I just took back a grain of power. I have leverage—me. My hand in marriage is all the leverage I need, but it’s one I can only use once. As soon as that ring is on my finger, he will own me. I will be his pretty, caged pet. Till death do us part, but which of us will kill the other first? After all, he doesn’t actually need me, or not for long—just a claim to my family business.

  I’ve never been so invested in watching someone die.

  13

  Sasha

  I stare at the heavy-textured card in my hand. Sunshine streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Ricci villa, glinting brightly over the gold-foil lettering that details the new date for the wedding of Adelina Ricci and Enrique Bianchi. Reading those words doesn’t slice through me the same way it did the first time, though it still stings.

  I can feel Gabriella’s eyes burning a hole in the side of my face. Watching. Waiting.

  She perches on the edge of the plush-velvet sofa, uncrossing her legs, then recrossing them again. Though she looks controlled in her immaculate-fitted dress with her hair in a twist, her body language tells a different story. She’s losing the calm edge her father undoubtedly instilled in her.

  “With you gone and clearly against him, perhaps he wants to cement his claim over Adelina.”

  She pushes to her feet and paces back and forth across the living room, high heels sinking into the thick carpet silently. “It makes no sense.”

  I shrug one shoulder. “It doesn’t have to. All you need to know is that he has a reason for it, and that, in itself, probably means it isn’t a good thing.”

  She pauses and stares at me with features so similar to Adelina’s: the set of their lips, the cheekbones, the angle of their eyes. Though Gabriella is a darker version, her skin more deeply tanned, with jet black hair that matches her eyes. Her face is still a mottled patchwork of bruises that even her makeup can’t hide, and they only serve to remind me of Adelina’s equally bruised face and body. Anger rears its ugly head, and I quash it immediately.

  “You need to go to her, Sasha,” Gabriella pleads.

  I tilt my head back on a sigh. “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “I just broke through their security and took a prisoner. The security will be tight, particularly around Adelina.”

  She paces again, dragging her hands through her hair. The stress is getting to Gabriella. Since Bianchi took her, she’s seemed fragile and unstable. Gabriella may be the natural heir to the Ricci empire, but Adelina is the tougher of the two.

  “You have to trust that she knows what she’s doing.”

  “Do you?” She snorts and turns on me. “You act so calm and collected, but I know this must bother you. I know you felt something for her.”

  “Perhaps once.”

  She shakes her head. “And now, what? She’s just old news?”

  “No, now she made a choice that we all have to accept, even if it is not favorable.”

  She snorts. “Not favorable? She’s going to die!” she shouts, her voice wavering. “Either before she even manages to try to kill him, or certainly after. By Enrique himself, or in some warped version where she actually succeeds, then by his men.”

  She thinks I don’t know this. I spent weeks rolling the exact same thoughts around my head over and over, like a scratched record. I won’t do it anymore. “I can’t control her actions, Gabriella, and neither can you.”

  She closes the distance between us and slams her palm against my chest. “You can! She’s being stupid. Just go and get her!” She goes to hit me again, and I grab her wrist, squeezing the delicate bones.

  “No.” I release her and walk away because she’s pushing me.

  Only when I’m outside on the terrace, do I realize that I’m still clutching Gabriella’s wedding invitation. One week. One week until Adelina gets married, and she’ll be forced to leave Enrique’s home. The cogs of my mind start turning, though I know it’s pointless. A spark of hope comes to life, fuelled by Gabriella’s desperation. I try to quench it, to put a stop to it, but I can’t.

  One last try. One last chance to see her. I lied to Gabriella. I haven’t accepted it, and I’m not sure I ever truly will.

  One week later

  The church is quiet when I walk inside. The smell of incense wraps around me as my steps echo over the stone floors and drift into the rafters of the colossal building. Of course, Bianchi would pick an enormous church. Sunlight pours through the stained-glass windows, casting colorful light over an effigy of the virgin that sits at the end of the aisle. Her head is bent reverently over the child in her arms. A few people move around, placing flower arrangements and lighting candles. The wedding isn’t for hours, but only last night, Gabriella heard that Adelina would be here early. The church has designated a room here where she’ll be getting ready.

