Page 45 of Marriage of Revenge

The bodyguards nod and force us up and push us forward, but my mind is already racing with possibilities - and dangers. Because trusting Antonio might be just as risky as defying my father.

"What happened?" I prompt Naomi as soon as our food is shoved in front of us and the door locks behind our captors. The sound of that lock clicking feels too familiar - like hospital rooms during endless isolation periods.

Naomi's voice trembles. "My father... he..." She starts, but the weight of reality threatens to silence her. And I don't want to push her. I don't want to add to the anguish etched on her face - this girl who spent hours reading me her latest romance manuscripts when I couldn't sleep, who documented every step of my recovery through her camera lens, turning even the worst moments into something beautiful.

She takes a deep breath, leaning back, fingers absent-mindedly toying with her sweatshirt's hem. Her usually styled hair cascades over her shoulders in natural waves. Readjusting her oversized glasses, she appears younger, vulnerable. This isn'tthe Naomi who could spin any situation into a compelling story, who saw art in everything, even hospital corridors at midnight.

"I heard him yelling on the phone. I heard him telling them that he won't let them take me." Her voice breaks. "That it's ridiculous." She hiccups again and my chest squeezes. The way she blinks tells me she's trying so hard not to lose it again. I reach out to her, holding her hand as I clench my jaw to prevent myself from crying, too.

"My aunt said we could run. That they would never find us. But he cried with her. He said he owed your father for his life. That he owed the family everything. And that they were getting their payback."

"I'm so sorry," I tell her and she nods. The words feel hollow, inadequate - like the half-finished story she started writing about a girl who escaped her fate. Only this isn't fiction, and there's no guaranteed happy ending.

"I know. It's not your fault we were born into this shit." Her voice rises slightly and she shakes her head again, as if to calm herself down. "I... I didn't even get to say goodbye to Bear."

And saying the name of her dog has her tearing up again - the final crack in her usual confident demeanor. Bear, who she rescued from the street three years ago, who sat with us through movie marathons when I was too weak to go out.

“My aunt will take good care of him. I know she will… but he’s my baby Bear. My Beary, Boo.”

For the next twenty minutes, I hold her, gently stroking her hair, and encouraging her to eat. My mind races with possibilities. My father has hinted that if I don't complicate things for him, he might reconsider. I can help her. And I will. I'll pretend to play the role my father wants me to. For now.

But I need to find a way to warn Antonio—because even if he hates me, I don't want to believe he'll let Naomi suffer, too. I have to find a way to call or text his old number.

The silence stretches in the room as I run different possibilities through my mind: maybe I could gesture to Ms. Lefevre, pretend to have a talk with her in the bathroom... but she could and might tell my father. After all, she's indirectly involved in all of this, too. How about one of the caterers?

The gears must be turning in Naomi's head too. Her eyes search my face and her fingers play with the hem of her shirt again.

Finally, she speaks with her voice barely above a whisper. "You can use my phone."

Surprise must be all over my face because Naomi takes a shaky breath. "My dad gave me a burner phone. They didn't find it," she admits with a mix of pride and fear. She pulls the device out, revealing it from a hidden pocket inside her shirt. "I managed to keep it after the security check. My father was there with me, right until we boarded the plane. He made sure of it."

With trembling fingers, I take the phone and slide down to the floor, positioning myself against the door. This way, if anyone tries to enter, I'll have enough time to conceal the phone. Every footstep in the hallway makes my pulse jump, but I can't let fear stop me now.

I can recall Antonio's old number with ease. I vividly remember the day he shared it with me, that half-grin playing on his lips and his voice sending a flutter of butterflies through my stomach.

Hey Maestro.

Three dots appear immediately. My pulse skips - he still has the same number.

Prove it's you.

I close my eyes for a moment, memories flooding back.You kissed me for the first time after I danced to your music. You said I built the intensity like a crescendo.

The dots appear and disappear twice before his response comes:What do you want, Bell’scenda?

I help you. You help Naomi. Remember those pictures she took of your mother? How she spent hours getting the lighting just right, wanting to capture her smile perfectly? She gave them to you after...

My fingers shake as I wait. Those photos meant everything to him after his mother disappeared, right before my father disowned him. Naomi had insisted on taking them, saying everyone deserved to have their joy preserved.

Keep talking.

That's not a yes. I need your word. Naomi doesn't deserve this. She's innocent.

Seconds stretch like hours before his reply comes:Yes. Now tell me.

Your car has been tampered with. There's going to be sabotage on the road—they're planning to kill you.

And with my heart in my throat, I wait for his answer.

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