Chapter Fifteen

Elena

Nikk left out early for LA, and I find myself feeling a little lost and confused as I head off to my own meetings. Wait a minute, am I missing the guy? Shaking off the awful notion, I regroup, entering Bellman’s Bar and Grill from the town car in search of Matteo.

It’s been a refreshing change having him in such close proximity to me, and I’m sad about him flying out to Sicily tomorrow as well. I sail through the busy restaurant knowing Matteo’s booked us a table in the popular bustling restaurant. Scanning the restaurant, I look for the table where he’s seated, but there’s no need as he’s standing in the middle waving in my direction.

Instantly a warm smile spreads over my face, and the tension melts in my shoulders. It’s nice to see the man who’s been my confidant, and trusted family ally for so long. He represents so much to the famiglia, and without him being the glue holding the old and the new together, the Mancinis would be lost.

Matteo’s face lights up as he holds out his arms in greeting. “Ciao, Elena.” He kisses both my cheeks as we sit down together. “I took the liberty of ordering us a nice white if you don’t mind.”

Smiling at him, I relax into my seat. “No, not at all. Good to see you. How are things?”

Matteo clasps his hands together in a pyramid, nodding his head in satisfaction. “I believe they’re going well, Donna. I’ve organized all the necessary shipments for delivery today and personally dropped off the last run of lemons to the warehouse myself,” Matteo relays with pride as I take a sip of water, eagerly wanting to get the information about Bogdan off my chest.

It was hard enough to keep my mouth shut when Nikk left out in the morning, let alone exchanging pleasantries with Matteo. Nodding my head, I reply.

“Good. Nikk will be pleased. At least I’m building trust with him.”

Matteo’s face tunes into a disgusted scoff. “There’s no such thing as building trust with an Orlov.” His dark eyes probe mine as I offer him a cheap smile back.

“Speaking of a loss of trust, I’ve got a juicy secret I can’t keep to myself,” I tell him in a hushed whisper, leaning forward. Matteo’s brow knits together, and he shuts the menu he has in hand.

“You do? Oh, this I want to hear.”

“Should we order some entrees first? I’m feeling a little peckish.”

“Sure, we can do that.” Matteo signals to the waiter. The sea of voices around us is loud enough to shield our private conversation, but I still perform my checks for hidden Orlov spies, and since I don’t see anyone, I open up after he finishes placing the order.

“I can’t hold this in any longer. Matteo, Bogdan is stealing from the Orlovs from the inside.” Holding his gaze, Matteo balks, slowly placing his glass back on the table.

“How do you know?”

“I was looking over the last two years of profit margins, and I kept seeing this one organization cropping up and it was bugging me. You know me, I started digging.” I take a sip of my wine.

“Yes, that’s sounds like you.” He smirks.

“I traced the amounts back to Bogdan, he was in bed with the last CEO of the not-for-profit and they were working together, funneling the money out of the company,” I hiss, the layers of relief peeling off as I tell him more.

“Do you have substantial evidence to this effect?” Matteo is a by-the-book type of guy, and I could’ve predicted his extreme caution even before we sat down.

“Yes. I’ve got paper trails, his VPN, the emails going back and forth between him and the last CEO. It’s fucked!” I exclaim passionately, sliding a hand through my sleek ponytail.

Matteo sighs as the shared plate arrives. “Why is his name floating around in my memory? Bogdan, Bogdan. Mmm. I know it.” I let him take a minute to figure it out, his face dropping as he recalls. “He’s that asshole who tried to start a fight with me at the wedding.”

“Yes! Him, it’s him!” I exclaim, collecting a small taco from the shared plate and nibbling on it.

“It proves my point, Elena. The Orlovs are not to be trusted. Ever. But why have you not told Nikk about it?”

Stumbling over my words, a flash of Nikk’s hard chest enters my mind, making me blush right down to my toes. “He left for LA this morning on business, so I’ll wait for him to return. I planned on telling him last night—” I pause, feeling the bloom of heat flowering on my cheeks. Matteo lets out a disappointed sigh, casting his gaze into the crowd of restaurant-goers, a sizzling steak enroute to its table.

