Untamed Passion
Page 1
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 1
Contents
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
43. A Note From The Author
Unbroken Love
Chapter 1
Also by Cristiane Serruya
About Cristiane Serruya
This book is a work of fiction and the characters, dialogues, places, and incidents involving them are drawn from the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Wherever the author has used real locations, all the details and descriptions have been kept as real and accurate as possible.
All rights reserved. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, without the express written permission of the author.
This book contains an excerpt of Unbroken Love, Trust Series #4, by Cristiane Serruya. © 2018 Cristiane Serruya.
ISBN-13: 978-1980432975
Text Copyright © 2018 Cristiane Serruya
Cover by Book Cover Luv © 2018 Cristiane Serruya
Acknowledgments
First of all, I’d like to thank Margarete Bianchi. Thank you, thank you. A hundred times thank you. For believing when no one else did, for encouraging when I faltered, for your trust in my capacity.
For my right—and left—hands too:
- My cover designer, Renata Fontanive, for being, from the start, my most constant and reliable partner, helping me not only with the original awesome covers, but with the new ones, personal cards, bookmarks and online marketing. You’re the best.
- My funny, patient, loving editor, Edward M Wolfe, who was always available; who chatted and laughed with me; who supported and virtually hugged me through my crying moments; who explained all my doubts and answered asap all my emails, no matter if he had already eaten or not; during day, night and weekends; and for his icy-cold editing, not applauding me but for once (you, ogre!) as he was searching for the flaws, mistakes, wrong tones and pointing them out to me, so, in his own words: ‘To remove the fly from the ointment’. Thank you, Edward, I’m sure you made this new edition way better and consistent as it could never be without your professional—and friendly—editing. You have a special place in my heart;
NOW! For the hearts of my heart, in chronological order of arrival in my life, my biggest thanks:
My brother, Sergio Allevato, my best friend, who drew the most amazing eyes for the original first cover, and commented on all the others;
My broad, six-foot-six, stubborn, loving husband, Raphael, who hated this series with all his might. In spite of his many official—and unofficial—complaints against it, he supported and helped me through all those long two-and-a-half years.
My brilliant, older daughter Raphaela, who cried and hated me when I killed Ethan’s dog, but still helped me sort out some darker tricky scenes. When you grow up a bit, I promise I’ll let you read it all—yeah, I’ve censored it for you, baby;
My blue-eyed, spirited, youngest daughter Giovanna, who since she was a toddler called my books and my Kindle ‘The enemy’, and was so much jealous of this series, but never failed to like my FB posts;
And last but not least, a prayer to my real companion on those long, long hours, Duda, my husband’s British Bulldog, who slept and snored through all those lines. He passed away just a few days after I finished the last book of Shades of TRUST. I miss you, Duda, and I hope you are in Heaven.
To my dear, loving husband Raphael,
Real heroes are not only valued by courage or bravery,
but also by small, gentle daily acts.
You are my daily hero.
Thanks for being mine.
Chapter 1
Heathrow Airport
In one of the Heathrow by Invitation lounges
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
5:31 a.m.
Ethan’s cell phone vibrated and he looked down at the BBM message from Scott:
Her car will be arriving in a few minutes.
With deft touches, Ethan texted back:
Inform crew.
Ethan walked slowly to the lounge door. After a few minutes he spotted Sophia’s bodyguard. Zareb was broader and a head taller than most people around him and his white smile and bald black head shined under the lights.
Ethan walked out of the room pretending nonchalance.
“Sophia?” he asked.
She stopped and looked at him as he called her name. Maria, Zareb, and Steven, who was carrying a sleeping Gabriela, stopped too.
“Hey Ethan,” she gave him a tired smile. “We keep meeting at airports.”
“So it seems, darling.” He approached her and kissed her cheeks. His eyes bulged when he took in the bruises that marred her face. His hand brushed her hair back to better look at the small patch protecting the stitches. Why don’t I know about this? “What happened to you?”
“I fell.” She shrugged. “No big deal.”
Hmm. Is this true, Sophia? “I’m leaving in a few minutes. I have a meeting in São Paulo. I’m thinking of opening a branch there.”
“Really? I’m going to Rio.”
“Why don’t you come with me, then? You know I’ve got enough space for you.”
Sophia bit her lip and looked over her shoulder at her sleeping daughter.
