Chapter 3~ Seen Too Much

Chapter 3

ESTELLE

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Sicily was nothing like I'd imagined and everything like the photos all at once. Every corner of the place looked like it had been designed specifically to be photographed, and yet somehow the reality of standing in it felt bigger and stranger than any image had prepared me for.

The island we'd come to, Isola di San Michele, was only accessible by a small ferry from the main port, and as we approached, I understood why people paid stupid money to visit, the kind of money that would've covered my family's rent for a year, easily.

It was paradise. Actual, literal paradise with white sand beaches and water so blue it looked photoshopped. The island was small enough to walk across in twenty minutes but packed with enough bars, restaurants, and hidden coves to keep tourists busy for weeks. I'd seen postcards less convincing than the view spread out in front of us now.

"This place is mental," I breathed, staring at the crystal-clear water as our ferry pulled into the tiny harbor, unable to quite believe I was actually here, that this was actually happening to me and not some other, braver version of myself.

"Mental gorgeous," Vivian agreed. "And look at all the fit blokes already on the beach. It's like they knew we were coming." She said it with the kind of certainty that made me wonder if she'd somehow arranged the entire island in advance.

"They definitely knew Stell was coming," Millie laughed. "Operation Deflowering is officially go."

"Will you please stop calling it that? People might hear you."

"Let them hear. You're twenty-three and you've never been properly kissed. This is a public service."

"I have been kissed!"

"That thing with Marcus Thompson behind the bike sheds when you were sixteen doesn't count. That was basically just two teenagers bumping faces together hoping for the best."

She wasn't wrong, but I didn't have to like it, and I told her exactly that with a look that made her laugh even harder.

We checked into our little beachside hotel. Three beds crammed into what was basically a glorified closet, but with a view that made up for everything. Within an hour, we were changed into our bikinis and heading down to the beach with enough sunscreen to protect a small army, which, given my complexion, was frankly the bare minimum required for survival.

The beach was packed with gorgeous people doing gorgeous things in the gorgeous sunshine.

Everyone looked like they belonged in a magazine while I felt like I belonged behind the counter at Waterstones, recommending romance novels to pensioners, which, to be fair, I actually did most weekends and had gotten disturbingly good at.

"Stop overthinking," Vivian said, reading my face like she always did. "You look amazing. That bikini makes your boobs look incredible."

"My boobs are nothing special."

"Your boobs are spectacular and you know it. Now come on, let's get some drinks and start scoping out potential candidates for tonight."

"Tonight?"

"No time like the present, love. Strike while the iron's hot and all that." Vivian said it with the breezy confidence of someone who had never once in her life second-guessed a decision this fast.

Three cocktails later, I was feeling significantly more confident about the whole situation. The drink was making me pleasantly fuzzy around the edges, and there were definitely some very attractive men giving me interested looks, or at least I liked to think they were, and at this particular level of tipsy, I'd decided that was close enough to the truth for my purposes.

"There," Millie pointed across the beach to where a group of guys were playing football in the sand. "That one with the dark hair. He keeps looking over here."

I followed her gaze and immediately felt my cheeks heat up. He was gorgeous, all tanned skin and easy smiles, exactly the kind of man who'd never looked twice at me back home.

"I can't just go over there."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't know how to talk to men like that."

"They're just people, Stell. Admittedly, very attractive people with excellent bone structure, but still just people."

"Easy for you to say. You've been talking to men like that since you were twelve."

"And now it's your turn. Come on." She grabbed my hand and started pulling me toward the group.

"Millie, no. I'm not ready. I need more drinks first."

"You need less drinks and more confidence. Trust me."

But before we could reach them, the football came flying toward us and Mr. Dark Hair jogged over to retrieve it, flashing a grin that should have come with a warning label.

"Sorry about that," he said in accented English that made my stomach do little flips. "My aim's not what it used to be."

"No worries," I managed, trying not to stare at the way his shorts hung low on his hips.

"You ladies enjoying your holiday?"

"We're having a brilliant time," Vivian jumped in when it became clear I'd temporarily lost the ability to speak. "It's Estelle's first time in Italy."

"First time?" His eyes lit up with interest. "Then we must make sure you have an unforgettable experience."

The way he said "unforgettable experience" made me think he wasn't just talking about sightseeing, and something low in my stomach did a slow, traitorous flip in response.

"I'm Pietro," he continued, holding out his hand.

"Estelle," I managed, trying not to notice how warm his skin was when I shook it.

"Beautiful name for a beautiful woman."

Christ, he was good at this. I could feel my defenses wobbling already, and he'd barely said three sentences to me.

"Would you like to join us for drinks later? There's a party on the beach tonight. Music, dancing, good wine…"

I opened my mouth to say yes, to finally do something spontaneous and exciting, when my bladder decided against it.

