Page 7 of The Red Queen

After… she wasn’t sure what she would do. Either disappear into obscurity or perhaps marry a shop owner somewhere. Or she would do what she was bred to do; rise up and run her own cartel.

Her eyes met Giovanni’s.

Yes, she would lay the foundation of her new empire in the blood of his broken body and the ashes of his organization. She would make him regret ever hearing her name or underestimating her.

Before she could manage a single step on her own, she stumbled into his arms.

He bent, picking her up and hefting her against his chest.

She cried out as he jarred her injuries and he paused, giving her time to breathe through the pain.

“Put me down,” she snarled.

“No.”

Without another word, he exited the airplane, her damaged hand cradled between them as he carried her.

The drive to his home was less than an hour. They sat in the back of a black, tinted-window luxury car. She knew little about cars, but this one was roomy and comfortable. His men occupied several other vehicles, which surrounded theirs.

“I thought you lived in Venice,” she said dully as their car wove through the Italian countryside. She’d never been to Venice, but knew the city was built on a series of canals. Not an easy place to plan an escape from.

“I live outside of Venice on a country estate.”

Ah, maybe more chances for escape?

The vehicle came to a stop at the end of a long, tree-lined driveway and their driver rolled down the window to speak to someone in the guard station. The gates opened and they wound their way up a paved road toward a massive sprawling estate, which was surrounded by rolling countryside and vineyards.

It all seemed so civilized compared to her home in the Sinaloa state of Mexico. The center of the Garza cartel had been in the wild bush country nestled in a mountain valley. It took all-terrain jeeps and helicopters to get them in and out of their home. The natural fortress had discouraged visitors but had also made Desi’s job more difficult. For her to connect with other cartels, she had to travel.

The car pulled up outside of Giovanni’s house, coming to a gradual halt while Desi looked up, trying not to show her awe on her face. She’d lived in a mansion with Nico, but nothing like this huge gothic structure. It was dark and imposing against the lush green of the countryside. There were two main wings with turrets on either side and ivy crawling protectively up the stone slabs in a verdant carpet.

“It was built in 1732 and occupied by my family since.”

Desi cast him a look. She wanted to tell him she didn’t care about his family history, but that would be a lie. She felt strangely curious about her captor. And she would indulge that curiosity, learning everything she could about him until she found the opportunity to kill him.

“Come.” He took her arm and led her inside, mindful to go slow as she favoured her gunshot leg.

The doors opened before they reached them, and a woman clothed all in black and looking exactly like she’d stepped out of Victorian England met them.

“Signore Savino,” she said in a low voice, her gaze malevolent as it landed on Desi.

Without greeting her, Giovanni asked, “Have you arranged the guest quarters as I requested?”

“Exactly as you outlined, Signore.”

Guest quarters? That didn’t sound so bad.

Desi revised her opinion as, instead of ascending the wide double staircase just off the entrance of the house, she was led into the bowels of the house. They entered a wine cellar where they passed row after row of wine. Some of the bottles were covered in dust and cobwebs, while others looked shiny and new. She knew very little of wine beyond what she liked to drink, but she suspected she was looking at the collection of a connoisseur.

Giovanni led her down a set of stone stairs in the back of the cellar. The air grew noticeably more chill and damper. They were definitely underground now.

Desi shivered and her finger throbbed in pain. She was nauseous and realized she’d been drugged twice on a stomach that hadn’t seen food in almost two days.

By the time Giovanni opened a large door, reinforced with a metal plate, she was dizzy from hunger and pain. Together they walked through the door and into a room lushly decorated with a four-poster bed, a chest of drawers, a mirror, and a large oriental rug. A single barred window too high to reach leaked little light.

It was a dungeon fit for a princess.

“Welcome home,” Giovanni rasped in her ear.

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