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I need to have myself fully under control, before I face my new bride in the morning.
I slide beneath the covers, switching off the light, doing my best to clear my head. The exhaustion of the day catches up to me quickly, and I’m on the verge of sleep.
And then, an all too familiar crack jolts me abruptly back from the edge.
Another, and another. I sit bolt upright, scrambling out of bed and instinctively grabbing for my gun. I know the sound of gunshots. Moreover, I know them well enough to know the difference between the guns that my mafia are armed with—and the ones that the Bratva use.
They’ve come for Gia. And I was a fool to leave her alone.
Gia
I lay in bed, awake, for a long time after Salvatore left. I thought about trying to run, even though I knew it was impossible. I seethed. I plotted ways to make his life miserable, once we leave here tomorrow.
And eventually, I fell asleep.
My dreams are a tangled mess—fractured visions of my wedding gone wrong, heated flashes of Salvatore’s hands on my body, of Pyotr walking with me in the garden. I half-wake once or twice, tangled up in the sheets, only to fall back into the dreams again.
And then, I’m snatched out of them by the sound of gunshots.
The sound is so close that it hurts my ears, bolting me awake. I sit up, stifling a scream as I leap out of bed on instinct, clutching the sheet against myself. I fell asleep naked, and I don’t want anyone to burst in and find me like this. My heart is hammering in my chest, blood roaring in my ears as I run for the bathroom, closing the door and locking it behind me as more of the shots ring out in the hall.
I’m shaking as I lower myself to the floor in the darkness, wrapping my arms around myself, my teeth sinking into my lip as I fight back the urge to scream. It’s Pyotr, I tell myself, trying to keep calm. He’s done exactly what you told Salvatore he would do. He’s come to rescue you.
But as much as I believe that, the violence that I’m hearing—the shots and the shouts and the faint thud of something hitting the floor—chills me down to my core. I’ve never been exposed to any of it. Our home was never attacked. My father kept me sheltered from the violence of our world. And as I huddle there, quivering, I feel vaguely as if I’m going into shock.
Terror spreads through me, my mind running away with itself, crafting a dozen horrific scenarios that have nothing to do with Pyotr or what we promised each other. Visions of the Bratva cutting Salvatore down, of the men set to guard me killed, blood everywhere in the hallway of the hotel. I want the husband I was promised—but I don’t want anyone to die on account of it. I don’t want Salvatore hurt, even though I’m furious with him, even though I feel betrayed.
My marriage was supposed to bring peace, not bloodshed.
None of this is your fault, I remind myself. You had every intention of going ahead with what you promised. This is on Salvatore, not you. But as the seconds tick by, I feel the cold fear spreading through me.
The sound of the door to my room slamming open jolts me, making me jump as I cover my mouth to stifle a scream. I scramble to my feet, looking for an escape as I hear more gunshots, this time in my room, inches from the door. A new fear floods me—the fear that I’m going to catch a stray bullet, that I’ll get caught up in the crossfire and injured or killed while the Bratva are trying to come and rescue me.
Or maybe they’re not, a tiny voice whispers in my head. Perhaps you’re worthless now to them, and they just want revenge.
I shake my head, holding the sheet around myself as I frantically look for a way out. Those are Salvatore’s lies about Pyotr and the Bratva poisoning my mind, not anything grounded in truth. If it is the Bratva, it’s because Pyotr wants me back. What happened between Salvatore and me tonight is something that can be figured out.
Anyway, he didn’t even really consummate the marriage. Technically, I’m still a virgin. Pyotr will believe me, if I tell him that. He has to.
My heart sinks as I scan the room, my eyes adjusting to the darkness. There’s no way out, only a small window too high up for me to reach. One that I wouldn’t fit through, even if I could get to it. And we’re on a high floor—more than likely, it only leads to a deadly drop.
There’s another rattle of gunshots, startling me, and this time, I do scream, feeling the blood drain from my face as I spin toward the door. I hear a groan, that heavy falling sound again, and then suddenly the rattling of the doorknob. I back up, shaking like a leaf, frightened tears springing to my eyes.
Another shot, the ping of something striking metal. And then the door swings open, and I see Salvatore, standing silhouetted in the doorway. His white t-shirt is covered in blood, spatters of it on his arms and face, his hair disheveled, and his face dark with rage.
Just beyond him, scattered across the now bloodied and ruined carpet of the hotel room, I can see at least four bodies. Maybe more.
I feel myself sway in place, my head swimming. “You’re not doing a very good job of protecting me,” I say thickly, just as he starts to stride towards me. “If that really is why you married me.”
The room spins around me. My vision narrows. And just as I feel my knees give way, and the darkness rush up to claim me, I feel Salvatore catch me as I fall, his strong arms wrapping around my body.
And then, I pass out, as my vision narrows, both the room around me and the solid feeling of Salvatore’s arms fading away into nothingness.
—
I wake to sunlight streaming through gauzy curtains, in a huge four-poster bed, in a room I don’t recognize. My eyes feel sticky, and I blink several times, reaching up to rub them as I sit up. I’m still naked, and I reflexively clutch the blanket against my chest, as the events of last night start to come back to me.
The duvet I’m holding feels like velvet. The sheets underneath me are impossibly soft, the kind of astronomical thread count I’m used to at home. The room I’m in is huge, the bed in the center of it, a stone fireplace to my left. There are furnishings that match the bed frame—a wardrobe, a dresser, a vanity. A closet with double doors.
