Page 90 of Accidental Alliance

No, no, no.

I take one step closer while letting go of Matteo’s hand, peeling back the first layer of plastic despite every survival instinct screaming at me to turn around and keep running in the opposite direction. The room seems to tilt as the figure finally comes into view.

He lifts his face slowly, the light catching the harsh lines of his bloodied and broken face. It’s a face I remember from my childhood, from family dinners and my father’s funeral, those last few days before he helped me flee Italy and I became nothing more than a memory.

“Uncle Giovano?” I choke out.

His head turns slowly toward the sound of my voice.

Suddenly, I am not in a safehouse anymore. I am eight years younger, standing in my father’s study as rain patters against the windows outside. Giovano is in front of me, one hand steady on my shoulder, his face pale but composed as he gives me a fake passport and visa and tells me I need to be careful.

That is the last time I ever saw and spoke to him.

And now I’m here again inside this safehouse, standing in front of him bound to a chair in a room lined with plastic sheets. A sound tears out of me, but I swallow the rest before it becomes a scream.

From behind me, Matteo says, “Mom?”

“Stay there,” I tell him, my voice harsh enough to keep him from coming over here. “Close your eyes. Don’t look.”

I move toward Giovano, each step torturously slow. His wrists are bound to the arms of the chair. His shirt is torn open at the collar and stained in dark streaks. Bruises mark his face and the floor beneath him is spotted with blood, some fresh and some dried into ugly brown smears.

My vision pulses red.

Alessio.

It has to be.

There is cruelty in Elio, I know that better than anyone now, but this room feels like Alessio’s mind made tangible. He has always had a strange signature when it comes to his torture methods—methodical and detailed in a way that I have found always borders on obsessive.

Giovano’s one good eye fixes on me. “You shouldn’t be here.”

A laugh breaks from me, ragged sounding. Of all the things to say, of course that is what he chooses. “I could say the same thing about you.”

His gaze shifts toward the hallway beyond the plastic. Even half-conscious and beaten, he looks terrified. “You need to go. Now, before they come back.”

That old familiar ache crashes through me so hard, I almost cannot breathe. I reach for his restraints, my fingers shaking despite my effort to steady them. “You’re coming with us.”

“No.” The word is weak, but firm.

My head snaps up. “Don’t start.”

His mouth twitches faintly, grotesque looking from being split and healing badly. But then his expression hardens. “Go, Isabella. They won’t be gone for long.”

“I’m not leaving you.” My fingers search the bindings, finding metal cuffs and not the zip ties like I’m expecting. I yank at them anyway, rage making me stupid for one second before discipline slams back into place.

The metal in my sleeve.

I pull it free and wedge the jagged edge into the cuff’s small locking seam. It is a terrible tool for this, too wide and blunt at the wrong point. My hands slip once and the serrated edge slices my thumb open. Blood wells instantly.

Giovano watches me with growing alarm. “Isabella.”

“Stop,” I grit through my teeth.

He shakes his head at me, the motion strained. “Climb out the window. There’s one just beyond the plastic there.” He gestures with his chin toward the wall on his left. “Go before they catch you and your boy.”

The metal slips in my hand again and clatters to the floor. My breath comes out too fast now, causing my pulse to stutter violently in my chest.

Giovano leans as close as the restraints allow. “Take him and go. Now.”