I need to tell you something that is going to be difficult for you to hear.
Please forgive me for not telling you earlier, but I didn’t want you to suffer needlessly. And please forgive me for not telling you before your trip, but I didn’t want you to change your plans.
I have cancer. A very slow growing cancer, but one that has progressed beyond any type of cure. We first found out six months ago and after many conversations with Vincenzo and lots of prayer, I decided not to seek treatment. It was too far progressed. Even under the best circumstances, I still don’t have long to live. I did not want to spend the last few weeks, months, or year of my life sick from the chemotherapy. Instead, Vincenzo and I decided to live each moment that was left to the fullest.
I know you, and I know you will be angry for not telling you before you left. But I know you needed to do this. And I could not ask you to wait until I was gone. I don’t know how long I have left. A week? A month? Six months? It wouldn’t be fair to you to have to wait.
Instead, we came up with a plan. If it looks like things are growing worse, Vincenzo will send a private jet to Central America to find you and bring you home. The jet is in standby at the airport right now.
This is all I could do. Please understand and respect why I have made the decisions I have made in all this. They weren’t easy choices, but were made after much thought and prayer.
Do know that I love you more than the universe and that will never change no matter where my physical body is. My love transcends the physical.
And know that I’m okay with the idea of death. I will be with Caterina and your father and that knowledge fills me with peace. The only regret I have is the sorrow I will leave behind. I don’t want you or your brothers to grieve for me. That is what breaks my heart right now. Please try to remember this during the hard times. Please be strong for me. You’re a Giovanni. You are strong. Be strong for Grace. She needs you now more than ever. I will be here when you get home and we will talk more.
By the time Gabriella was done reading, the note was crumpled from her grip. Now, with hindsight, she saw how her mother’s health had been failing. Now, she understood why The Saint had “retired” six months ago. He wasn’t spending the rest of his life making Maria happy; he was going to spend the rest of her life making her happy.
Instead of weeping and wailing, Gabriella was numb and stunned. Staring at the wall, she felt something welling up inside her. Out of that numbness came a fierce determination to escape.
She needed a plan.
THE DINING ROOM HAD long red velvet drapes lining the walls. On one wall, they parted to reveal a floor to ceiling window that opened up to the veranda with the pool’s icy blue water sparkling in the background. A cool breeze sucked the drapes in and out like a breath. As darkness fell, tiny lights lining the roof and floor of the veranda turned on. A string of larger lights strung up on old-fashioned lampposts surrounded the paved area bordering the pool.
The dinner so far had taken two hours. The first course, a small shrimp cocktail and champagne was served at seven and then the main course, a massive pan of paella didn’t arrive until about seven thirty, accompanied by a bottle of white wine.
Just as the main course was served, the pulsing sound of a helicopter that sounded as if it were right outside the window startled Gabriella. Esmeralda didn’t blink and continued ladling out fresh shrimp and scallops saturated in saffron.
Part of Gabriella’s plan was to do what the masked man said—not be difficult and enjoy her stay so she could be returned home sooner rather than later. On the surface, at least. Behind the scenes, she would do everything she could to make an escape plan and get back to her mother. So, when nobody mentioned the helicopter, Gabriella pretended to take it in stride. It was the first stage of her temporary acting career.
But as soon as the older woman went back through the swinging doors to the kitchen, Nico leaned over and whispered, “There is a helipad on the roof. I think this is how the man of the house comes and goes.”
The man of the house. Who the hell was he? Was he Guatemalan? Gabriella had heard an accent, so English was his second language. He had fair skin rare in these parts.
He used some clichés and colloquialisms that made her think at the very least he had lived in America or been educated there. For instance, using the phrase, “to die for” which was ominous under the circumstances, but also a very American figure of speech.
Whenever Esmeralda was in earshot, she and Nico talked about lighthearted subjects, such as art, film, and books. Gabriella was surprised at how easy it was to talk to Nico. This time, unlike their conversation at the campfire, they avoided anything too personal.
Gabriella raved about the latest mystery she had read, “The Saints of the Lost and Found,” and said it had inspired her to take a trip to Louisiana the week after she read it, hoping to relive the scenes in the book, at least in her imagination.
Nico talked about the first time he saw the movie “The Dreamers” and how he fell in love with Eva Green and wanted to quit university and move to Paris.
During a pause in the conversation, Gabriella quelled the urge to ask about his scar. For some reason, maybe because she found it so sexy, bringing it up seemed like an intimacy she wasn’t ready to enter with him. She focused on keeping the conversation light. The only urgency was whenever Esmeralda left the room.
That’s when they talked about the hacienda and their captor. During the long pauses when Esmeralda was in the kitchen, Gabriella would lean toward Nico and whisper.
“What can you see from your room? Do you think we could escape? How could we get through those gates to the main road? He said we have free reign of the property, let’s go outside tonight and figure out our escape plan.”
Nico listened carefully and answered each question patiently.
Ultimately, he told her they would probably have to do a little more reconnaissance if they wanted an effective escape plan.
