Chapter Thirteen

A thousand thoughts raced through her head just as Pietro Romanelli pulled the trigger on his gun. All her hopes and dreams gone in an instant. Death had always been possible whenever she had an asthma attack, but that acceptance was different from knowing she was about to be murdered.

And then, to her surprise, the gun didn't fire.

He pulled it away to study before aiming it again. Still, nothing.

"How can this thing be broken?" he muttered. Just then his phone buzzed and he pulled it out and glanced down and swore under his breath. Pietro glanced behind him to the man standing guard and thrust the gun at him. "Kill her. Take a photo and send it to me. Make sure her body is never found. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," the soldier replied.

Before he left, he yanked the necklace off her, stomping away. Macy looked up at the guard, wondering if she begged him, would he show mercy?

"I don't want to die," she cried, tears and snot mingling on her face.

The man studied her. "You know too much."

"I know nothing. I swear it."

He crouched down in front of her, the gun held loosely in his hand. "If you want to save your neck, tell me you know something."

Macy blinked, not sure if she heard him correctly. "I-I know how to keep my mouth shut."

The man studied for a long moment. Then he smiled. "If you know how to keep your mouth shut, then you know too much. Good. Now, I have to make it look like you're dead. Hang your head to the side."

He dipped his finger into some of the blood pouring out of her cuts, and deposited it on her temple, rearranging her hair around the spot.

"Stay put," he said. He took out his camera and took a few pics while she hung there, pretending to be dead. Then he untied her, and the ropes fell to pool around her chair.

"Come."

"W-where are we going?"

"Far away from here. But right now, you have to be dead so put on the act of your life."

Macy was all too eager to escape. He bent and hefted her over his shoulder, fireman style, and marched up a set of stairs. She hung like a limp noodle, pretending she was dead, unable to believe her life had been spared. Whatever this man asked her to do, she would follow his instructions to the letter. She heard the beep of a car and a moment later, he carefully dumped her into the trunk.

"Don't make a sound," he warned.

Macy nodded and he closed the lid. Seconds later, the engine rumbled to life. The car moved, carrying her away, and she bit her knuckle to stay as quiet as possible in case someone could hear outside. Her tears of hurt and betrayal had turned into ones of relief. She was alive. It was over.

Through the long drive, she thought and made plans. Macy Moore had to die, obviously. Perhaps she'd move to Canada, or Europe. Seemed the farther away from the Romanelli family, the better. She had no idea how to start her life over, how to change her identity, but she'd figure it out.

A part of her still loved Matteo. Still mourned the idea of that happy-ever-after, and she hated herself for that. Matteo Romanelli was nothing to her. Less than nothing. Now, he was her enemy, and in her mind, she killed him a thousand different ways.

Eventually, the car began to slow and then come to a stop. The engine turned off. Macy waited, and then the trunk opened. She looked up to see an older woman peering down at her. Her pale brown eyes regarded her coldly behind wire-rimmed glasses. Her silver hair was piled on top of her head in an elegant top knot. Next to her stood an older man. Salt and pepper hair. Wrinkles fanning from his eyes. A hint of sadness ran though his brown eyes,

The lady cocked her head. "Who is she again?"

Her accent lent a touch of sing-song in her voice. Each syllable clear with rounded vowels. Macy had heard enough Italian to recognize the language.

"Matteo's girl," her rescuer replied.

"Another Romanelli destroying an innocent woman," the older man said softly. "He's destroyed her face."

A dark shadow passed over the woman's regal countenance as her eyes glazed over, as if lost in an unpleasant memory.

"Macy didn't deserve to die like that," he added. "Pietro told me to kill her after his gun failed to fire. Left me with her."

"His gun failed to fire? Your handiwork, I take it, Gunner?"

"Of course," Gunner replied. "I knew what he was planning. Macy is an innocent, and we need to protect her."

"That we do." The old woman blinked and focused on her once more. "One more reason to destroy that family. But be careful, Gunner. Pietro isn't dumb."

He nodded. "I know. And if he kills me, so be it. At least I died doing what I could to bring them all down."

The old woman patted his arm. "I'm selfish, I suppose. I don't want you joining your wife in heaven just yet."

The two smiled at each other, respect in his gaze.

"Please help her out of there, Mauro."

