The Fall (House of Sin Book 2)

by Elisabeth Naughton

  Crossing the room without another word, I moved quickly back out into the hall and closed the door at my back. My footsteps sounded in the corridor, but I didn’t care who heard. It was close to six a.m. It was late enough for me to visit Natalie and wake her—even if I knew she’d never gone to sleep.

  Nerves churned inside me as I lifted my hand to knock. I knew she had a million questions. I knew she was likely pissed at me. I could deal with all that so long as she listened and followed instructions so we could get out of here without incident.

  My knuckles rapped against the door, and I held my breath and listened for her movement on the other side. But fear swirled in my gut when I remembered the numb look I’d seen in Natalie’s pretty blue eyes just before I’d left her. And as the seconds stretched in silence with no footsteps or rasps of cloth or shallow breaths from her room, that fear turned to chilling panic.

  I reached for the door handle and turned, but it was locked. Knocking again, I said, “Natalie? It’s Luc.”

  Still nothing. Nothing but absolute silence.

  The hair on my nape prickled, and sweat beaded along my spine. I gripped the door handle and shoved my shoulder into the wood. The old door didn’t even budge.

  If she had the desk inside still pushed up against it, kicking and slamming my body against the door would do no good. My pulse shot up as I pictured her balcony. Before I could change my mind, I rushed back for the stairs and took them two at a time until I reached the ground level.

  The courtyard was still empty when I reached it. I ran out ten yards and looked up at her windows. They were dark, and her balcony door was closed, just as I’d told her to leave it.

  My pulse pounded with options. I couldn’t yell—that would alert anyone who was awake, and I didn’t want to scare her if she’d finally fallen asleep. But the tightness in my chest told me she wasn’t sleeping.

  I sprinted to the trellis and climbed it in record time. My boots landed against the stone balcony with a clap. I reached for the door handles, expecting them to be locked, but to my horror, they pulled right open. Heart in my throat, I rushed into the room only to find it empty.

  “Natalie?”

  I searched everywhere—the bedroom, the balcony, the bathroom—but couldn’t find her. My panic went stratospheric, and my first thought was Dante just down the hall, but a quick glance at the door told me the desk was indeed still pushed up against it. Dante couldn’t have gotten in that way, and if he’d come in through the balcony, he’d have had to take her out that way as well.

  There were no signs of a struggle. I couldn’t see Natalie going anywhere with Dante or anyone after last night…not without a fight. I looked around again, trying to piece together what had happened and where she was, and stilled when I spotted her cell on the bed.

  My nerves shot up as I reached for her phone and flipped it over, checking her call log. She hadn’t called anyone nor received any calls or texts. I opened her web browser, then sucked in a sharp breath at the article she’d left open.

  My stomach pitched as I rushed to her wardrobe and tossed the contents. Her clothes were there. Her purse, wallet, and her passport, which I’d returned to her after we’d checked out of the hotel in Venice, were not.

  Dread enveloped me, a mixture of fear and panic that tightened my chest until I wanted to scream. As soon as my parents realized Natalie was gone, they’d know she was a threat. A person didn’t run unless they were scared. And there was nothing here to be scared of except that ritual held last night.

  Options spun through my mind like a vortex. I could try to play it off to them that we’d had a fight and that she was angry with me, but I knew my father would never buy that.

  Salvatici men did not argue with their women. They controlled them. If I couldn’t contain one simple American female, he’d still send our House after her because, according to him, an insolent woman who couldn’t be dominated wasn’t worth her space on this planet. Which meant…

  My stomach churned with a bitter sickness that chilled my blood.

  Which meant, in one night, my entire world had tilted right off its axis. I had to get to her before anyone else did.

  Slipping her cell phone into my pocket, I turned quickly for the balcony, but pressure condensed in my chest before I could even reach the doors.

  In a rush of pure terror, I realized I had no idea where she was headed—back to New York or home to Idaho.

  And if I chose the wrong location, we could both be dead before I even recognized my mistake.

  13

  Natalie

  I was more tired than I’d ever been in my life.

