77. Antonio

After Abel and Costa leave, the two guards check our bindings and go, too. Even from several feet away, I see Daniela’s relief when the door shuts behind them.

There have to be listening devices and cameras in this room. My guess is that the guards left us alone to see if they could learn anything about my men and the plan, as if I’m stupid enough to say anything to tip them off.

I could mislead them, but since I don’t know anything about what Cristiano and Lucas are planning, it’s wiser to keep my mouth shut.

When I gaze at my wife, with her swollen face, bound to a chair but still holding her head up—the angel who has given me so much more than I deserve—I vow to use this time well. Not to waste it in a tirade of vitriol at our jailors, but sharing an intimacy that I never knew before her.

“I’ve missed you,” I tell my beautiful princesa. “Although I had a different plan for our reunion.”

“I never doubted you’d come,” she whispers. “Did you see Valentina?”

“She’s safe, and where no one can get to her. I promise.”

Daniela gives me a small smile that warms my cold heart.

I don’t know what’s in store for us, or if Cristiano and Lucas can devise a plan to get us out in time—although I have great faith in them. But if this is the end for me—or God forbid, for Daniela—I want her to know how much I love her. I don’t want to die with a single word unspoken.

I don’t give a damn who’s listening. Certainly not Cristiano or Lucas. I already told them how I feel. And not these fuckers, either. They know she’s important to me. That’s why they brought her here. I don’t care what Abel says about exacting revenge from her. That’s just a bonus.

“I’m sorry about what happened at the house before you left. I never meant to hurt you. That woman—”

“Meant nothing,” she says, gazing at me with understanding and forgiveness that I haven’t done a goddamn thing to earn. “I know. I always knew. But it was extreme—even for you. I worried that you were so far gone, in such despair about your mother’s death, that I would never be able to reach you.”

“My mother’s death leveled me. You’re right. But my behavior that night was calculated. I was trying to smoke out an oligarch who we believed posed the greatest danger to you. I wanted to give you the normalcy that you desperately want for Valentina, and above all else, I wanted you to be safe. We believed he was behind everything. Obviously, that’s not true.”

She nods as the tears roll down her cheeks. “I love you, Antonio. I’ve always loved you—even when I hated you. When I was a little girl, I would scribble Daniela + Antonio in my notebooks, and draw hearts around our names with red ink.”

My gut aches as I smile. I had so many opportunities to do well by her, and I let most of them slip away. We were on a solid footing before the plane exploded, but I took too goddamn long to wake up.

“You told me something not too long ago, Princesa, that stayed with me. You said, I don’t know if I would have chosen you then. But I choose you now.”

“I remember,” she says so softly I can barely hear.

“When I signed the betrothal contract with your father, if I had a choice, I wouldn’t have chosen you then. You’d always been a little girl in my mind. I never thought of you as a woman, or a partner of any kind. But that morning in your father’s office, before you fled the country, I chose you. And I’ve chosen you every day since. And I will choose you every day for the rest of my life.”

Her shoulders shake, as her body is wracked with sobs. The most difficult thing about this moment is that I can’t hold her—or even touch her.

“I didn’t have anywhere near long enough to love you or Valentina,” she says, gazing at me. “But I cherish every second we had together. I’m grateful for the way you pushed me and made me stronger. You gave me an opportunity to be the woman I would have become if that day in the meadow had never happened.”

Oh, baby.Emotion is a jagged blade slicing through me—rage, regret, sorrow—only tempered by my overwhelming love for her.

“I did what I know. But it was selfish. I was selfish. I should have done so much better by you.”

“We were destined to be together,” she replies, wistfully. “I know you don’t believe in an afterlife, but I do. My faith is strong enough for both of us. Nothing that tears us apart in this world will keep us apart in the next. I promise.” The tears are streaming, but she’s smiling.

She’s losing faith that we’ll be rescued. I want her to believe—for as long as she can—that we’re going to get out of here.

“Hey. Chin up. The fat lady hasn’t sung.” I say the American idiom in English. The men listening won’t understand, even if they know the words. But I’m betting Daniela will.

She flashes me a knowing look, but doesn’t give anything away.

I just gave her a sliver of hope, although it could turn out to be an empty gift.

When I got back from Morocco, I went to the lodge to get something from my desk. I had planned to ask Daniela to marry me—again. Although last time, I didn’t ask. I shoved a piece of paper in her face and demanded she get with the program.

I’ve been contemplating asking her now—in case I don’t make it out. But it seems too self-serving at this moment. Too contrived.

I’m a realist, but I believe my men will get here in time to save her. Maybe to save us.

I don’t have faith in God, but I do have faith in them.