I wake up, cold and stiff, in a dark room.
It smells damp in here, and a little bit like diesel fumes.
When I try to move, I hear a clinking metal sound, and the rustling of fabric. My whole body feels heavy and aching, the throbbing pain seeming to radiate from my left shoulder all the way down to my toes.
My head is heavy and dull. I can’t seem to understand what the fuck is happening.
And then it all starts to come back to me.
Sebastian, standing at the altar, looking the most handsome I’d ever seen him in that perfectly-fitted suit.
His family, arranged in the tall, high-backed chairs, looking pleased and expectant.
And then my father and his men. He brought Rodion, Timur, Vale, and Kadir. Other than Rodion, the bratoks were technically related to me, Vale being my uncle through marriage, and Timur and Kadir distant cousins. Still, it felt strange to have my side of the wedding party staring at us so coldly, without any hint of happiness. Only a kind of stiff expectation.
Then there was Adrian, who looked strangest of all. As he lead us through the ceremony in his position of koumbaros, I kept thinking how pale he was, and wishing that he would look me in the eye and give me one of his irreverent smiles, to let me know that he wasn’t taking the whole thing too seriously. I’ve never seen him stand inside a church without a single eye roll or wink in my direction when the priest is droning on.
At the very least, I thought he’d hug me that morning, and tell me that he loved me. That he’d miss me, but he hoped I’d be happy with Sebastian.
He did none of that. When I went to his room early in the morning to try to speak to him, his bed was empty. Usually it takes a brass band to wake him up.
I felt a prick of unease, but I told myself it was nothing. I tried to look only at Sebastian, at his handsome face and his excited expression. I looked at his height, his broad chest, and his air of utter confidence, and I told myself, “Seb will protect me. His family will protect me. Once we’re married, nothing can hurt us.”
Then at last the ceremony was over, we were man and wife with rings on our fingers, and he kissed me . . . The warmest and happiest kiss of my life . . .
And then . . .
It all turned to blood, and terror, and misery.
That perfect moment shattered like glass, splintering into a thousand pieces that cut every part of me as they tumbled down.
My father betrayed the Gallos. He betrayed me, too.
And my brother tried to kill the man I love.
He put a gun to Sebastian’s head. He tried to pull the trigger.
And the rest of them . . .
I don’t know how many died.
My hand flies to my mouth as I realize that I don’t even know if Sebastian is alive. The last thing I remember is my Uncle Vale pointing his gun at my husband, and me jumping between them . . .
I touch my shoulder, which is so stiff and aching that it feels like stone. Again I hear that clinking sound that follows me every time I move.
I feel a thick bandage wrapping from my chest all the way over my shoulder to my back. Also, the tattered and filthy remains of my wedding dress. And then, encircling my wrists and my ankles . . . manacles. Iron bracelets, attached to chains.
I lift my wrist again, tugging.
I only have limited mobility, because these chains are apparently bolted in.
I let out a little moan. It sounds very pathetic in this dark, gloomy space.
I have no idea who’s put me down in this dungeon and chained me to the wall. I don’t know where I am, if I’m even still in Chicago. I can barely see the room in which I’m contained—I sense the walls close around me, more than actually perceiving them.
All I know for certain is that I’m sitting on a mattress, with a single thin blanket over my legs.
I’m still wearing my wedding dress, but the tiara I wore in my hair, the one that belonged to my mother—that’s gone. So are my shoes.
Feverishly, I feel my left hand with my right.
My ring is still there, at least. I touch that little circlet with its beautiful diamond, twisting it on my finger.
I don’t know what I would do if I’d lost that, too.
I want to cry, but I won’t allow myself to do it.
I don’t know who could be watching, or listening.
So instead, I curl up in a ball, feeling the relentless throb of my shoulder, and hoping against hope that Sebastian is still alive.
I don’t know if I lay in the dark for hours or days.
I know that I slept several times and became very thirsty.
Finally, after what seems like forever, the door scrapes open and a light snaps on.
I sit up on the mattress, blinking against the blinding glare.
Standing in the doorway is a figure I recognize immediately: my tall, strong, immeasurably handsome husband.
I try to jump to my feet so I can run to him, but the chains tangle me up, and my legs wobble beneath me. I feel a spike of pain in my shoulder and a thick wave of nausea that makes me sit down hard on the mattress.
It’s better for me that I can’t throw myself into Sebastian’s arms, because he’s already cringing away from me with a repulsed expression on his face.