The two men helped Macy out of the trunk, and the older man, Mauro, held onto her as she swayed a little. Her adrenaline had crashed a while back, leaving her lightheaded. Or maybe it was the blood loss. Pain was her constant companion at this point. Even the tightness in her chest seemed like a moot point. As she eyed her surroundings, she realized she stood in front of a massive house. Red brick, beautiful Corinthian columns, rising three stories into the air and topped with a pediment. Tall purple wisteria trees bracketed the house, their beautiful colors and sweet scent made her gasp. Mauro let go of her and backed up a little, but stayed behind her. From the wariness in his eyes, Macy figured he was unsure if she could stand on her own two feet.

"Are you going to hurt me?" Macy whispered, asking the woman.

"No," she replied. "I'm Orianna Aldighieri. Gunner here thinks you can be part of my organization. Macy, right?"

It was on the tip of her tongue to say yes, but Pietro's words echoed in her head. Her life was over because she could never go home again. If she surfaced, he would find her and kill her. She'd seen enough television to know how the mafia mentality worked.

"I don't have a name anymore," she muttered. What did it matter anyway? Matteo got his wish. Macy Moore was dead.

Orianna nodded, as if she understood. "Family?"

"No one."

She used to hate being all alone in the world, but now, she was glad Pietro Romanelli couldn't hurt anyone she cared for.

"Gunner, return to the Romanelli household," Orianna ordered. "Keep your eyes and ears open. Lay low, don't take chances."

"Yes, ma'am." He gave her a respectful nod then winked at Macy.

He saved my life, she thought. Wanting to thank him, she hobbled over to him and hugged him around the waist.

"Thank you," she sniffed, tears threatening once more to fall. "I can never repay you for saving me."

Gunner hesitated for a brief moment before slipping his arms gently around her to return the hug. After a moment, she let him go and stumbled back. Mauro helped steady her and she threw him a grateful look. Then Gunner got back into the car and drove away. She watched as the car receded, wondering if she'd ever see him again. He had saved her life. Her debt to him could never be repaid. The huge wrought iron gates opened then slowly closed behind him as the taillights disappeared.

"Come," Orianna said, and began walking to the steps of the house.

Macy followed her, every step jarring her wounds. She winced as pain flared once more, giving her a sneaking suspicion that she had a few cracked ribs. It hurt to breathe. Hurt to walk. Hurt to even think. The crash was coming soon and all she wanted to do was lay down.

"I'm sorry this happened to you," Orianna murmured. Mauro trailed behind them. "As you've probably inferred, Gunner works for me and has been feeding me information on the Romanelli syndicate."

"Syndicate," Macy repeated, going cold. "I've been a damn lovesick fool, haven't I."

Matteo probably thought she was gullible, someone to toy with until he was tired of her and ordered her execution. The thought made her sick. No, he was the one sick, along with pathetic and cruel.

"It's all right," Orianna said softly, picking up on Macy's breakdown. "I knew Matteo had a girlfriend, although I didn't know your name. A shame really. I always thought he was different, but I suppose rotten apples don't fall far from the tree."

"I didn't know the truth about them," Macy admitted, the tears once more welling up. Humiliation dragged her down. "Why me? Why did Matteo target me? I'm nobody."

Orianna reached down and took her hand, holding tight as they drew closer to the base of the steps. For some reason, it comforted Macy like nothing else.

"Frogs don't jump out of a pot of cold water as the fire slowly heats it up, unknowing the danger until they're already cooked."

"So, I'm a frog?"

"In this life you are either the frog or the water. You must choose."

She thought for a moment. "How do I become the water?"

Orianna stopped and turned, studying her. "Hard work, plus the acceptance that it could end in torture and death."

Macy stared at her with the one eye not swelled shut. "I've already been down that road. Only one way to go now."

Orianna smiled and resumed walking. "When we get inside, I'll have my physician look you over. We need to mend your body and face."

At the base of the steps, Macy hesitated. It was mentally and physically impossible in that moment to go up them. All she could do was look helplessly around because her mind shut down. Any critical thinking had flown away.

"Caelian." She heard Orianna greet. "This is Macy-oh. Can you pick her up? We need to get her to the doctor immediately to examine her wounds."

The man, Caelian, nodded and hurried toward Macy. Just as he reached her, the tether holding her up snapped and she started to sink. Strong arms came around her, catching her before she face-planted on the stone steps. She forced her eyes to open. Caelian was a large, imposing man. Military cut dark hair. Blank blue eyes that reminded her of ice.

"Macy," he greeted in a deep voice. "I'm going to take you to the infirmary."

Macy didn't care. She closed her eyes and let the darkness take her away from the pain and grief.