“I see.”

“I don’t know, Matteo. I’ve had so much going on in my mind, it’s been hard for me to process. I’m struggling to believe I stumbled on it at all.”

Matteo recovers, returning his gaze to me. “Don’t worry about it. You need to relax. That’s all. It’s my last night in New York, so how about we get your favorite drink.” He smirks, waggling his eyebrows.

“Limoncello?”

“Of course, only we’re indulging in the alcoholic version tonight. I checked before we came that they have it.”

“No! They do?”

“Yes. They do. I slipped a shipment of lemons to them already. You’re aware this place is managed by the Orlovs?”

“Yes, briefly, I remember Nikk mentioning something about this place. Nice call.” I’m still coming to terms with the Orlovs’ tentacles into the underbelly of the city, and when the Orlovs’ manage a bar, it’s code for extortion.

“Alright.” Enthusiastically, Matteo flags down the waiter ordering rounds of the potent drink I love so much. It’s so tasty I barely notice the alcohol in it, throwing them back and reminiscing with Matteo over old times.

“Do you remember when Dad chased that dog through the village that stole his favorite shoe from the porch?” I giggle, feeling freer than ever, and my head light. Blinking a few times, I notice the edges of Matteo softening. “Phew, I should have taken my time. I haven’t eaten much tonight.”

Matteo chuckles. “You’ll be fine. Let your hair down. You’re in safe hands,” he advises in a slick tone, smiling at me. “See. I’ll drink with you.” He slams back a Limoncello shot, making me laugh and hiccup simultaneously.

“That doesn’t work. No work,” I tell him in a floaty voice. “You’re not a flyweight drinker like me.” My pitch goes up, but I’m enjoying myself so much I have two more shots, unable to walk when Matteo calls it a night.

“Maybe we should call it a night after all.” I can hear Matteo’s voice, but it’s muffled.

Patting the air, I wrongly think it’s Matteo’s shoulder as he rounds the table, paying the bill and guiding us out. “Oh, sorry, I thought that was you,” I slur slightly, hoping the chill of the New York air will refresh me. It does a little, but I’m starting to regret drinking so much.

“Ooo, you did overdo it a little. That’s my fault. Sorry, Elena, I just wanted you to have a good time. You’ve been under a lot of pressure lately,” he sympathizes as I lean into him, his body like a pillar.

“No, no, it’s not your fault, Matteo,” I sling out, the air helping a little as I’m guided into the passenger seat.

“Here, let me get you some water,” he offers, handing me a bottle.

“Thanks.” I take a sip, placing the bottle back in the middle of the console, trying to regain my bearings.

“Don’t worry about anything, Elena. I’m going to take you home. Don’t worry about a thing,” he soothes, his voice drowning out like a nighttime lullaby. Did I drink that much?

Don’t worry, it’s Matteo. You’re going to be fine. He’ll take care of you.

I feel different, not tipsy, woozy, but it’s making my body feel heavy. Matteo helps me to my room, but I can’t get my head to work either. Things are blurring and don’t look right.

“Here we go. Come on, let’s get you in your room,” he whispers with a deep chuckle, and I let him take me. I can’t think straight, my head is fuzzy, and my tongue drier than sandpaper. Every step I take feels as if my legs are sinking into the ground like quicksand, and my face is slackened.

Blinking hard, I put it down to a few too many drinks, and maybe when I lie down in my room, I will be okay.

That’s all it is. You drank too much, silly girl. You know how much you love Limoncello.

I’m discombobulated as Matteo opens the door, taking me through to my room, and to the bed. It feels different—harder. The walls, oh the walls are a different color, and they feel as if they’re closing in on me. When did we paint them gray? No, we didn’t paint them gray, did we?

