Page 133 of Destined for the Devil
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Pure and True Love
Roman
Theendofmylife began with a fight with Sergei—he was adamant I wear a specific set of shoes. “Wearthese. They will give you a greater chance at escape, if need be,” he blabbered incoherent nonsense, but I was too drained to win the argument.
I’d already given him specific instructions on what he was responsible for, and that conversation took all my strength away.
Sergei was a fucking parasite, but I knew he would fulfill my last wish. I knew he would keep the promise. I knew he would get Isla out of there safe and sound, and that’s all I wanted.
Seeing Isla one last time was a dream come true. My love. I regretted nothing. If she was alive and safe, I was ready to die that evening.
But instead of killing me or submitting me, John proved to be a very strange man. He handcuffed me and sat me in front of a laptop, demanding I walk him through the money transfer.
He seemed to have it all figured out before—geolocations, kidnapping without leaving a trace of information, details on Kirill, etcetera. But when it came down to the most important part for him, he didn’t think it through.
The time difference meant that American banks couldn’t do a transfer past a certain time. He’d have to wait until the next day. Moreover, the sum was astronomical. Without an authorized bank representative and special codes, there was no way this could be done, just us two, sitting insome Lake Como villa, on his Dell laptop.
But I wasn't going to tell him that. He’d have to figure it out for himself.
John was prepared in every other aspect, though. Armed guards and security swarmed inside the house. This was done on purpose—he knew I could have knocked him unconscious and escaped, but my chest wasn’t bulletproof.
So, I had at least another night to breathe. Dusk began to settle outside the windows of his dilapidated mansion, and I wondered how Isla was. I breathed easy, knowing she’d been up in the air for a few hours already, on her way home, away from this man.
John ordered something in Italian, and two meatheads handcuffed my hands in the front instead of the back, bringing me into a dining room and shoving me into a chair. Some kind of Italian-looking meal was served, and John poured me a glass of red wine. This was ridiculous, and the smile on my face caught his attention when he took his seat beside me.
"Something amusing to you, Roman?" He piped up and grabbed his utensils.
"No. Just thinking about Isla. Have you ever been in love, Giovanni?" I asked him, and he smiled widely, as if he was excited to chat with someone. He seemed lonely.
"Not like you.” He bit down on a zucchini and looked up at me. “I can see why you love her so much. She’s a very special girl."
Just the fact that he had theaudacityto assess her in any way made me want to shove my fork in his eye. That was a great idea; he gave me a forkandknife. Idiot.
"Are you married?" I changed the subject, watching him chew slowly.
He shook his head. “Not anymore."
"Who was the woman who walked into Isla's building, pretending tobe her?" I wondered if that was his wife or ex-wife; the woman looked older on the security footage.
"Just some random. She was paid, and then…she disappeared.” He spoke easily, but the look in his eyes spelled it out for me.
John ate slowly, and I sat there motionless, thinking about only one person. “Did you hurt Isla?”
“No.” He sipped his wine and shook his head slowly. “I didn’t hurt her.”
“Why was she so upset on the second video?” Images of what must have happened to her and how scared she must have been weren’t leaving my mind.
John melted in a wide smile as if reminiscing, and I took a deep breath in to calm the fuck down. I’d never find out what he did to her, and somehow that made me more upset than the prospect of dying.
“She was upset about you,” he assured me. “She was upset that I wanted to trade her for you.”
“And why do you want that? Why are you doing all this bullshit? Kidnapping Isla? Scaring her? If you wanted money, you should have just asked for it.”
John placed his utensils neatly beside his plate, and I wondered if he treated Isla like this when she was here. What if he had her locked up somewhere? He definitely did; she screamed for him to not leave her in thereagainon the phone call.
“Because I want you dead.” John spoke matter-of-factly. “You took so much from me. It wasn’t about Isla. It was aboutyou.”