"That sounds lovely," I said, "but I need to… excuse me for a moment."

And with that incredibly smooth move, I practically ran toward the beach facilities, leaving my potential Italian stallion standing there with my two mates who were probably already planning our wedding, complete with a venue and a guest list and possibly matching bridesmaid dresses, knowing them.

I could hear Vivian's delighted cackle carrying across the sand behind me, the kind of laugh that meant she was already composing the story she'd tell everyone back home about the night Estelle finally grew a spine.

The ladies' loo was thankfully empty, giving me a moment to splash cold water on my face and give myself a stern talking-to in the mirror.

"Right, Estelle. This is it. This is your moment. You're going to go back out there, you're going to flirt like a normal person, and you're going to finally understand what all the fuss is about."

My reflection looked significantly less confident than my pep talk sounded. Cheeks flushed from the cocktails, hair already going frizzy in the humidity, eyes wide with a mixture of excitement and pure, unfiltered terror. Twenty-three years old and still capable of psyching myself out over a boy with a nice smile and better shorts than sense.

But that was the whole point of this trip, wasn't it? Doing the things that scared me. Being the version of myself who said yes instead of finding seventeen reasons to say no. I dried my hands, smoothed down my hair one last time, and told myself that whatever happened next, at least I'd tried.

I was just drying my hands when the door opened and three men walked in.

Three. Men. In the ladies' loo.

"Excuse me," I said, turning around with my best customer service smile. "I think you've got the wrong—"

The words died in my throat. These weren't lost tourists. These were three men dressed head to toe in black, wearing sunglasses despite being indoors, and one of them was carrying what was very clearly a small child.

A small child who was making muffled crying sounds.

"Oh," one of them said when he saw me, his smile not reaching his eyes. "Sorry, miss. My daughter needed the toilet and the men's was occupied."

I looked at the child in question. Beautiful little boy, maybe three years old, with dark hair and huge brown eyes that were wide with fear. He was pressed against the man's chest, but something was wrong. His mouth was… was that tape? My stomach lurched at the sight of it, understanding arriving a half-second before I wanted it to.

"Your daughter?" I heard myself ask, my voice sounding weird and high.

"Yes, my daughter. He's been a bit… fussy today. Haven't you, bambina?" The endearment sounded wrong coming out of his mouth, too practiced, like he'd said it a hundred times before to a hundred different children who weren't actually his.

Daughter. Girl. He'd just called this obviously male child a girl.

Every alarm bell in my head started ringing at once, loud enough that I was half surprised the other two men didn't seem to notice the panic I was certain must be written all over my face.

"How old is she? He's gorgeous." I stepped closer, trying to get a better look at the child, and that's when I saw it clearly, there was definitely tape across his mouth. Clear tape, but tape nonetheless.

"Three," the man said quickly, shifting the boy away from me. "Very shy around strangers."

"Oh, I love children," I continued, my heart hammering against my ribs. "I have a little brother myself. What's her name?"

The three men exchanged glances.

"Sofia," the one holding the child said finally.

Sofia. A girl's name. For a boy who was clearly terrified and clearly not their child.

"Sofia's a lovely name," I managed, taking another step closer. "And such a handsome little… girl."

The child's eyes met mine over the man's shoulder, and in that moment, I knew with absolute certainty that I was witnessing a kidnapping. There was no other explanation that fit, not the mismatched pronoun, not the tape, not the way the boy's small body had gone rigid with terror the second I'd stepped closer.

"Well," I said brightly, "I should let you get on with it. Daddy duties and all that." The words tasted like ash in my mouth, but I forced them out anyway, praying my voice sounded steadier than I felt.

I moved toward the door with every intention of raising an alarm, to get help, to do something, anything, that might actually save this child instead of just standing there frozen while my mind raced through options that all felt equally hopeless. But as I reached for the handle, the man's voice stopped me cold.

"Actually, miss, I think you should stay."

I turned around slowly, and found myself staring down the barrel of a gun, my whole body going numb with a fear so total it felt almost peaceful, like my brain had simply given up trying to process the situation in real time.

"I think," he continued conversationally, "that you've seen too much."

The words hung in the air between us, casual in a way that made them somehow worse than if he'd screamed them. My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears, drowning out the tinny music still drifting in from the beach outside, the world where none of this was happening, where Vivian and Millie were probably still watching Pietro and wondering what was taking me so long.

I thought about screaming or lunging for the door. I recalled every self-defense tip I'd half-listened to in some university seminar years ago, back when danger felt like an abstract concept rather than a man with a gun standing three feet away from me in a public toilet.

The child's muffled whimper broke through the roaring in my ears, and something in me hardened despite the fear.

I couldn't just stand here and let them walk out with him.