25. Bella

25

BELLA

W hen I wake up, groggy from the sleeping pills and puffy-eyed from crying the night before, I try not to think about the sale Gabriel will be making today. About the fact that, after today, all hope of us staying will be gone.

I don't know why I ever nurtured that hope in the first place. Why I ever thought there was a chance that we might stay, that there was a future for Gabriel and me here. He never talked about it like that, never mentioned it. From the beginning, the conversations always included when we would go home. And from the very start of the marriage, he left me a way out.

I hoped he would tell me that it was for his benefit, not mine. But he's gone to Rome to sell the estate, and when he comes back tomorrow, we'll go back to New York. That will be it. The end of our brief marriage, the end of the path we set ourselves on without realizing just how complicated it would become.

But there's one more answer I need before we leave.

Thankfully, Aldo has taken Cecelia and Danny out to the stables, for one more ride around the estate before we leave. They've gotten skilled enough at riding that they can leave the paddocks with a guide, and Aldo assures me that Gabriel gave him permission before he left. There's not much left to do except pack, and I've been dodging Agnes all morning, not wanting to deal with any questions. I have no doubt that she could easily pick up on what it is that I'm worried about, if she took a moment.

I make up an excuse about needing to finish packing, and go upstairs. Once I'm safely in Gabriel's bedroom—I still can't let myself think of it as ours —I lock the door and slip into the bathroom.

The box of pregnancy tests is hidden inside my makeup bag, which I haven't touched since I've been here, except to stash the tests there. I take them out with shaky fingers, every part of me resisting doing this. I don't know if I want to know the answer. A part of me would just rather not know. Because no matter whether it's positive or negative, some part of my feelings about it are going to hurt.

Either I'm not pregnant, and there's no reason for me to stay. Or I am—and I have to figure out how to have a child with a man who either doesn't love me, or can't bring himself to say it aloud.

My fingers are trembling so badly that it takes me a minute to open the box. I take out one of the tests, reading the instructions. Every second that ticks by is one closer to knowing the truth, and my heart is racing as I sit down.

Once the test is sitting on the counter, I turn my back on it, sinking down to the tile floor as I set a timer on my phone. I set it down next to me, watching the numbers tick off as I sit there in silence.

It's not that I don't think I'd be a good mother. My time working for Gabriel, taking care of Cecelia and Danny, has shown me that I'm good with children. That I would be a good mother, if I had them. If I wanted them for myself, and not because I was told that I had to.

The problem is that I've never had a chance to decide that. And right now, I can't begin to picture myself with a baby. I can't even fathom what that would be like. I'm not even entirely sure yet that I'm safe from all the things in my past that keep hunting me down.

My chest feels tighter and tighter, with every second that passes. The timer on my phone goes off, and I feel my stomach lurch with nausea worse than anything I've felt in the past days.

For a moment, I can't bring myself to get up. As long as I'm sitting here on the floor, I don't have to know one way or the other. But I can't hide from it forever.

In the end, I don't get up. Instead, I reach up to grab the test off of the counter, my eyes closed. I hold it for several long seconds, breathing in and out, trying to calm myself down. Telling myself that no matter what the answer is, I've dealt with harder things. That if it's positive, something good will come of it—Gabriel and I will both make sure of that. That I know he's a good man. He's a good father. And whatever it means for our relationship, we'll figure it out.

And if it's negative—then nothing changes. I'll go on with my life exactly as I planned.

I don't know why that makes my heart ache in a different way.

I open my eyes, slowly. And my heart drops to my stomach as I see the two pink lines in the small window.

I'm pregnant.

I feel dizzy. My fingers go numb, and I drop the test—just as I hear a loud clattering noise that confuses me for a moment. The sound of the plastic hitting the tiles couldn't have been that loud?—

Another rattling. This time, I recognize it, and my blood runs cold, all thoughts of the test fleeing in the space of an instant.

I know that sound, because I've heard it before. In a church with a barred door, mingled with the sound of screams and the iron smell of blood.

Igor has found us. And Gabriel isn't here.

The children are outside. My first reaction is relief, and my second is fear that the Bratva are swarming the grounds as well as the house. I bolt up from the floor, thoughts racing as I try to figure out what to do.

I can't stay trapped here in this room. But if I try to run, they'll find me.

Breathe, Bella. Try to think. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut, pressing one hand over my mouth to stifle a shriek as there's another rattle of gunfire, and the sharp crack of several answering shots.

Being trapped in here is worse than any other outcome. I feel like I can't breathe, like every bit of the terror from that day months ago when I was dragged out of the church and locked in a hotel room waiting to be assaulted and violated has come rushing back in all at once. I feel smothered, shaky, like all of my seams are coming unraveled, and I'm going to fall apart into a pile on the floor.

I have to be stronger than that if I'm going to get out of this.

Slowly, I walk to the door. I press my ear against it, listening for footsteps in the hall, anything to give me an inclination that there's anyone on this floor. There's another series of shots, the sound of a body heavily hitting the floor and a muffled cry, but it all seems to be coming from downstairs.

I have to go through the first floor to get outside. But if I can make it down to one of the first floor rooms unseen, and slip out of one of the windows?—

My heart is hammering in my chest as I slowly open the door. I peek out through the crack, seeing only an empty hallway, and slip out, flattening myself against the wall.