  I wasn’t sure how many hours I’d traveled. It was all a blur in my mind—running down the long Salvatici drive in the dark, terrified I’d be caught. Staying in the shadows along the road in the wee hours of morning, searching for anyone who could help me. Realizing I’d left my cell phone behind but determined not to go back. Finding a convent—ironically—across the small valley from Luc’s family compound and begging them to take me anywhere so long as it was away from Tuscany.

  The sixtyish woman who’d met me at the door had offered to drive me into the nearest village, but I’d balked. It was only when I’d used the Salvatici name that she’d snapped to attention and realized I was escaping a nightmare.

  She’d driven me straight to Milan. We’d steered clear of Florence and Rome because she’d said they were too close and that people would look in those places first.

  I didn’t know how she knew so much about Luc’s family, but I didn’t want to ask for fear my already packed brain might implode. And I’d decided leaving my cell phone behind was probably a blessing in disguise. Luc couldn’t use its GPS signal with some fancy software to track my movements.

  In Milan, I’d been able to catch a short flight to London, where I’d sat for hours, waiting for a seat back to the States. Ten hours later, I’d finally landed on American soil in Seattle, and after another hour-and-a-half flight, I stepped off the plane in Boise barely able to move from the hours cramped in coach.

  It was dark when the cab driver pulled to a stop in front of my small Cape Cod. My eyes drooped as I fished cash from my wallet and handed it to him with a weak “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said, taking the money. “Too bad they lost your suitcase. The airlines suck.”

  I forced a smile I didn’t feel and shrugged at my lie, then grabbed my purse and climbed out. As he pulled away from the curb, his brake lights shining red in the darkness, I turned to look at my small rental house, and a wave of despair washed through me.

  My hand fumbled in my purse until I found my keys. I felt like I was moving in slow motion as I climbed the front porch. The key turned in the lock with a click, and seconds later I stepped into the cold house, flipped on a light in the entryway, and stared at my silent living room and empty kitchen.

  It was just as I’d left it. White couch and matching side chairs I’d saved months to buy after college. The white-washed wood and glass coffee table I’d found at a flea market stacked neatly with magazines I’d recycled from the boutique. The flat-screen TV on the wall across the room my mom had insisted on buying for me that I rarely turned on. The adjacent white kitchen counters bare but for a thin layer of dust because no one had used them in weeks.

  Since I hadn’t known how long I’d be gone, I’d had an elderly neighbor check on the house regularly. Clearly, she’d done a good job. My house and everything in it was exactly as I’d left it. But I wasn’t.

  The woman who’d walked out of here for New York, determined and confident, was now battered and broken. Not just in body, but in heart and mind and soul.

  Tears welled in my eyes. Tears I didn’t think I had left to cry. All I’d done on the plane was cry, and I was emotionally and physically wrung out.

  I wanted to sleep. I wanted to forget the last few weeks had ever happened. I wanted to forget Luc, but the pit in the bottom of my soul told me I probabl
y never truly would.

  The cordless phone on the kitchen counter blinked red, indicating messages. I knew several were from my mother so I ignored them, just as I’d ignored the messages she’d left on my cell the last week. I couldn’t talk to her now. Didn’t know when I’d have the strength.

  Not bothering with the light, I found a bottle of wine in the cupboard, popped the cork, and poured myself a large glass. The red wasn’t as good as the Salvatici wine I’d had in Tuscany, but I tried not to think about that.

  I tried not to think about anything related to Italy as I carried my wineglass down the dark hall and into my bedroom. But the images were already coming back as I flipped my nightstand light on and moved into the master bath. The masks, the capes, the things I’d read on the Internet, and Luc…

  Luc in Rome, when he’d kissed me that first time in the elevator as if he couldn’t stop himself. Luc in Venice, when we’d walked through the city hand in hand and he’d laughed and dragged me into dark corners and teased me until my whole body had been ready to melt. And Luc that last night in Tuscany, when he’d come to my room looking so anguished as he’d apologized and held me tightly to him and told me how much he needed me. When he’d made love to me so sweetly, I’d felt connected to him on another level. When he’d begged me to never leave him.

