by James, E L
But that’s out of the question for the moment.
I drain my glass. Caroline will come around.
I hope she’ll come around.
I slam the glass on the counter and nod to the barman. It’s 7:15, it’s time to go. I need to get back to my girl.
* * *
Anatoli keeps a firm grip on Alessia’s elbow as he marches her back up the street toward Maxim’s building. “You are his housekeeper?”
“Yes.” Her answer is clipped. She’s trying not to panic, thinking through her options.
What if Maxim is home?
Anatoli threatened to kill him.
The thought of what Anatoli might do to Maxim is terrifying.
Magda must have written to her mother. Why? Alessia had begged her not to.
She has to get away, but Alessia knows she cannot outrun him.
Think, Alessia, think.
“So he is your employer?”
“Yes.”
“That is all?”
Alessia turns her head sharply. “Of course!” Her tone is vehement.
He stops, pulling her roughly, and regards her through hooded eyes that gleam with suspicion in the muted glow of the streetlamps. “He’s not had what’s mine?”
It takes a moment for Alessia to realize what he’s referring to. “No,” she says quickly, breathlessly, blushing so that her cheeks heat up in spite of the frigid February air. Anatoli nods once, as if accepting her answer, and she feels a momentary pang of relief.
He follows her into the apartment. The alarm beeps, and Alessia is thankful that Maxim has not returned. Anatoli looks around the hallway. Out of the corner of her eye, she watches his brows rise. He’s impressed.
“He has money, this man?” he mutters. She doesn’t know if he’s directing a question at her or not. “And you live here?”
“Yes.”
“Where do you sleep?”
“In that room.” Alessia points to the door of the spare bedroom.
“Where does he sleep?”
She nods toward the master bedroom door. Anatoli opens the door and marches inside. Alessia stands in the hallway, frozen with panic. Can she escape? But he returns moments later holding the small wastebasket. “And this?” he growls.
Alessia manages to mobilize her features and screws her nose up in disgust at the condom in the trash. She shrugs, trying desperately for nonchalance. “He has a girlfriend. They are out at the moment.”
He puts the basket down, seemingly satisfied with her answer. “Get your things. I am parked outside.”
She stands motionless, her heart racing.
“Go. Now. I don’t want to wait for him to return. I don’t want a scene.” He undoes his coat, slips his hand inside his jacket, and pulls out a pistol. “I am serious.”
Alessia blanches at the sight of the gun, and her breathing shallows with panic. He’ll kill Maxim, of that she has no doubt. Her head begins to swim. Silently she begs her grandmother’s God to keep Maxim away.
“I came here to rescue you. I don’t know why you are here. We can talk about that later. But right now I want you to pack your things. We are leaving.”
Her fate is sealed. She will go with Anatoli. She must, to protect the man she loves. She has no choice. How did she think she could escape her father’s besa?
Tears of helpless anger pool in Alessia’s eyes as she heads into the spare bedroom. She packs quietly and efficiently, her hands shaking as rage and terror war within her. She wants to go before Maxim returns. She has to—to protect him.
Anatoli appears on the threshold. His eyes sweep over her and the empty room. “You look very…different. Western. I like it.”
Alessia says nothing as she zips up the duffel, but for some reason she’s grateful she’s still wearing her coat.
“I don’t know why you are crying.” He sounds genuinely perplexed.
“I like England. I would like to stay. I have been happy here.”
“You have had your fun. It is time to come home and accept your responsibilities, carissima.” Slipping the gun into his overcoat pocket, he grabs her bag.
“I have to leave a note,” she blurts.
“Why?”
“Because it is the right thing to do. My employer will worry. He has been good to me.” She almost chokes on her words.
Anatoli gazes at her, and she has no idea what he’s thinking. Perhaps he’s weighing what she’s said. “Okay,” he says eventually. He follows her into the kitchen, where a notepad and pen lie beside the phone. Alessia scribbles quickly, careful with her choice of words, hoping desperately that Maxim will read between them. She doesn’t know how well Anatoli speaks or reads English. She cannot take the chance—she cannot write what she really wants to say.
Thank you for protecting me.
Thank you for showing me what love means.
But I cannot escape my destiny.
I love you. I will always love you. Until the day I die.
Maxim. My love.
“What does it say?”
She shows him and watches as his eyes scan the words. He nods. “Good. Let’s go.” She lays her new keys on top of the note. They’d been hers for only a few precious hours.
* * *
It’s a still, cold night, and frost is beginning to form, sparkling ice-white under the light from the streetlamps. When I turn the corner, the road is quiet except in the distance a man is closing the door of a black Mercedes S-Class that’s parked in front of my building.
“Maxim!”
I turn to see Caroline running down the street toward me.
Caroline? What on earth?
But something about the man with the Mercedes pulls my attention back. The scene is odd, because he’s walking around to the near side of the car. It’s wrong. I’m missing something. My senses are suddenly on high alert: I can hear the crisp clip of Caroline’s heels as she gets closer, I can smell winter and the Thames on the chilly breeze, and I strain my eyes to stare at the license number of the car. Even from this distance, I can tell that it has foreign plates.