“Matteo,” I croak, “I need some water. Puh-please,” I beg, feeling as if razor blades are lodged in my throat. Looking around, a wash of horror descends on me. This isn’t my room.

No. No. No. This isn’t mine. I want to speak, but my arm is dead, and so is part of my leg. What’s happening to me? Shit! I feel as if I’m moving in slow motion, even my heart rate won’t speed up. Inside, I’m freaking out, but it’s not registering on the outside.

Matteo returns, but I don’t know where he went in the first place. I can see his shoes and his face; it’s deadpan, and he feels cold. Oh, so cold.

“I already gave you water, Elena. I’ve got something else,” he replies smoothly, the glistening tip of a needle in his hand.

Panic bubbles up in my throat, but my limbs won’t comply to get away from him. Why do I feel so weak? “Matteo,” I rasp, my throat on fire. “What are you doing?”

“Just an add on to such a lovely night. A special dessert. Don’t try to resist, otherwise I’m going to have to use it.”

What? Confused with my head heavy, I watch the silhouette of Matteo cruising over to the curtains pulling them back and opening the window wide. Birds fly past the window, and the curtains move, but I can’t feel the breeze.

And for me, my body’s growing even heavier; I can barely move. I feel things being put around my wrist, but my arms are the first thing to go limp. God, why can’t I move them? What has he done?

I let out a small whimper, hoping he’ll stop whatever he’s about to do, but I watch in terror, my eyes droopy as he unbuttons his shirt, flinging it off, and the sick realization of what he’s about to do sets in.

Tears fall from my eyes, and I do my best to kick out my leg, but it flops aside, not working. I’m in his hotel room and he’s trying to—but I can’t move. Jerking my leg to the side, I force myself to roll off the bed, but it doesn’t work as I whimper again, words coming out in a slur.

“Matt-Matteo, please, why are you doing this?”

“Shut up, Elena. This is going to be worth it, and you’re going to like it.”

It’s too late because Matteo’s leaden body weight is on top of me, his scent, a mix of cologne, dirty sweat, and Limoncello. He grins at me, baring his teeth like a predatory wolf, but even with his face so close to mine, I can barely make out his finer features.

“Matt—” I slur, trying not to cry. “Matt—”

He slides his hand down the back of my cheek, blowing his breath on me. “Elena. God, I’ve wanted you for so long. I can have you now. This is what I deserve after all your years of refusal,” he confesses desperately. “Don’t deny how much you want me too.”

Shit. Please don’t hurt me, Matteo. Not you. It can’t be you. He unties the rope from my wrists as I find something inside that tells me to bite him. I go for his neck, but parts of my body are numb, even though inside my body is prepared to fight. I feel his hands hitting my body, but there’s only a numb feeling translating.

“That was the wrong thing to do, Elena,” he says, his eyes in a rabid frenzy. I fight him off as best I can, moving my head from side to side so his mouth can’t come anywhere near mine. It seems to be the only part of my body I still have power over.

“You left me no choice sweet, Elena.” Appalled, I feel the prick of tears in my eyes, my body partially paralyzed from the drug. I muster as much fight as I can, thrashing wildly in my mind, but in real time, I’m barely moving.

Bucking against his hands, I almost heave when I feel his hard cock pumping against my thigh. His scratchy beard rubs against my face as I try to flip away from him, but his lips hit mine, kissing me roughly.

“Matteo, stop!” I screech, wanting it to come out loud, but it’s more a hoarse, distant whisper instead.

I have to get away. How do I get away?

A surge of internal strength and adrenaline gives me just enough fight to raise my knee and find his balls. I use everything I have, and Matteo yelps.

“Fuck! Elena,” he groans, and while he’s distracted by the pain, I stagger to the moving table. The injection. Give it to him. See how he feels.

Grabbing it, I pick it up, stabbing him with it. Soon enough, Matteo loses his senses and faints, dropping to the hotel floor. Crawling as best I can, I reach the door, looking up at the handle.

I have to move quick to escape him.