  Emotions closed my throat and pushed tears over my lashes to slide down my cheeks. I couldn’t reconcile the two Lucs I’d seen. Swiping at my stupid tears with one hand, I set my wine on the counter, sat on the edge of the tub, and flipped on the water, hoping a bath would drag me toward sleep.

  How could he say such tender things to me then leave my bed to join that… that depraved ritual in the woods?

  How could he touch my heart so sweetly one minute, then turn around and use women as disgustingly as those masked men did?

  And how could he make me—a woman who was intelligent and independent and strong, dammit—fall so completely and utterly in love with him if he was really a monster like the ones I’d read about on those web pages?

  The pain wrenching my heart radiated outward to every cell, making my whole body ache. The only answer I could come up with was that I hadn’t known the real Luc. One of them—and I didn’t know which—had been a lie. An elaborate lie that had demolished not only my world but everything I thought I knew about it.

  I wanted to go back to being naïve. I wanted to go back to the days when I didn’t know about beta slaves and sex rituals and blackmail and illicit activities and… and Luciano Salvatici.

  I dropped my head into my hands and let the tears fall. I let the emotions shake my shoulders and consume my body as the water ran in the tub beside me. At some point, I had to stop crying, right? At some point, I had to realize I’d done the right thing by running and find a way to get over him… Right?

  “Well, now,” a low voice said from the bathroom doorway, interrupting my pity party. “Wine and a bath. Sounds like fun to me.”

  My head jerked up. Through blurry vision, I spotted a burly man dressed all in black with a shaved head. His meaty hands hung loosely at his sides, and he stared at me with a sinister grin.

  Adrenaline surged inside my body, and I lurched to my feet. “How did you get in here? What are you doing here?”

  “Oh, now, honey,” he said in that menacing voice as he stepped into the bathroom, a lurking, looming shadow coming toward me. “I think it’s pretty obvious what I’m here for. I’m here for you.”

  Panic and the fight response made me reach for the wineglass. Before he could grab me, I slammed it hard against the side of his head.

  Red wine and broken glass sprayed over his face and into his eyes. He jerked back and howled. Heart thundering, I surged past him and sprinted for my bedroom.

  He growled and lurched toward me. I slipped past his grip. His body smacked against the ground. Fear flooded my chest. I pushed my legs harder. Just as I rounded the corner into my bedroom, his hand hooked my ankle and yanked me down.

  I screamed and hit the brown shag carpeting with a grunt. He hollered as I kicked out, trying to break his hold on my leg. He spoke English but I couldn’t hear him. All I could hear was the terrified thunder of my pulse in my ears. That and Luc’s voice whispering in my ear back in Tuscany, saying, “If they find us, they’ll kill us.”

  No… No, no, please no…

  I didn’t want to die. I fought harder than I ever had. My hands grappled for something—anything I could use for a weapon as he wrestled with my flailing legs and tried to pull me toward him. My arm swept under the bed. My fingertips grazed something hard. In a rush of understanding, I realized I’d found one of the five-pound hand weights I owned but rarely used. I angled that direction and wrapped my fingers around the handle.

  The man yelled, “Fucking bitch!” and tugged on my legs hard, dragging me across the carpet toward him.

  With one large hand, he flipped me to my back. But I was ready. I swung out with the weight and nailed him in the other side of the head.

  He screamed and fell back into my nightstand. The light wobbled and crashed to the ground, breaking the bulb and dousing the room in darkness.

  Free of his grip, I scrambled to my feet and ran out of the bedroom and into the living room. I made it as far as the edge of the kitchen before he slammed into me and sent my body sailing sideways into the cabinets.

  My head cracked against wood. My right shoulder and ribs took the brunt of the impact, sending blinding pain down my side. I grunted and slumped to the tile floor, tried to get up, but everything around me spun.

