No, that’s impossible. The man beside me spoke as if he was delivering this information to Marco. But knowing the Salvatores, anything is possible.
But Marco wouldn’t?—
But he told me to stay put. Stay in that damned apartment.
He said he was busy.
He—
No.
I grit my teeth so hard my jaw aches.
This is exactly what they want.
They want me to believe Marco is part of this. To let the doubt fester, unravel me from the inside, make me question everything.
I force myself to breathe, pushing the paranoia aside. Focus on the facts, not the fear.
"You think you’re clever," I say, bringing steel into my voice.
The man beside me chuckles amusedly. "I think I’m smarter than you, sweetheart."
I press my back against the seat, gripping the restraints so tightly I feel the burn of rope against my skin. "You just set him up."
I canhearhis glee. "Did I?"
They called Marco before they called anyone else.
Why?
If this were a standard kidnapping, they’d contact Luca first. Arrange a trade. Demand money. Threaten to send me back in pieces.
But they didn’t.
They wanted Marco’s attention first.
Not Luca.
Which means Marco wasn’t in on it. Which means Marco wasn’t expecting that call.
Which means?—
He’s coming.
A sharp, hot pain ignites in my chest, but I stomp it down before it can bloom.
I slow my breathing, forcing myself to listen and think instead of react.
The steady roll of the tires against pavement. The scent of leather and cigarette smoke clinging to the air. The low murmur of the men in the front seat, too quiet for me to make out their words.
I tune in to the one thing I can control.
My mind.
I’m not a little girl anymore.
I can still remember the day I learned how to control my fear.
