Page 32 of Stolen By the Don

“You look familiar,” he says, tilting his head. “Wait a minute…”

My heart stutters.Let it be someone else.

“I know you.” He grins. “I followed Austin the last time he had to make a delivery. We were at Mr. Volkov’s house. I saw you there.” He points, while my heart digs a hole for me to bury myself. “You’re the boss’s wife, aren’t you? What are you doinghere? You look terrible.” He whistles. “Hold on, I’ll call Austin. He can get through to Mr.—”

I don’t wait to find out what he has to say before I turn in the opposite direction, hastily walking away. If he calls Austin and Roman finds out where I am, I’ll never make it out again. I’d rather take the heat and the fatigue than be locked up against my will, forced to marry the man who killed my fiancé and intends to kill my father.

Which means Ireallyhave to find a way out of this place.

Like a never-ending comedy piece, it begins to rain. Heavily.

Hours, minutes…I’m unsure how much time passes while I remain huddled under a leaking overhang next to a locked shed, fighting the cold that sinks through my clothes and into my body. The heat was enough to weaken my knees, but the cold is worse. I try rubbing warmth into my arms, but my fingers barely move. Everything feels distant and fuzzy, and I slip in and out of consciousness more times than I can count.

Maybe this is it.

I didn’t think my death was going to be caused by hypothermia in the middle of nowhere, but it feels like this is where it’s going to end. At least it’s better than living a life that isn’t mine. If Roman wants me, he might have to make do with my dead, decomposing body.

I don’t want to die.A small part of me screams, struggling to hold on. But my body slumps, my eyelids dragging shut. Everything tilts and blurs as I surrender myself to whatever comes next, letting go. Then, out of nowhere, warmth. My eyelids flutter, too weak to open, as I feel myself floating, cradled against a warm, solid chest with strong arms cradling my body.

There’s a familiar scent mixed with the rain. It winds around me like a cocoon, wrapping my fading senses in the comfort of recognition.

“You’re one stubborn woman, Isabella Ricci.”

The voice cuts through the haze, rough and gravelly, laced with an exasperated fondness that somehow reaches the part of me that isn’t frozen. A soft gasp escapes my lips. Roman. He’s here.

For a moment, warmth floods my chest—hope blooming like a fragile flower, but it wilts just as fast. Because if he’s here, it means only one thing.

He’s taking me back.

Panic jolts through my weakened limbs, and I push, pressing my hands against his chest in a feeble attempt to free myself. My muscles tremble from the effort, but it’s like trying to move a mountain. His grip tightens—firm and unyielding—as he catches my wrists in one hand and pins them against me.

“Are you really going to fight me now?” His voice is tinged with disbelief and a glimmer of amusement.

A chuckle rumbles through his chest, low and soft, and I feel it against my cheek—like a warm vibration, a tether, a cruel comfort. It’s maddening how tender it feels. Maddening how, even now, in the middle of my defiance, my body reacts like it’s known this warmth all its life. I’m unsure if it’s exhaustion or heartbreak, but I stop fighting. My head tips forward, my lashes brushing against his shirt as I sag in his arms.

“I hate you,” I whisper, though the words lack bite. They barely carry breath.

“I know,” he replies. “But not enough to let yourself die in the rain.”

I hate that he’s right, and I hate my body more for betraying me as it embraces the warmth greedily when Roman gently tucks me into the back seat of a car, closing the door behind him.

10

ISABELLA

“I’ve got it.”

I drift in and out of sleep, catching the tail end of voices as I’m lifted in the air again. This time, I know it’s Roman and the smell of myprison—his home.

Why did I bother going through the whole slew of getting into old overalls, hiding inside a barrel, getting tossed and turned, banging my head against the metal floor of the back of the van, if I was just going to end up back where I started?

It’s unfair.

It’s so…

What is that smell?

Hints of jasmine and lemon fill the air, and I hear the faint sound of water running in the background.

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