  Footsteps sounded close. Panic swelled inside me. I knew if I didn’t get up, if I didn’t run, he was going to grab me. Probably rape and kill me. I shifted to the left, but my body wasn’t working, and all I could do was fall to the floor.

  “They said you were a spitfire. Guess I’m gonna find out just how much of one you are right now.”

  He knelt on one knee above me. My vision came and went, but I saw the blurry shape of his face coming toward me. And I could smell him—sweat and oil and french fries. Those couldn’t be the last things I smelled before I left this world.

  I reached back with one arm, grabbed the underside of the counter, and tried to pull myself away, but the pain was too intense, and I didn’t make it more than two inches down the tiles before I groaned.

  He chuckled and reached for his belt buckle. “You need to learn a lesson in how to treat a man, bitch, and I’m the one who’s gonna teach you.”

  Out of nowhere, I pictured Luc. His strong square jaw, the stubble on his tanned skin, his straight nose, perfect lips, and those swirling, stormy one-of-a-kind gray eyes that had so thoroughly engulfed me in a darkness I’d never thought I’d like.

  No. I wasn’t going to imagine Luc. He couldn’t save me this time, and I wasn’t going to give up.

  I kicked and clawed and fought with everything I had. My foot landed hard against the man’s groin. He grunted and fell back on his heels.

  Pain shot through my body as I flipped to my belly and scrambled to my feet. But my legs weren’t working right. I slipped on the tiles and hit the ground with a grunt.

  Cool air whooshed over my back. And then I heard a struggle. Fists slamming into flesh. The crackle of glass followed by a gurgling, choking sound. And then… nothing.

  No, that wasn’t right. My eyes flew wide. I glanced behind me and stared into utter blackness. I heard breaths. Heavy ones. And footsteps. Coming near.

  Panic resurged inside me. Pain ricocheted through my body as I shifted back on my butt and scooted farther into the kitchen, deeper into the shadows. The dark figure stalking toward me wasn’t the same one who’d attacked me earlier. It was someone new.

  A second wave of fear slammed into me, and I shifted upright to lean against the cabinet. My brain quickly rifled through the contents in the drawers above me.

  I was near the knives. If I could find the strength to pull the drawer open, I could grab one. I could use it to defend m
yself. I could—

  “Santo Dio. Hold still, Natalie. Don’t try to move.”

  I froze, because that sounded like Luc. But it couldn’t be Luc. He was in Italy. He wasn’t in my kitchen. He wasn’t—

  An overhead light flipped on, blinding me. I blinked several times against the burn in my retinas. When I finally tore my eyes open, I stared up in total disbelief.

  Luc knelt next to me, wrapped an arm around my back, and gently pulled me away from the cabinet and onto his lap. Cradling me against him, he pressed a dish towel to my forehead.

  I registered something warm and slick near my temple where he held the rag, but I was too dazed by what had just happened and the fact he was here to realize what it was.

  “Ah, Dio, angioletto.” He skimmed his lips over my forehead, my nose, my cheek—whatever he could reach. “I’m here. I’m here now.”

  I didn’t know how that was possible. I didn’t know how he’d found me or what was going on. All I could focus on was his strength surrounding me and his sinfully delicious scent of jasmine and cedar and rum that made my whole body tremble with a rush of memories.

  I let him hold me—I was too weak to pull away. I let him kiss me—and oh, his lips felt so good. And as I sank into him, I let him be the strength I needed. That love—the love I tried to tell myself I didn’t feel for him—came rushing back, filling my chest, energizing my soul, making me feel… alive.

  I closed my eyes and held on to him. But I was still so confused. “I don’t… I don’t understand. What happened? Who was that man?”

  “No one you need to worry about. He’s gone. He won’t hurt you again.” He pressed his lips to my temple and gently stroked a hand down my hair. “Everything’s going to be okay. I’ll take care of you, angioletto. You’re mine, Natalie. I’d do anything for you. Anything it takes.”

  A chill trickled down my spine because he’d said words like that to me before. In Tuscany. Right before he’d left me to rejoin that sex rite in the trees.