Page 136 of His Juliet

An evil smile spread across his face. “I killed his wife in front of him. He begged for death in the end.” His soulless eyes met mine. “But there was one thing my brother managed to keep secret. You see, his bitch of a wife had given him a daughter. A two-year-old who was locked in the closet while I murdered her parents. A two-year-old named Juliet Leka.”

Trapped.

Darkness.

Screams followed by loud bangs.

Distorted memories plucked straight from my nightmares flashed before my eyes.

Hungry.

Cold.

Alone.

Alone.

Alone.

“It wasn’t hard to piece together once I started looking into your background. What secrets was Juliet Smith, an unremarkable girl who had captured the attention of Romeo De Luca, concealing? It was easy to track down your school and foster care records. Poor little Juliet, terrifying all her foster families so much with her cutting that they refused to adopt her.” He rubbed his jaw, concealing his twisted smile behind his hand.

“It wasn’t hard to access the sealed court documents containing the record of your name change from Leka to Smith. Tucked in those records was the name of the detective who found you in that closet. Finding him was easy. Getting him to talk was even easier. He’d believed the murder of your parents was gang-related, so he convinced the NYPD to hide your existence from the press. With no known relatives and a new last name, you were put into foster care. There you lived, hidden away in plain sight, until you were discovered by the Italian Mafia, who needed a way to destroy their rivals.”

The man reveled in his storytelling, savoring the pain each word caused me. He leaned forward until we were mere inches apart, his hand stroking my cheek. I squeezed my eyes shut, begging the universe to wake me from this nightmare.

He tutted and lightly smacked the side of my face. “Don’t look so ungrateful. I have given you a great gift. I’ve saved you from your pathetic, miserable life and rescued you from a man who deceived you. He knew how valuable you would be in this war.” His fingers twirled around the fading pink in my hair. “Because you, Juliet Leka, are the princess of the Albanian Mafia. And I have great plans for you.”

64

JULIET

Princess of the Albanian Mafia?

Was this a joke?

“You’re wrong.” My voice sounded weak and pathetic, but I couldn’t accept his words. I wasn’t anyone important.

“My father always focused on the home country, allowing others to rule our American clan,” the man continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “But that was a grave mistake. I had a bigger vision, an international vision. The Italians didn’t know, but killing Arben was the greatest gift they could have given me. With him out of the way and the Albanian faction in America crumbling, I was ready to make our move. I just needed my father out of the way.”

He looked out the window, deep in thought, and I took the opportunity to glance behind my shoulder. We weren’t in the air yet—the airplane door was open and showed a tantalizing sliver of blue sky.

I was surrounded and unarmed. I doubted I would make it to my feet before they stopped me, but could I live with myself if I didn’t even try? I’d read somewhere that you should never let a kidnapper take you to a second location. If this plane took off, I would never be found.

Even if there was someone looking for me.

I swallowed down the painful lump in my throat. What were the odds Romeo would have ended up in my shop, of all the stores in New York City? How had the Albanians breached the apartment, which Romeo had said was impenetrable? Why had he taken such an interest in me?Because he loves you,a soft voice inside me said. But that had never made sense to me when my life had shown me over and over how unloveable I truly was.

No. This man was lying. Romeo would never betray me.

But what if he did?whispered the insidious voice in the back of my head.

A flight attendant appeared and shut the plane door with a loudthunk, sealing my fate.

“Do you know how I got my nickname?” the man asked.

I kept my eyes on my clenched hands, refusing to answer, but he continued, undeterred.

“As a young boy, our father would send us out hunting. We weren’t allowed to return until we brought back a kill. I spent many nights half-frozen in the woods, trying and failing to catch my prey. Death was always near, waiting for me in the wings, but I eluded him, and it made me strong. We were only allowed to eat meat we had skinned and butchered ourselves, and I quickly became an expert. As I grew older, I used my skills against our enemies. I think it’s rather poetic that my father was killed by the monster he created. Skinned and butchered in his own bed.”

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