“Don’t touch me,” he says through lips as white as chalk.
His expression is unlike anything I’ve seen before—furious and disgusted. Like he fucking loathes me.
It’s so unlike how Sebastian usually looks at me that I can only blink up at him in confusion, wondering how this man who was willing to go to the ends of the earth for me just days ago could now regard me like shit on the bottom of his shoe.
Then I look a little closer at the deep bruise-like smudges under his eyes, and the gauntness of his cheeks, and the misery in his eyes, beneath that fury. And I know that someone has died. Maybe a lot of people.
“Sebastian,” I croak. My throat is dry, and so are my lips. It’s hard to speak.
He winces, like even hearing his name on my lips is too much for him.
“Don’t,” he says again.
I don’t know what he’s forbidding me from doing this time. Speaking? Looking at him? Maybe just existing . . .
“What happened?” I ask him.
He’s so angry that he’s shaking down the whole length of his considerable frame.
“You know what happened,” he hisses.
“My father betrayed you,” I say. “But Sebastian, I didn’t know! I—”
“DON’T LIE TO ME!” he roars.
His face is congested with rage, his fists clenched at his sides. He takes one jerking step toward me before stopping himself, as if he wanted to tear me apart with those hands.
I flinch back from him, and maybe it’s that flinch that stops him, because he pulls himself up short, and I see the tiniest flicker in his eyes, as if his fury surprised even himself.
He looks down at me. I know I must look filthy, pained, pathetic. But whatever sympathy that might have engendered before, whatever wispy memory of love resides inside of him, he crushes it ruthlessly. He blinks, and his face is like a stranger’s again. Worse than a stranger—it’s the face of an enemy.
“You set me up,” he says, his voice colder than these stone walls. “From the moment we met, you were lying to me. There was no kidnapper. That was one of your father’s men. And then when I didn’t call you afterward . . .”
He’s watching my face, confirming every word as it comes out of his mouth.
“Then you threw yourself at me again, at the date auction. That was no coincidence. You knew I’d be there.”
I never cry. It’s been years since I’ve let tears flow freely. But I can feel them running down my cheeks now, silent and hot.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I wanted to tell you—”
“You’re a FUCKING LIAR,” Sebastian says. “I don’t believe a goddamned word that comes out of your mouth.”
I can’t deny it.
I should have told him the truth as soon as I knew I was falling in love with him.
I should have told him when he showed me his mother’s piano.
I should have told him that night on the beach when he took my virginity.
I should have told him at the planetarium when he proposed.
I had so many opportunities, and I never took them. Because I was a coward. And selfish. I was afraid my father would hurt me. And even more afraid that Sebastian would leave me.
I told myself that it wouldn’t matter after the wedding.
But it always mattered, and it always will.
“You’re right,” I whisper. “I lied to you. I knew it was wrong, but I kept doing it. I’m so sorry, Sebastian. I didn’t know this would happen. My father—”
“I DON’T WANT TO HEAR ABOUT YOUR FUCKING FATHER!” Sebastian bellows. “MY FATHER’S DEAD!”
It’s like a spike to my chest. I fall silent, under the enormity of what I’ve done.
I suppose I knew that, if I’d tried to remember. I saw my father and his men open fire on Sebastian’s family. I saw Enzo Gallo—that warm and well-mannered man, who treated me with more respect than my own father has ever done—I saw him hit in the face and the chest.
No one could have survived that. Especially not a man his age.
My face crumples like a paper bag, and the tears fall down faster.
It only infuriates Sebastian more.
“Don’t you dare cry for him,” he hisses. “It’s your fault he’s dead.”
“What about the others?” I ask, unable to help myself. I have to know if his brothers are alright, and Camille and Greta.
Sebastian stares at me coldly, not wanting to answer. But at last he says, “Nero was shot six times. But he isn’t dead yet. Camille, Greta, and Jace are alive. Giovanni and Brody are dead.” He swallows hard, then says, “Brody wasn’t even a fucking mafioso. He was just a friend.”
I don’t know what to say.
There’s nothing that can be said. Nothing that will wipe away what I did. Nothing that will bring Sebastian’s father back, or his friends.
I look up at him, feeling like my heart is tearing in half.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’d give anything to take it back.”
“Well, you can’t,” Sebastian says.
And with that, he turns to leave.
But first he throws a water bottle down on the bed. The one and only hint of mercy that he’s given me.
Then he turns around and slams the door, locking it behind him.