The man opens what must be the driver’s door.
“Maxim!” Caroline calls again. I turn, and she runs up to me and throws her arms around my neck with such force that I have to put my arms around her to balance us both and stop us from falling to the ground. “I’m so sorry,” she sobs.
I say nothing as my focus is drawn back to the car. The driver climbs in and slams the door while Caroline offers more apologies, but I ignore her as the indicator light starts blinking and the car pulls away from the curb into the light of a streetlamp.
And then I see it. The small red-and-black flag of Albania on the number plate.
* * *
Alessia hears Maxim’s name shouted down the street. She turns around in the passenger seat as Anatoli opens his door. Maxim is standing at the end of the block—and a fair-haired woman runs into his arms, hugging him.
Who is she?
He cradles her head.
No!
He holds her waist.
And she remembers—the woman wearing his shirt, standing in his kitchen.
Alessia, this is my friend and sister-in-law, Caroline.
Anatoli slams the door shut, making Alessia jump and forcing her to look ahead.
His sister-in-law? His married sister-in-law—and his brother is dead.
Caroline is his widow.
Alessia chokes back a sob.
This is where he has been. With Caroline. And now they are hugging in the street and he’s holding her. The betrayal is swift and cruel, slicing Alessia into tiny pieces and shattering her faith in herself—and in him.
Him. Her Mister.
A tear oozes down her cheek as Anatoli starts the engine. Smoothly he maneuvers t
he car out of the parking space and drives away from the only happiness Alessia has ever known.
* * *
“Fuck!” I shout as dread spawns dark and deadly in my gut.
Caroline startles. “What is it?”
“Alessia!” Abandoning Caroline, I race up the street, only to see the car disappear into the distance.
“Shit. Shit. Shit. Not again!” I grab my hair with both hands, helpless. Completely helpless.
“Maxim, what is it?” Caroline is now standing beside me outside the entrance to my building.
“They’ve got her!” I fumble for my keys to open the front door.
“Who? What are you talking about?”
“Alessia.” I crash through the front door and don’t bother with the lift. Leaving Caroline at the foot of the stairs, I race up all six flights to my flat. When I unlock the door, the alarm starts beeping, confirming the worst of my fears.
Alessia is not here.
I silence the alarm and listen, hoping beyond hope that I have this wrong. Of course I hear nothing except the wind rattling the skylight in the hallway and my blood pulsing through my ears.
Frantically I start running through each room, my imagination shifting into overdrive. They have her. They have her again. My sweet, brave woman. What will those monsters do to her? Her clothes are not in my bedroom. Nor the spare room…
In the kitchen I find her keys and the note.
Mister Maxim
My betrothed is here and he is taking me to my home in Albania.
Thank you for everything.
Alessia
“No!” I scream, overwhelmed by my despair. Picking up the phone, I hurl it at the wall. It shatters into pieces as I sink to the floor, my head in my hands.
For the second time in less than a week, I want to cry.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Maxim, what the fuck is going on?”
I take my head out of my hands, and Caroline is standing at the doorway. She looks windswept and unkempt, but calmer than she did a few minutes ago.
“He’s taken her.” My voice is hoarse as I struggle to control my rage and despair.
“Who has?”
“Her fiancé.”
“Alessia has a fiancé?”
“It’s complicated.”
She folds her arms and frowns, with what seems like genuine concern. “You look shattered.”
I turn blazing eyes at her. “I am.” Slowly I get to my feet. “I think the woman I want to marry has just been kidnapped.”
“Marry?” Caroline blanches.
“Yes. Fucking marry!” My voice booms off the walls, and we glare at each other, the words hanging between us, ripe with regret and recrimination. Caroline closes her eyes and tucks her hair behind her ear. When she opens them, they are steely blue with resolve.
“Well, you’d better go after her, then,” she says.
* * *
Alessia stares unseeing out the car window, drowning in tears she cannot stop. They flow freely as grief shrouds her misery.
Maxim and Caroline.
Caroline and Maxim.
Was what she experienced with him all a lie?
No! She can’t bring herself to think that. He said he loved her—and she had believed him. She still wants to believe him, but of course it doesn’t matter anymore. She’ll never see him again.
“Why are you crying?” Anatoli asks, but she ignores him. She doesn’t care what he does to her now. Her heart is in shreds, and she knows that it will never heal. He switches on the radio, and an upbeat pop song blasts over the speakers, jarring Alessia’s nerves. She suspects he’s done it to distract himself from her silent sobbing. Anatoli turns the volume down and hands her a box of tissues. “Here. Dry your eyes. Enough of this nonsense, or I’ll give you something to cry about.”
She takes out a wad of tissues and continues to stare listlessly out the window. She can’t even bring herself to look at him.
She knows that she will die at his hands.
