Page 204 of Bitter Poetry
Today, I pray my blossoming faith will deliver me and those I love from danger.
I do trust and believe in them. Now. Finally. In this desperate moment, I find the strength to let go, to let someone else take on the burden I have carried for more than a year.
Does my acceptance come too late?
Whatever Dante says, and even assuming we get out of this alive, I have a lot of guilt to work through for the part I played in Christian’s capture.
Mateo breaks away and strides toward the car and me… He swings the door open and motions for me to exit.
I draw a shaky breath, slide over to the opening, and step out.
“Whatever happens, don’t move from Dante’s side,” he says quietly as he takes my arm and directs roughly forward.
I keep my eyes on the ground. My feet lose coordination under the weight of the many eyes watching my arrival on the scene.
Mateo puts me between him and Dante and keeps his hand on my arm.
I swallow. My eyes slowly lift to find Ettore flanked by two men. He is staring back at me with a hatred that steals my breath. A cold wind is whipping through the interior of the warehouse, but it’s not the only reason I shiver.
The time I told him Christian touched me resurfaces in colorful glory. As Dante said, maybe Ettore believes I’ve been their prisoner. That won’t save me from my jealous, vengeful husband’s wrath.
He will make me pay.
“It’s time for you to uphold your side of the deal, Ettore.”
The heavy Russian accent draws my gaze to the right and an imposing man with a sprinkling of gray at his temples, immaculately dressed in a suit and cashmere overcoat, flanked by a dozen men, each cradling automatic weapons.
Who is he?
The Pakhan?
His advisor or representative?
His words make me surmise that, whatever his official title might be, he’s here as a mediator to ensure both sides uphold their end of the deal.
Only now do I acknowledge how many soldiers are present with their weapons on display.
If this goes wrong, it’s going to be a massacre.
Ettore waves his right hand to someone behind him.
Three men emerge from a broken doorway on my left where windowed offices line the warehouse wall.
Roman.
Jero.
And a man slumped between them who has the visage of raw meat.
Christian.
My breath hitches. I blink rapidly, trying to steady my cartwheeling thoughts.
Don’t react,Dante said.
Only, how can I not react? Any normal person would be horrified to see this.
Mateo’s fingers tighten on my arm. A warning. A reminder to keep it together.
