Page 15 of Sin & Sapphire

“And seek an advantageous match for Ana,” Nonno added. “An American, wealthy, a social climber who won’t mind paying off Gio’s debts and taking a damaged, used wife in exchange for access to our trafficking network. Someone who will continue to defer to the Sicilian branch for decision-making.”

Pain pierced my chest, so sharp it felt like a knife cutting into me. It didn’t matter what I did. These men would never respect me, never recognize that I could be good for anything other than my ability to make an alliance and pop out babies.

When Angelo didn’t say anything, Nonno prompted him. “Son?”

“Understood,” Angelo said, nodding sharply. His eyes flicked slightly to the left, and I wondered if he was looking at me on his screen, if he could see the panic building in my breast.

My father promised to let me wait to marry until I graduated—a compromise I paid for in blood. Somehow, I’d thought with his death, I’d get more time.

Unable to draw a full breath as my vision narrowed, I blinked.

“Ana,” a voice said, but I could barely hear it over the ringing in my ears. “Ana!”

It was Angelo, barking through the screen. “Ana, take a breath.” As if it were that easy. “Breathe,” he snapped, and to my shock, I inhaled sharply.

“Again.”

I did it again, and again, until my breathing calmed.

“Papà,” Angelo said. “She needs a drink.”

Nonno looked at me with contempt but offered me his glass of American bourbon. I took a sip, and the burning in my throat brought me back to the present.

“Grazie,” I whispered.

“Weak,” Nonno sneered.

My father had thought the same thing. They were right. Without a word, I stood up and strode from the room, pressure gathering in my chest as my steps got faster and faster until I was running.

I shed my kitten heels as I dashed out the kitchen door and into the night.

It wasn’t true freedom.

I didn’t even know what that felt like.

But at least, for a moment, with my bare feet pounding over the dirt roads of my grandfather’s estate and tears streaming down my face, I could pretend.

The silence appealed to me—shadowedtrails leading through vineyards and rolling hills, with my grandfather’s manor at the top, surveying everything he owned and even more that he influenced.

Eventually, I slowed, my muscles aching and my feet no doubt bloody and bruised from my frantic flight from the house.

No one followed me. Here I was safe. Caged, but safe.

Sweat poured down my face, and I lifted my arm to wipe it off, surprised at how tired I was. How long had I been running? I’d left everything at the house, even my phone.

I turned around and stared at the villa on the top of the hill, brightly lit and inviting, almost cozy, nothing like reality—violence and death, paid for by every single one of us who wasn’t lucky enough to be born a man at the top.

The earth under my feet was cool despite the summer heat, and I squished my toes down into it, letting my imagination run wild with dreams of freedom.

Quiet footsteps thudded in the dirt in front of me and behind me, and I whirled. “Chi c’è là?” Who’s there?

Faster than I could blink, arms wrapped around me, then bound my hands behind my back and shoved a hood over my head.

I screamed, only to receive a punch in the stomach for my efforts. Unable to double over in pain, I wheezed.

“Je l’ai,” a soft voice said from behind me. I have her, in French, with a thick Russian accent.

“Vous êtes qui? Qu’est que vous voulez?”Who are you? What do you want? My cries went unanswered as the men dragged me forward, stumbling over roots and rocks. “On va ou?” Where are we going?

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