Page 81 of Deadly Vows

If not for Luca, Enzo would never have been able to make this choice. Nor would I even be here to be angry. My life would have ended with others making choices for me. But just because he’s been protecting me doesn’t wash away the damage he’s done—the type of man he is. My hair, my ribs, my attempt: all of those were thanks to Luca. My husband, who was raised that way, was without a choice, just like I was.

I laugh aloud, tilting my head toward the sky. Luca is right, we’re both fucked up. We deserve one another. But does my resentment of what we are make me selfish?

No, it only makes me a hypocrite.

“Mrs. Pasquino.” I open my eyes to see the guard who drove me away hesitantly stepping next to me.

“Mr. Pasquino has requested we return to the estate,” he says gently.

I pull in a deep breath, looking back at the graying sky. The last thing I want to do now is face Luca, especially after yet another piece of my life has been revealed to be by his hand.

“Okay,” I murmur, standing.

I quietly follow the guard to the waiting car, the backseat feeling cold as we pull out of the parking lot to head back to the estate. Rain slowly begins to fall as we continue the quiet drive,pattering against the windshield. It helps fill the silence as well as the thoughts running rampant in my mind.

My eyes grow heavy as I keep my attention on the road. A car pulls up next to us as the lanes switch to two, passing us quickly. As it moves in front of us, it suddenly hits the brakes.

“What the hell?” the guard shouts, attempting to swerve around the car, but another car is behind us, smashing against the bumper.

“Shit!” He cries out as he tries to swerve, but the cars have us blocked in. I scream as another car comes up to the right of the car to block us in, but my guard slams on his brakes, twisting the steering wheel, and we miraculously break free.

“Someone’s targeting us!” He uses his free hand to press the earpiece, shouting into it and maneuvering away from the attackers. My heart slams against my chest as I grip the door handle to steady myself, trying to remain calm as my life hangs in his hands.

“This is Violi! We’re being attacked—I have her here in the backseat. We’re nearing the downtown district. I’m six miles south of the interstate—ah!”

Bullets fly across the windshield, and I scream in panic. The windshield doesn’t shatter; only circular patterns appear, and I realize the windshield is bulletproof.

“They’re bringing heat! I need help!”

The car is jerked hard to the right, and I am sent flying into the door as an array of honks sounds around us. Whoever is after us doesn’t care what happens to innocent bystanders. They’re out for blood and want me dead.

“Dammit!” My guard screams again as we are surrounded. Suddenly, the car swerves, and we are airborne. My stomach lurches as the car flips over several times, the seatbelt crushing my chest as we finally come to a halt in the ditch. My chest burnsas I become aware of other injuries sustained in the crash, and I cough as pain radiates over me.

I grunt in pain as blood trickles from my head to my face. The sounds of shouting coming toward the car fill my senses, but I can’t make out what’s being said as my consciousness wanes. I pull in a ragged breath, saying a silent prayer that I’ll make it out of this, but something tells me I won’t.

It’s a struggle to remain conscious. I know I’ve been in and out of it a lot, as strangers have entered the room and left with only warbles to indicate their presence. But now, as I open my eyes, blinking away sleep, the strange room finally comes into focus.

It’s a small room, the floor carpeted but with no windows, so I don’t know what time of day it is. I try to sit up on the uncomfortable cot, flinching in pain. My body is sore from the wreck. Cuts and bruises remain on my arms, and I don’t have the strength to look at my legs. I slowly reach up, my fingers brushing over the thick gauze on my temple, and I notice the IV in my arm.

My mind shifts to the wreck, nausea washing over me as I recall the terror of us running for our lives. Whoever it was must not have wanted me dead, seeing as I’m still here. They must have mistaken me for someone else. Or possibly thought I was Luca instead.

The door to the room sounds, and a man enters.

I don’t know who he is as he takes a seat at the small table in the center of the room. He has a folder in his hand labeled “Pasquino” and a tray of food that he also places on the table. He quietly flips through the folder before shifting his attention to me.

“Hungry?” he asks, gesturing to the tray of food.

I narrow my gaze but don’t respond. He’s an older man, his hair graying slightly. And he’s dressed in a suit, meaning his job must be somewhat important, and he’s not some hired gun.

He scoffs, placing the file on the table to reveal a picture of me taken during a night out with Luca.

“Elise Trovoli. Now, Pasquino, since your marriage into the Pasquino family a little over a year ago. Twenty-three next month. No previous employment, no driver’s license, hell, not even a gym membership. School records are sealed, no credit cards, not even as an authorized user. Nothing. You’re a ghost. A fairytale we tell one another to make your husband seem more human,” he says.

I still don’t respond. This man is obviously an enemy.

“He kept you well away from the government eye. Quite honestly, we didn’t know you existed until the incident with your half-brother. Your entire statement was scratched from the record. The cop involved resigned the next day,” he says as he spreads more images on the table.

There are pictures and articles of Luca. I slowly stand from the bed, pulling the IV from my arm before making my way to the table. I plop down across from the man, ignoring the tantalizing smell of the food as I take in Luca’s pictures. The articles are accompanied by flattering pictures of him walking across an airport runway or shaking hands with a foreign leader.

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