Collateral (Collateral Damage 1)

I make a sound, a pathetic whimper. I should scream but it’s like my throat has closed up.

“It’s broken,” he says. “That’s rude, isn’t it? To give you a broken gift?” His deep voice is low, his breath on my neck sending a strange sensation down my spine. “But that’s how I got it, too.”

I realize what he’s doing. He’s tying the chain. He must be.

I reach my hand to touch the pendant and when I do, something crusty flakes off.

A glance at my fingers shows a flake of dark red and I know it’s blood. I know it.

My stomach heaves and I tighten my muscles, trying to quell the urge to vomit.

“There,” he says. I smell whiskey on his breath now that he’s closer and hear him inhale as the scruff of his jaw scratches my bare shoulder and I shudder.

Undeterred, he tilts my head to the side and presses his lips to the curve of my neck. To my pulse.

My breath catches and I can’t move.

It’s not a kiss, this.

This man isn’t kissing me.

But his lips, they’re warm. And that disgusting smell of chemicals and death, it’s going to make me sick. He must feel my knees give out because he wraps one powerful, muscled arm around my middle, tightening his grip as he holds me against him.

He brings his mouth to my ear, breathes in a deep breath.

“Do you know who I am?” he asks in a whisper that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.

I give a little shake of my head.

He turns me so I’m facing him, presses me against the door with one hand on my belly as the fingers of his other hand trail the line of my collarbone and touch the pendant.

When I finally meet his gaze, what I see in his eyes makes me go cold.

“Stefan Sabbioni,” he says. “Antonio’s brother.”

Those names mean nothing to me. Should they mean something?

“And I want you to give your father a message for me,” he starts, pausing for so long that it feels like the air is heavier for the unspoken words. For those that are still to come. “Tell him I’ll be back to take something precious too.”

An eternity passes before he steps backward.

My knees buckle, and I catch the doorknob to remain upright. It’s suddenly freezing in my room and I’m shivering.

“You won’t forget to give him my message, will you?”

I shake my head. It’s all I can do.

He nods, eyes narrowing, a smile that’s not a smile at all turning the corners of his mouth upward.

“Happy birthday, Gabriela,” he says, and with that, he’s gone.3GabrielaMy father barely acknowledges me after Stefan leaves.

I walk out of the study and turn to the front doors as I listen to the sound of the SUVs pulling away. I wonder what just happened. I wonder how this man walked into our house and had my father sign a contract to give me up. How he made me sign the same contract that bound me to him.

Marriage.

I will be forced to marry him.

A shudder runs through me and I hurry up the stairs to my room. This one isn’t nearly as nice as my suite of rooms in Rome. Just a large bedroom. Still luxurious, still beautiful, and still without a lock on the door. At least not on the inside.

But none of that matters anymore because I won’t be here for much longer.

I stand for a full minute with my back against the door and listen to the pounding of my heart.

“I’ll be back for you early in the morning. Be ready.”

When this was happening with McKinney, it felt different. Not so real. Like I could somehow control it.

Although my running away to avoid being forced to marry McKinney’s son lasted less than forty-eight hours so maybe I was fooling myself all along. I had no control then and I have no control now.

At that, my thoughts wander to Alex. I guess he’s at the hospital now. I guess they would have taken him there.

I want to call, to check on him, but how? I don’t have a cell phone—another means for my father to control me—and there’s no phone in my room.

But I doubt his family wants to talk to me anyway.

I look down at myself. I should shower. I should throw away these clothes and pack. Is that what he meant by be ready?

This makes no sense. I can’t wrap my brain around it.

I push away from the door and go to the dresser. I don’t glance behind me before kneeling down to pull out the bottom drawer then reach my arm to the back until I feel the bundle and peel it off. The tape comes away easily and I look at the dusty little pocket of tissue paper that fits in the palm of my hand.