I will not cry.
I will not give Leo Santoro the satisfaction of seeing me break.
The safe house appears suddenly around a curve in the road, and, despite everything, I can’t help but stare.
It’s not a house. It’s an estate.
A three-story monstrosity towers behind a ten-foot stone wall that surround the entire property, topped with what I’m pretty sure is electric fencing disguised as decorative ironwork.
Guards are visible at the gate and stationed around the perimeter, armed and alert.
This isn’t just a safe house. This is a fortress.
My stomach drops as George pulls through the gates and they swing shut behind us with a finality that makes my chest tight, and I finally see more than just the top of the .
The main building is massive, made up of stone and dark wood that looks like it belongs in the Italian countryside rather than upstate New York.
Wings extend off either side, with manicured gardens that probably look beautiful in daylight but are currently shadowed and ominous in the late afternoon sun, and what looks like a separate guesthouse in the distance.
“Welcome home,” Leo says, and I want to claw his eyes out for the casual way he says it. Like this is normal. Like he didn’t just ruin my entire life.
The car stops in front of the main entrance and Leo gets out, walking around to my door before I can even think about trying to lock it from the inside.
He opens it and reaches for me, and I scramble backward across the seat.
“Don’t touch me,” I hiss.
“We can do this the easy way or the hard way,” he says, his voice maddeningly patient. “Your choice.”
How fuckingdarehe. “Fuck you!”
“Hard way it is.”
He grabs my wrist—the same one he’s already bruised—and hauls me out of the car. I try to fight but I’m so tired, my muscles feel like jelly from the adrenaline crash and the fear and the two hours of sitting rigid in that car.
When I stumble on the gravel driveway, hampered by the ridiculous train of my wedding dress, Leo doesn’t even pause.
He just scoops me up like I weigh nothing, one arm under my knees and one around my back, and carries me toward the house.
“Put me down!” I beat my fists against his chest, but there’s no strength behind the blows. I hate how weak I am right now, that my body is betraying me when I need to fight. “Put me down right now, you kidnapping piece of shit!”
Leo doesn’t respond.
He just carries me up the front steps, through the door that someone—another guard in black—opens for him, and into the house.
Even through my terror and rage, I can’t help but notice how beautiful it is inside.
The entrance hall is enormous, with dark hardwood floors and exposed beam ceilings, and a grand staircase curving up to the second floor.
There are paintings on the walls that look original and expensive, furniture that’s clearly antique, and fresh flowers in crystal vases.
It’s elegant and tasteful and completely at odds with the fact that I’m being carried through it against my will.
“The room is ready?” Leo asks someone. I twist to see another guard nodding and then he’s carrying me up that grand staircase, my wedding dress train trailing behind us like some kind of macabre bridal procession.
We reach the second floor and Leo carries me down a hallway lined with more artwork, more expensive furniture, more evidence that whoever owns this place has money to burn.
He stops in front of a door near the end of the hall and somehow manages to open it while still holding me, which just pisses me off more because it’s another reminder of how strong he is and how utterly powerless I am right now.