Out here, the sounds are louder. Every shout, every cry of pain, every shot feels like nails clawing along my skin, setting my teeth on edge, threatening to throw me back into a moment in time when I had no control over what was happening, when I was trapped, victimized, and held hostage.

But I haven't been taken yet, this time. For right now, I still have control.

I still have a chance.

I slip along the wall, towards the staircase. The sounds downstairs are growing louder, but it doesn't sound like they've made it to the upper floors yet. I crouch down, flinching with every sound, shaking so hard that I feel like, at any second, I might slip and fall. I stay very still for a moment, listening, and I clap my hand over my mouth at the sound of a window shattering, another gunshot, the crash of what sounds like another piece of furniture falling over.

"Where the fuck is everyone?" someone with a Russian-accented voice shouts from downstairs, and I feel a flood of relief as I realize that they must not have found any of the family yet. I was afraid for Agnes, but she must have run as soon as she heard the commotion—maybe out to the stables where Aldo and the children should be.

I need to get to them.

There's another shot, and I hear Gio's voice letting out what sounds like a string of curses in Italian. I pause as I reach the landing for the second floor, and start to move towards the steps again.

I step down onto the second stair, look up—and there's a man coming up towards me, gun held in one hand. He looks up, too, meeting my eyes, and there's a split second of shock for both of us as he opens his mouth to shout down to the others.

There's no time to think about what to do. I strike without thinking, reacting as Gabriel taught me during all those boxing lessons in the basement gym, aiming for the man's nose. My fist connects with his face, hard, driving upwards, and he lets out a stunned groan of shock as he tips backward, clutching at his face.

He scrambles, trying to keep from falling, and for a brief moment, it feels like everything slows down as I watch him topple backward down the stairs, falling heavily as his gun slides across the wooden floor.

The sound is muffled by the chaos on the first floor, but someone will see me any second. I don't have time to wonder how badly he's hurt, to do anything except run. Barefoot, I bolt down the stairs, grabbing for the gun that the man dropped as I hit the floor. I don't know how to shoot, but trying to aim and pulling the trigger is better than nothing at all.

"There's the woman!" Someone shouts from behind me as I bolt for the first room on my left. I shove my shoulder into the door as I fumble with the knob, and just as it opens, I feel someone grab my arm.

Once again, I act entirely on instinct. I whip around, pointing the gun at the man who tried to grab me, and pull the trigger.

The impact of it knocks me back into the door, stunning me for a brief second. My head is spinning, my fingers clenched around the gun so tightly that they're starting to go numb, and I can't look at the body in front of me. I can't look at what's left of his face.

Another rattle of gunfire startles me out of my shock.

Run!

The word echoes through my head as I bolt into the room, kicking the door closed behind me as I rush for the window at the far end. There's no one outside that I can see, and I grab the sash, shoving the window up as I start to crawl out.

I can feel the edge of the windowsill scrape my leg, but the pain barely registers. I tumble out onto the grass and spring up to my feet, running across the yard towards where I know the cars are parked at the back. No one has come out of the back door yet, but through the large windows that look into the kitchen, I see one of our security fire his weapon, a splash of blood streaking across the glass.

My stomach roils, threatening to revolt, but I don't have time to be sick. I don't have time to be afraid. I have to get to the stables, to find out where Agnes and Aldo and the children are. We need a plan to escape. To get ahold of Gabriel. To?—

One of the newer Land Rovers is unlocked. I snatch the glove compartment open, shoving the papers inside out onto the floor as I search for the spare key. My fingers are shaking so badly that I almost drop it, my every nerve on edge waiting for someone to yank open the door, to grab me and haul me out. I'm so close to getting away, but if someone sees me, I'm as good as dead.

I'd rather be dead than go back to Igor.

I manage to get the key into the ignition, desperately trying to remember everything Gabriel managed to teach me about driving in those few short lessons. The car rumbles to life, and I slam it into gear, grateful that it's automatic, at least. I don't have the slightest idea how to drive the vintage, manual version of this car that Gabriel prefers.

Behind me, I hear the slam of the back door, and I shove my foot onto the gas, panic lurching through me. The car jolts forward across the uneven path, nearly throwing me forward into the steering wheel, but I don't let up. I can hear gunshots behind me, and I vaguely realize that tears are starting to stream down my face, fear threatening to swallow me up.

My phone is in my pocket. I fumble for it as I yank the steering wheel, turning onto the long path that leads back to the stables, my hand shaking so hard that it almost falls between the seats. "Call Gabriel," I shout at the phone as I press the button down, and the robotic voice answers back, the ringing sound sending a shock of relief through me.

There's no answer. The car jolts over a particularly rough patch of ground, and the phone falls out of my hand as I grab for the steering wheel, hitting the brake hard. I can feel that I'm losing control of the vehicle, and I fumble for the gas again, trying to get off of this part of the path before the car slides.

Somewhere behind me, echoing from the house, I hear another rattle of gunfire. It startles me, and I jump, my foot sliding and hitting the brake again, hard enough to make the car slide.

I can't correct it in time. I feel myself veering off the path, the car seemingly about to tip, and I yank the wheel again, trying to correct it.

I don't see the tree until it's too late, until I swerve and can't stop in time. I see it rushing up in front of me, brace for the impact, and my last thought before my forehead slams against the steering wheel is of Gabriel.

Of his voice, whispering quietly next to me, that I don't have to leave.

And then everything goes dark.