“Right now, we know so little. What I do know is there is a twelve-foot wall surrounding this compound and on the other side, are dangerous animals that probably wouldn’t mind a taste of human flesh,” he said.
By eight, after the main course was cleared, Esmeralda brought a salad of lightly dressed fresh greens.
“It’s very Mediterranean, isn’t it?” Gabriella said to Nico.
His brow furrowed and he waited for Esmeralda to return to the kitchen before he answered. “I suspect our host isn’t Guatemalan. He seems Spanish. The only thing that makes me wonder is why we are eating so early if he is truly from Spain. Dinner there is more common, at say, ten at night.”
“Maybe he is accommodating my American taste?”
Nico nodded, taking a sip of his wine.
By nine, Esmeralda had brought small dishes of dessert—flan drizzled in a fresh caramel sauce—with small goblets of Sangria.
When they finished dessert, Gabriella stood and whipped out some high school Spanish. “Dónde está el baño?” Where is the bathroom?
Nico raised an eyebrow and Gabriella winked at him behind Esmeralda’s back as she followed the woman into the hall.
A small silver and gold decorated bathroom was off the dining room. Gabriella smiled gratefully and then, while it was true she needed to use the restroom, she waited for several moments until she heard the sound of the woman’s footsteps leading away.
Waiting another few minutes, she pressed her ear to the door and then gently opened it. The hallway was empty. Quickly, she raced to the first door, turning the handle. Locked. The next one was locked, as well. Finally, a door opened. But to Gabriella’s disappointment it was her own bedroom. There were only three doors left. All were locked but one. Flinging the door open, she realized it was the room they had led Nico to the night before. Standing in the doorway, she caught a whiff of his cologne. His bed was neatly made and a robe was spread over the foot of it. Hearing a noise, she quickly shut the door and turned. Esmeralda appeared out of a
doorway at the other end.
“Oh, there you are! I was turned around,” Gabriella said.
Settled back in her chair, she waited for Esmeralda to leave before she leaned over to Nico. “Every door was locked except our bedrooms.”
Nico nodded. “I could have spared you the trouble. The door on the left-hand side at the end of the hall leads to the second and third stories. If you go out the main door of the dining room behind you, you can access the library and the study. Other than that, everything else is off-limits, as he mentioned earlier.”
Gabriella was irritated by Nico’s matter-of-fact summary and also because he’d beat her in scouting out the locked door situation.
She quickly got over her irritation when Nico started telling her a funny story about getting caught with his friends skinny-dipping as teenagers. The police officer who ended up shining the light on him and his friends in a neighbor’s pool was his girlfriend’s father. Needless to say, he never was allowed on another date with the girl again.
After she’d scraped the last bit of flan out of the custard dish, Gabriella was surprised to feel a flicker of disappointment when Esmeralda came to clear the dishes.
Nico stood and held Gabriella’s chair so she could stand. When she did, a wave of dizziness struck and she had to grip the edge of the table. All the alcohol, even sipped slowly over a few hours, had apparently added up.
Steading her with his hand on her arm, Nico asked if she were okay.
“I stood up too fast. I should go to bed now.” She hoped she wasn’t slurring her words.
Nico, one hand placed gently on her back, guided her back to her room. “Are you going to be okay?” he asked as they walked down the hallway.
“I think so. I’ll drink a big glass of water and sleep in.”
At her door, he gave her a gentle kiss on her forehead and then headed to his own room, a few doors down. She watched, swaying a little on her feet, until he gave her a little wave and entered his room.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Lying on a futon looking up at the ceiling Donovan wondered who he was and why he was here, prisoner in someone’s basement.
Monica was propped on one elbow beside him, running her fingernail down his chest, her sleek hair falling in a curtain, staring off into space, caught in her own thoughts.
As he always did after their lovemaking sessions, he peppered Monica with questions. It was their form of pillow talk.
“Why are they keeping me here?”
Monica shrugged.
“Do you know who I am?”
She shook her head no to all his questions.
“Will you tell me who is holding me prisoner?”
He asked the same questions every time. She never responded verbally in any way.
Today, for the first time, his increasing frustration led him to turn the questions around and asked about her instead of him and his situation.
“Why are you so loyal to this guy?” He brushed her hand off and sat up, running his fingers through his hair. It felt greasy. He’d wash it today during his shower. He eyed the small shower stall in the corner distastefully. It needed to be cleaned. But it was better than nothing.
Monica opened her mouth to answer and Donovan froze.
“I owe him.”
He settled his back against the wall near the futon and tried not to act too eager. She was finally going to tell him something.
“What could you possibly owe him?”
“Everything.”
For the next hour, Monica told him her story.
Monica had grown up right in the heart of the Peten jungle. Each morning she and her siblings and mother and father would pack up the baskets to the brim with the small braided bracelets they had woven and travel to the nearest Mayan ruins, at Tikal. There they waited for the daily tour buses to arrive.
They set up shop on a blanket near other vendors of homemade objects such as leather belts, bright ceramic spoon holders and mugs, and hand carved nativity scenes,
When the buses pulled up, a tour guide led the tourists through the ruins, giving the history of the Tikal National Park.