Ethan immediately added, “For all of you, of course.”
“I— Ethan, really…thanks, but I’ve already booked—”
“Cancel it, darling.” He looked at the little girl and smiled. Go for the kill, Ashford. “Gab
riela will be more comfortable in my plane than in any other. I guarantee.”
“All right,” she conceded, and turned to Steven. “Could you please see to it? If they charge any fees, pay them with the credit card.”
“Of course, Mrs. Leibowitz,” he answered, and transferred Gabriela to Zareb’s arms.
London, Mayfair
Edward Davidoff’s apartment
5:50 a.m.
Edward’s iPhone chirped again informing him of an incoming email. He frowned as he recognized Sophia’s ringtone. He looked at his digital clock and his frown deepened even more. He kissed the blond head lying beside him and heard a soft, male moan come from him.
He got out of bed and put a hand on his pounding head, muttering, “I drank too much.”
He got up and searched through the heap of clothes on the floor for his mobile.
There was one call and one email. When he touched the screen to read it, the battery died. He cursed and went to his office.
To: Edward Davidoff (e.davidoff@leibowitzoil.co.uk)
From: Sophia Santo (sophia@santo.co.uk)
Subject: Some time off
Date: Tuesday, April 6, 2010. 5.47.53 GMT!!
_____________________________________________________
Dear Edward,
I’m taking some time off with Gabriela. I don’t know when I’ll be back. Don’t worry. Everything is okay. I just need time to think about a couple of things that happened this weekend.
I know LO is in competent hands. I trust you.
Thanks.
S xx
“What happened?” Edward murmured as he speed-dialed Sophia’s phone and got her voicemail. “Shit!” He waited for the beep. “Sophia, love, it’s me. Please, call me as soon as you can.”
He hastily got up, an idea forming in his mind. He paused in the doorway and looked at the mess in his bedroom. He shook his head, amazed, and went to the bathroom to get ready for what he guessed would be a very unusual day.
Dr. Andrew Volk’s Office
9:27 a.m.
“The death of someone close to you usually is emotionally devastating. A daughter’s death, in your case, is especially debilitating. In my opinion, by having those physical encounters, you experienced and released the anger, guilt and emptiness that you were not able to deal with. I’m not judging your choice, but you have to understand that that was your way for you to come to terms with your loss. How do you feel now?”
Seriously? Alistair raked a hand through his hair and looked at the doctor with narrowed eyes. “Do you have kids, Andrew?”
Dr. Volk cleared his throat. “That’s not what I’m asking. I have a seventeen-year-old son. I’m not saying that I know what you felt when your daughter died. Or what—”
“But let me tell you, anyway.” He stopped the doctor, raising his palm. “It was as if my heart had been ripped from my body. I was soulless. For a long time, I was hollow. There was nothing inside—” Alistair frowned and corrected himself, “No. That’s wrong. I was heartbroken and soulless, yes. However…I felt…I felt hate, anger, pain. I hated Heather. I loathed myself. I was totally consumed by dark emotions—they made me numb to everything else. I wanted to shout my rage at the world. I wanted to destroy every woman that came my way. I lost all capacity to relate to others. Mere days after the funeral, I became even more ruthless.” He put his elbows on his knees and hissed at the doctor, “I was a coward and couldn’t take my own life.”
“So, you wanted to destroy and be destroyed in each and every way possible. This is sado-masochism.”
Alistair’s eyebrows shot up on his forehead.
“And I wouldn’t call it cowardice—”
“Oh, nae! Of course no’,” Alistair gave a harsh laugh and pushed both hands in his hair, resting his forehead in his hands. “All I could think of was that I wanted to be buried with Nathalie. Alive. She didn’t like the dark, you know? I wish I were inside her little coffin. Singing her a lullaby to keep her fears away. Holding her, so she wouldn’t feel cold and alone. Protecting her—” His throat closed and tears filled his eyes.
He was overcome by a longing so devastating, it would have cleaved him not so long ago.
But Alistair was a different man now.
He closed his eyes and breathed deeply a few times, his mind seeking comfort in his memories of Sophia and Gabriela.
Dr. Volk was a professional and was more than used to listening to sad stories, but he was a father too. He was moved by the gut-wrenching pain that was ripping apart the man seated on the sofa.
