C4 Chapter Four

NINA

The SUV pulls down a long drive. I’m pressed against the window, trying to memorize the grounds and how the gate works, how many men are guarding it. But none of that helps me, not when I realize there’s at least a dozen men at the tall wrought-iron gate.

We keep riding deeper onto the property, my hopes sinking with each spin of the tires. The house is far beyond the wall, maybe half a mile through trees and rolling hills. Even if I could escape the house, there’s no way I wouldn’t get caught before I made it back to the main road.

Defeated, I sit back. “Is this his house?” I ask the driver. “I mean, the Milani estate?” It has to be, but I want confirmation that I haven’t been taken anywhere else.

The driver doesn’t respond, doesn’t even look at me in the rear-view mirror. Chills race along my skin as I see the house appear up ahead. Even in the sunlight, the outside is a dour gray color, the stone rising three stories high. It’s not exactly a house from a ghost story, but it’s close and not at all what I expected. My parents live in an Italian villa, a replica from one of the most beautiful homes in Tuscany. Open and airy, it reeks opulence. This place-it’s closed off, dark.

We stop out front. There are two guards on the wrought-iron doors that lead into a small courtyard, where I’m guessing the front door is.

I wait for the driver to get out.He doesn’t.

I sit for a moment, my fingers tangled together as I look around. “Am I supposed to get out?” I ask.

The driver stays silent.

I’m already on edge, my whole life upended and fear riding me hard, and now this guy is giving me the silent treatment. For the first time since all this started, anger flares inside me.

“You’re a dweeb. Do you know that?” I ask.

He flicks his gaze to the mirror then looks away.

At least I got that out of him. For a split-second, I feel appeased. Then I fall right back into the terror that has become my life.I try the door handle. It gives this time. I’d already tried it when the car had slowed a few times while making turns, but it was locked.

Stepping out, I trip over my dress and almost fall to my knees. I manage to grab onto the door frame to hold myself up. Once I manage to keep my balance, I reach down with my left arm and gather up the puffy skirt, then slam the car door as hard as I can.

The car eases away slowly, as if the driver is trying to show just how unbothered he is.

I look up at the house, the large trees at the corners giving it a dappled effect as the sun begins to lower along the horizon. A breeze wafts by, the first promise of fall in the air, and I look around. The drive is circular with an expanse of grass beyond it that ends in a straight row of bushes that nestle against the tree line. I can’t see anyone, but I feel eyes on me all the same.

I can either try to walk back down the driveway, sit on the steps and wait, or go into the house. None of those options sound particularly appealing. My heels are already chafing my toes, so walking out of here- already a laughable idea- isn’t going to happen. If I sit here, then what? I wait for my husband-my stomach turns as I think the word.

My husband. I glance down at the bloodstains on my dress that are now turning brown. Massimo Milani is a monster, one who has no qualms killing people in cold blood. At least I know I won’t be next. He won’t kill me. Not when he married me to get a link to the most famous mafia family on the eastern seaboard, maybe even the entire US. He wanted a Fontana, and now he has one.

So, no, he won’t kill me. But that doesn’t mean he won’t hurt me. My fingers travel to my chin, feeling along the bruise my mother left. That’ll be nothing compared to what this man does to me. My knees go weak again, my bladder threatening to let loose as I turn to the house and stare up at it.

I have to go in. There’s nowhere else.

The two men standing at the courtyard doors don’t even look at me. Their assault rifles are slung across their backs as they chat quietly. It’s like I’m not here. Maybe I’m a ghost. Maybe my body lies right next to Henrico’s back at the cathedral. Or maybe that would have been preferable to what’s about to happen to me in this house.

Gathering what little courage I have, I hold my dress up and climb the few stairs to the wrought-iron doors. The men, saying nothing, open them for me.

I want to ask them where I am, what’s going to happen, if their master is home-but from the way they avoid my gaze, I know they’ll speak just as much as my driver did. Kicking my chin up despite my fear, I walk past them. One strides beside me and opens one of the wide wooden doors to the house. It’s dark inside. Far darker than it is out here.

Hesitating, I look up at the man. “Is … is he in there?” I ask, my voice sounding small and weak. He doesn’t answer. My irritation flickers to life again, but quickly dies as I peer into the open door at the dimness beyond.

I can’t turn back. I have no doubt that if I tried to run, one of these assholes would catch me and drag me back. Probably still wouldn’t say anything to me, though.

Taking a deep breath, I walk forward, my toes aching and my ankles threatening to give as I step over the threshold.The goon closes the door behind me, and I’m left alone, the house still and gloomy.

I open my mouth to call “hello” then close it just as fast. I don’t want to draw attention to myself. Keeping to the wall, I ease around the room, my eyes adjusting to the darkness as I go. It’s a foyer, the floor marble, and the walls a light gray- or perhaps that’s just because they’re mostly in shadow. Nothing special about this room, other than it’s emptiness. No guards. No sound except the click-clack of my heels.

I step out of one, then the other, my feet already feeling better when they touch the cold marble. A small groan of relief comes from me, but I swallow it down lest it carry.