At the end of each tour, the guide, who always received a cut from each vendor set up in the shade of the concrete bathroom stalls, would drop the tourists off to peruse items made by the locals.
Meanwhile, Monica and her three younger sisters ran wild in the surrounding jungle and in between visits from tour buses, played hide and seek in the ruins.
One day, el jefe, as Monica called him, pulled up in a giant vehicle, she said. Bigger and longer and taller than anything she’d ever seen. His bodyguards, toting machine guns got out first and cleared the entire area. She later found that he had stopped two tour buses down the road. A gunman watched the terrified tourists, making sure the buses stayed put until el jefe was done and gone.
While Monica and her siblings spied from the jungle, a helicopter landed in the middle of a patch of grass between the ruins. A man in a white suit got out. El jefe greeted him with a handshake and the men exchanged small packages. They spoke for a few minutes with the helicopter’s blades still churning and not long after, the man got back into the helicopter and left. Believing the excitement was over, Monica’s siblings ran off to find their mother for lunch. Monica stayed watching until she felt a hand clamp over her mouth. She tried to bite it but the person was too strong and dragged her deep into one of the dark corners of a ruin.
When they were inside, the man let go. It was one of el jefe’s gunmen. He ripped off her dress and had his way with her. When she tried to struggle, he punched her and told her he would kill her entire family. She didn’t struggle anymore She closed her eyes and pretended she was dead.
She heard the man swear and then grow still on top of her. When she opened her eyes, el jefe was in the doorway, only a dark silhouette surrounded by streams of light like a vision. Without a word, he shot the gunman between the eyes.
Pulling her up, el jefe straightened out her dress and asked where her parents were. She told him. Leading her by the hand, he stood in front of her parents and berated them. Told them that they had left their daughter unattended and she had been defiled. No man would ever want her. They should be ashamed and kill themselves right now.
Horrified, Monica had gone to her knees and begged him to forgive her parents. It was her fault, she said. She should have never wandered off alone. She was a disobedient child and that is why it had happened. Even though she knew deep down inside none of it was her fault, she also knew just as certainly, it wasn’t her parent’s fault. She couldn’t live with them thinking this was so. She’d rather they scorn her than blame themselves.
El jefe pulled her up off the ground in front of him. He told her parents he was taking Monica back to live with him. Monica’s father turned away so she couldn’t see his face, but her mother dropped to her knees this time, begging for him to leave Monica with them
Monica was the one who pulled her mother up and grasped her by the shoulders. Somewhere along the line she had reached her mother’s height and then some. Looking her mother right in the eyes, she forced a smile.
“Mama, he killed the man who was hurting me. I owe him my life. I love him. Please let me go and know I will be fine.”
Her mother searched her eyes for a long moment and then pressed her lips together tightly nodded. She grasped Monica’s hand and pressed something into it. It wasn’t until Monica was in the man’s large vehicle that she opened her palm and found her mother’s tiny silver wedding ring. From that day forward she wore it on a silver chain around her neck.
When they arrived at el jefe’s hacienda, a maid led Monica to a beautiful room outfitted for a princess, but Monica spent the night in terror with the softest sheets she’d ever felt pulled up to her chin. Every creak of the floorboard, every sound outside her room was el jefe, coming to do what his man had done. By morning, despite her trepidation, she could no longer keep her eyes open.
When she awoke, at sun
set, a meal was waiting for her on the nightstand: fresh orange juice, sausages, rice, beans, and tortillas. She wept with gratefulness as she ate more food than she’d ever seen in one sitting in her life.
El jefe never came for her and finally Monica relaxed. Occasionally he would call her to his office and ask how she was doing? Soon, she was no longer nervous and told him excitedly about how her English lessons were coming along. He always nodded and then dismissed her. She owed him everything and her loyalty had no end, she told Donovan. That is why she could never answer Donovan’s questions.
When she was done, Donovan took her in his arms, kissing her forehead and holding her tight against his chest.
She sat up. “Do you understand now?”
He nodded.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The next morning, her first one at the hacienda, Gabriella woke full of dread.
And guilt.
Her mother could be dead or dying, her daughter was dealing with losing both her parents within six months and here she was in a drug lord’s tropical palace, sleeping in until the sun had warmed the Olympic-sized swimming pool outside. A handsome man flirted with her constantly. She slept under 800-thread count Egyptian cotton sheets, was fed five-course meals by a gourmet chef, and drank $500 bottles of wine.
After a quick shower, Gabriella slipped her cargo pants and tank top back on. She found them—clean and folded—on a chair just inside her bedroom door. Someone had crept into her room during the night, found her wadded up dirty clothes on the floor beside her bed and washed and dried them before she woke.
Creepy.
Slipping out of her room, she crept, barefoot down the hall toward the dining room.
There she found a buffet style breakfast waiting—rolls, fresh fruit and coffee. She heard some noise in the kitchen but nothing else.
Grabbing a roll and mug of coffee, Gabriella headed back into the hall. She skipped the kitchen, but tried every door she passed while keeping an eye out for anyone coming.
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