Page 107 of Ruthless Guardian

I hit the floor, my tailbone smacking the hard stone and sending pain shooting up my spine. “Fuck,” I grit out.

“Che cazzo?” he hisses, coughing and spluttering. “What the hell was that?” His mouth twists, and a pallid sheen starts to coat his skin.

I have no idea how quickly the poison takes effect, but he’s already clutching his stomach, nostrils flaring.

His unfocused gaze tracks down to the crushed petals of the oleander, littering the floor. “No…”

I offer a wicked smirk. “Oh, yes.”

His hand lifts to his chest, pressing his palm against his heart, and I wonder if he’s starting to feel the toxins penetrating his coronary system. Erratic heartbeat, palpitations, and dizziness if I remember correctly. If left untreated, it can cause cardiac arrest. “What did you do?”

“What did you do?” I spit back. “Where am I?”

He staggers back, leaning against the door behind him, which he’s failed to lock. I inch closer, waiting for the right moment to make my move. “I didn’t want to do this,” he whispers. “He made me… he threatened my family…” His breaths are coming hard and fast now, an unnatural pallor coating his suddenly sallow cheeks. “He had Carlo killed because I couldn’t—” His words fall away as his knees give out, and he sinks to the ground.

I don’t wait another second.

Lunging for the door, I squirm past him and dart into a dark hallway.

“Isabella, no!” Massimo’s shouts fade in the distance as I blindly race down the corridor.

I have no idea where I’m going, but I need to get out of here before I find out whoheis. My mind swirls with possibilities, my heart pounding in time with my quickening footfalls. Raf was wrong. He isn’t the target; I am.

It is all about me. It always is.

I hit a dead end with a staircase as my only option. Guess, I’m going up. A rush of voices filters down the steps, and I mutter a curse. Spinning around in the direction I came, I internally berate myself for not having checked Massimo for a weapon. With my oleander gone, I’m completely defenseless now.

Well, except for the Krav Maga, which I’ve pretty much abandoned since the arrival of my new bodyguard.You are Isabella Valentino, and you will not die today. For some reason, my inner voice sounds suspiciously like Raf. For once, I agree with him.

I will not die.

The smack of heavy footfalls approaching pushes me to quicken my pace. Pumping my arms to force my legs to cover more ground, I dart down the corridor, passing the wine cellar and race in the opposite direction.

“Come on, come on.” There has to be another door. There is no way the previous owners of this villa lugged those wine casks up that narrow staircase. There must be another exit. A few yards ahead, I can just make out the end of the hallway.

And a door!

I knew it! Sprinting now, as the footsteps draw ever closer, I push myself to the limit, until my calf muscles are screaming from the strain. I barrel into the door, attempt to yank back the metal bar across the wood, but it doesn’t budge.

“No!” I hiss as I jerk at the rusted old metal. “Come on, please.” I pull harder, my arms straining, and I feel it. A slight budge. Then with a sharp keen, the bar slides out and the door creaks open. I jerk it back, and cool night air washes over my heated skin.

I race across a cobblestone courtyard, winding around a classic Roman fountain which spits water across my burning flesh. Lush gardens surround me, olive trees and tall cypresses encircling the grounds. I reach the end of the yard, and my breath hitches.

I’m standing atop a rolling hill with the flickering lights of Rome stretched out below me.No, no, no. It’s too far. A wrought-iron fence encloses the perimeter, more guards lining every corner.

My stomach sinks.

“Miss Valentino, finally we meet in person.” A male voice I don’t recognize sails on the breeze, compelling the tiny hairs on my arms to stand on end.

I spin around, forcing my shoulders back and a steely set to my jaw as I face my kidnapper. A pair of inky orbs lock on mine, the startling similarity sending ice rushing through my veins.

There’s not a single doubt in my mind, even before he speaks.

A sinister grin curls the man’s lips, lifting the ends of his mustache. “I’m so happy to finally meet the woman who has stolen my son’s heart after so many years.” He steps closer, and a horde of black-uniformed guards move in a wave around him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Isabella. I am Alfredo Ferrara.”

CHAPTER 53

MY PERSONAL HELL

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