Alistair dried his eyes, leaned back on the couch, and looked at his therapist. “I couldn’t fulfill my desire to be with her. I was powerless to go back in time and save her from—” He waved his hand in the air. A minute passed before Alistair opened his eyes again and asked hoarsely, “Does that give you an idea?”
“Yes. And I can relate to your feelings. You didn’t think it was fair to love and to be loved. To feel pleasure, to give pleasure. Let me tell you, I would call this a normal reaction, if you had stopped on the feelings and had not advanced into action. Don’t be afraid of feeling, Alistair. Give yourself over to all these dark emotions that scare you because you think that they will make you less than a man. They will not. On the contrary, they will make you grow.”
A grimace appeared on Alistair’s face. “I did feel them. They tore me apart. I can’t—” He shook his head so hard that a lock fell over his eye. “I can’t face it all over again. You can’t imagine the pain. I can’t. I should have been more careful. I should have called Alice. Nathalie—” Alistair choked on his daughter’s name and looked down at his hands, moved. I loved you so much, my dear, my baby.
“I understand,” the two words softly said, were full of meaning. Dr. Volk discretely looked at the clock positioned beside Alistair. Their time was up. But he could not let the session end that way. “You resent things so fiercely because you were not capable of taking care of her as your family always took care of you. And, Heather was the epitome of carelessness. She didn’t take care of you or of your daughter. I would go further and say that she didn’t take care of herself. And you are destroying yourself because you know, deep inside, unconsciously, that you are not omnipotent.”
Alistair felt as if Dr. Volk had slapped him. He breathed deep and clenched his fists, trying to control his anger.
“Stop, Alistair. Don’t always be so in control. This is tiring and damaging. Here is the right place to vent all your anger and frustrations.” Dr. Volk waited but Alistair didn’t say a word. “You lost all the women of your life in a short period of time. Your wife, your daughter, and then your mother. People confuse life and death. Life comprises sadness, pain, and death. No one can escape those, and surrendering to those feelings helps healing. The depression—”
“You want me to succumb to depression as my mother did?” Alistair asked, incredulous. “What good did that do for her? Nae. I’m going to fight against all those debilitating feelings.”
“I’m not suggesting you become depressed and lose all your strength. Appropriate bereavement is normal, and even healthy, and it will lessen and pass in time, while major depression may not, and requires treatment. Alistair, unresolved grief is worse than the grief itself. Since Nathalie’s death, have you been living a normal, happy, and healthy life? You told me that you lost the ability to trust others, that you avoided relationships and felt emotionally numb. Do you still feel like this?”
For many seconds, Alistair stayed silent, revisiting the last months. When he answered, his voice was full of awe. “Nae. She came and changed everything.” He closed his eyes and whispered, “As if by magic, Sophia changed everything.”
“Magic.” Dr. Volk smiled. “If you want to call trusting, caring and feeling, magic, so be it.” The doctor leaned in Alistair’s direction. “Because from what you told me, Sophia isn’t afraid of trusting, caring and feeling. I guess she is just organizing her life to show herself fully to you. Because
one cannot invite the other to share one’s life if one is not whole. This, Alistair, is her magic. Unfortunately, our time is over. I have an…assignment for you. I want you to reflect on how you feel now that you are in a steady relationship. What did Sophia do to change your feelings? What about her makes you feel so right? There’s a poem I like very much. Renascence by Edna St. Vincent Millay. I’ll send it to you by email and I want you to read it and tell me your impressions. We will talk about it on Thursday.”
The City of London Bank Headquarters
10:17 a.m.
“Davidoff, good morning. How may I help you?” Alistair’s deep voice sounded tired and despondent even for himself.
“What have you done to her?” asked Edward, his voice tinged with anger.
What? “I…” he halted, and looked astonished at his brother, who raised an eyebrow. He put the call on speaker. “I’ve done nothing. Where is she?”
“She is gone. Nobody knows where she is. She left you a letter,” a heavy breath was exhaled.
“She is…gone,” he repeated in a murmur, frowning. Gone…where? Why?
Alistair strode down the marble corridor that led to the garage like a man possessed. What Edward had just said still echoed in his mind. He remembered Sophia’s civil and distant manner. I am such a fool! It’s all my fault. I should have known she would uncover my darkness. One way or another.