Chapter 5

At eleven that night I drove out to the old house on Long Island alone to look for my mother's things.

On the way back, a dark gray SUV shot out of the shadows and cut me off. Two men in black tactical vests pulled my door open and clamped a hand over my mouth and nose. A sharp chemical odor flooded my nostrils. I struggled twice before losing consciousness.

When I woke it was pitch black.

They had blindfolded me and tied me to a metal chair, hands and feet bound, so I couldn't move at all.

Crack!

At the first lash my whole body arched and I bit through my lip to swallow the scream.

"You crossed the wrong person." The voice of the one holding the whip seemed to come from far away.

Crack! Crack! Crack!

The whip came down like rain, every stroke cutting the air. I lost count of how many. The wounds from the dinner hadn't healed, and new wounds tore open over old ones, the pain of split skin running from my spine to my fingertips.

I bit down on my lip and kept the scream in.

Who was it? The voice was run through a modulator, but only my father and Marco knew I had gone out to the old house alone tonight.

The whipping went on a long time, long enough that my mind was starting to go before it finally stopped. Then came the sound of a call connecting. "Sir, everything you ordered is done," a voice said respectfully.

A familiar man's voice came through the phone.

"Good. Take her back."

That one line froze the blood in my body. I knew that voice far too well.

It was Marco.

It was almost light by the time they dumped me at the front of the house. The butler screamed when he found me.

The back of my shirt was glued to my skin with blood, and the family doctor needed three doses of anesthetic to numb the pain while he cleaned and stitched the wounds. The nurse said quietly, "From the shoulder blade to the waist. Ninety-nine."

Over a single tear from Isabella, he had ordered men to lash me ninety-nine times in return.

Lying facedown against the pillows, I saw Marco's car pull in downstairs.

He got out of the driver's seat, looked up once at my window, and then walked straight toward Isabella's wing.

I closed my eyes.

That night I called my grandfather again.

"Grandfather, I want to fly to New York as soon as possible."

"All right. I'll arrange it." He paused. "Has something happened?"

"I'm fine, Grandfather." My tears nearly spilled over. "I just want to get out of here as fast as I can."

By the third day, though my wounds still hadn't fully healed, my grandfather had arranged the flight and the movers, and I started going through my things.

While I was directing the workers loading the car, Marco came back.

"Miss Vittori, what is this?" He frowned at the boxes all over the ground.

"Moving." I leaned against my car and watched the workers going back and forth.

"Moving where?"

"You don't need to come along this time." I shifted my gaze to him. "As of today you're no longer my personal bodyguard."

He froze, and his eyes stayed on my face for several seconds, as if he were waiting for me to explain.

Just then the movers told me everything was packed. I nodded, opened the car door, slid into the driver's seat, and started the engine.

His brow moved, and his lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to ask something.

But I had no intention of giving him the chance. Before I stepped on the gas, I lowered the window and told him with a smile, "Congratulations on getting what you wanted, Mr. De Luca. You belong to Isabella Vittori now."

Three hours later the private jet landed at JFK. A silver-haired butler had been waiting and bowed.

"Miss Vittori, we've collected your luggage and someone will unpack for you shortly. And if you'd like, you may visit the young master at the hospital today."

I nodded, snapped my SIM card in half and dropped it in a bin on the curb, then got in the car.

"The hospital, please."

Outside the window, the New York skyline opened out slowly in the morning sun.

I looked at the shapes of those towers and leaned back against the seat. The wounds on my back had started to scab, with new skin already forming.

And I was about to have a new life of my own.