  I soon find it, with a sign on the door that reads “bridal dressing room.” Inside, it’s dated, with a huge window framed by ancient floral curtains, the pattern barely visible after years of sun bleaching. The smell of dust and wood polish lingers in here over the potpourri that sits in a crystal bowl on a small table. At the back are a series of huge wardrobes. I check them and find that most are empty, barring a few priest robes.

  Getting in here once Bianchi’s men are around is going to be difficult, at least, not without killing a few and drawing attention. I need to stay here, but they also might search the room before allowing her in. My eyes dart around the space before landing on an inconspicuous little square in the ceiling. It lacks the high, roof-reaching rafters of the main church; instead, there is a flat ceiling, and that subtle, almost invisible loft hatch, undoubtedly for storage. I use a chair to remove the square of wood, but I can’t leave it there, or it’ll act as a beacon pointing to my location. Moving it again, I eye the hole high above me. With a leap, I catch the edge with my fingers and manage to haul myself up into the space.

  Cobwebs instantly cover my face, and I cough against the cloud of dust that invades my lungs. I take a small flashlight from my backpack and sweep the beam over the cavernous space. Boxes and crates, statues and robes. It’s a tomb of long-forgotten worship, all covered in a layer of dust so thick it looks more like sand. I slide the hatch back into place, plunging the space into its familiar darkness once more. Using the torch to guide me, I find the flooring and move aside the thin layer of insulation that’s been haphazardly thrown down. When my fingers meet the wood, I feel around until I find a tiny hole.

  When I peer through it, I can see a single spot on the floor. It’ll have to be enough. I settle into a supine position because once someone enters, I can’t move. I don’t know how long I stay there. My eyes drift closed, and I use the time to rest, catching up on the lack of sleep from the last few days. I’m pulled to alertness when the door below opens and closes with a heavy thud. The chamber beneath me goes from silent and empty to full of people and rising voices in a matter of seconds. I press my eye to the hole and watch as a guy in a suit passes under me. That’s the only view I get. For the next hour or so, I hear the chatter of Sicilian women. Every so often, one will pass through my line of sight, but I don’t see Adelina. I can only assume she’s here. The minutes tick by at an agonizing pace, and the loft space becomes more and more oppressive. The air is hot and thick, and it feels toxic and cloying as it fills my lungs. Sweat trickles down my spine and drenches the back of my shirt. I’ve been in worse situations, but this is close to torture.

  Ev
entually, just as they all entered, everyone leaves, and silence descends. I don’t know if Adelina is even here, or if she’s alone. There’s the tiniest sound—a sigh. Someone’s here. I can only hope it’s her because I can’t see. Palming my gun and holding the light between my teeth, I slide the hatch open as silently as I can. And then I drop through the hole, landing in a crouch on the ground.

  A small squeak sounds, and when I look up, Adelina is in front of me, clutching her chest. She looks…stunning. A white dress clings to her lean curves before layers of lace burst from her hips, cascading to the floor. Her hair is braided and pinned up underneath a clip that fastens to a floor-length veil. And her face looks perfect, too perfect. I can’t see the freckles that sprinkle the bridge of her nose, or the tiny mole that sits just a couple of millimeters above the corner of her lip. They’ve masked her beneath this sculpted creation.

  “Sasha,” she breathes, her voice cracking.

  We simply stand there, frozen, spellbound. Blinking, she steps back and hurries to the door. For a moment I think she’s going to run, but instead, she locks the door and rushes to me.

  Her hands land on my chest, that huge diamond glinting on her finger. Her brows tug together delicately, and a small smile touches her lips. “You’re filthy.” She pats at some of the dust on my black shirt, and I grab her wrist, stilling her. She doesn’t lift her gaze, instead staring at my chest. “I didn’t expect you to come,” she whispers with a hitch in her voice.