And there’s nothing she can do.
Maybe she can escape. In Europe. Maybe she can choose how she dies….She closes her eyes and drifts into her own version of hell.
* * *
“Go after her?” I ask, my mind racing.
“Yes.” Caroline is emphatic. “But I have to ask, what makes you think she’s been kidnapped?”
“Her note.”
“Note?”
“Here.” I hand her the crumpled piece of paper and turn away, rubbing my face, trying to gather my splintered thoughts.
Where will he take her?
Did she go willingly?
No. She only had revulsion for him.
He tried to break her fucking fingers!
He must have forced her to go.
How the hell did he find her?
“Maxim, this note doesn’t read like she’s been kidnapped. Have you thought that maybe she’s decided to go home?”
“Caro, she did not leave of her own free will. Trust me.”
I have to get her back.
Fuck.
I storm past Caroline and head into my drawing room.
“Fucking hell!”
“What now?”
“I don’t have a working fucking computer!”
* * *
“I need your passport,” Anatoli says as they speed through London’s streets.
“What?”
“We are driving to the Eurotunnel train. I need your passport.”
Eurotunnel. No!
Alessia swallows. This is real. It’s happening. He’s taking her back to Albania.
“I don’t have a passport.”
“What do you mean you don’t have a passport?”
Alessia stares at him.
“Why, Alessia? Tell me! Did you forget to pack it? I don’t understand.” He frowns.
“I was smuggled into this country by some men who took my passport.”
“Smuggled? Men?” His jaw clenches, and a muscle twitches in his cheek. “What is going on?”
She’s too tired and too broken to explain. “I don’t have a passport.”
“Fucking hell.” Anatoli smacks the steering wheel with his palm. Alessia flinches at the sound.
* * *
“Alessia, wake up.”
Something has changed. Alessia is confused.
Maxim?
She opens her eyes, and her heart sinks further into hell. She’s with Anatoli, and the car is at a standstill, parked on the side of the road. It’s dark, but by the glow of the headlights she can tell they are on a country road surrounded by frosted fields.
“Get out of the car,” he says. Alessia stares at him, and a small blossom of hope flowers in her chest.
He’s going to leave her here. She can walk back. She’s done it once before.
“Out,” he says more forcefully.
He opens his car door, climbs out, and comes around to her door, opening it wide. Taking her hand, he hauls her out of her seat and leads her to the back of the car, where he opens the trunk. It’s empty but for a small rolling suitcase and her duffel.
“You’ll have to get in here.”
“What? No!”
“We have no choice. You don’t have a passport. Get in.”
“Please, Anatoli. I hate the dark. Please.”
He frowns. “Get in or I’ll put you in.”
“Anatoli. Please. No. I don’t like the dark!” He moves quickly, picking her up, dumping her in the trunk, and slamming the lid shut before Alessia can fight back.
“No!” she shouts. It’s pitch-dark inside. She starts to kick and scream as the darkness bleeds into her lungs, suffocating her like the black plastic bag from the last time she
crossed the Channel.
She can’t breathe. She can’t breathe. She screams.
Not the dark. No. Not the dark. I hate the dark.
Seconds later the lid pops open and a blinding light shines in her face. She blinks. “Here. Take this.” Anatoli hands her a flashlight. “I don’t know how long the battery will last. But we have no choice. Once we are on the train, I can open the trunk.”
Stunned, Alessia takes the flashlight and holds it protectively to her chest. He moves her bag so that she can use it as a pillow, then shuffles out of his overcoat and lays it over her. “You may get cold. I don’t know if the heating works in here. Go back to sleep. And be quiet.” He gives her a stern look and shuts the trunk once more.
Alessia clutches the light and scrunches up her eyes, trying to regulate her breathing as the car starts to move. In her head she begins to play Bach’s Prelude no. 6 in D Minor on repeat—the colors flashing brilliant hues of bright blue and turquoise in her mind—her fingers flexing, tapping out each note on the flashlight.
* * *
Alessia is shaken awake. She looks sleepily up at Anatoli, who towers over her as he holds open the lid of the trunk. His breath is a foggy cloud around him, lit by a solitary light from the parking lot. His face is stark and ashen. “What took you so long to wake up? I thought you were unconscious!” He sounds relieved.
Relieved?
“We’re going to stay the night here,” he says.
Alessia blinks, huddling down into the coat. It’s cold. Her head is fuzzy from crying. Her eyes are swollen. And she doesn’t want to spend the night with him.
“Out,” he snaps, and extends his hand. Sighing, Alessia sits up. The cold wind whips around her, blowing her hair across her face. Stiffly she clambers out of the car, refusing Anatoli’s help. She doesn’t want his hands on her. He reaches past her for his coat, which he shuffles on. He grabs his case and hands her the duffel containing her clothes before shutting the trunk. The parking lot is deserted except for two other cars. Not far away stands a squat, nondescript building that Alessia assumes is a hotel.
