The Italian's Final Redemption - Jackie Ashenden Page 0,12

always been the same. Since she was too valuable for him to kill or maim, he would drag her down to the basement in that house in Cornwall—or get one of his guards to do it—and lock her in one of the tiny rooms there. The room had no windows and when the door closed the darkness was absolute. A crushing weight that stole her breath. She never knew how long he would leave her there, but it always felt like aeons.

She hated the darkness. Hated that room. And without fail, whenever he dragged her out of it, she would always do what he asked. Until eventually she learned to always do what he asked every time.

She’d thought that when she’d escaped her father she’d leave that room behind her for ever. It seemed she was wrong.

Vincenzo de Santi had always been the variable she couldn’t predict and yet she should have been able to. She’d ascribed to him a morality that it was clear he didn’t have, and in retrospect she didn’t even know why she’d thought he would help her in the first place.

He was everything the rumours had said about him. Cold, incorruptible, ruthless. Without a shred of mercy. He stood there staring at her, so tall, so powerful, a certain cold, brutal beauty to him that her stupid brain couldn’t help appreciating even as everything inside her felt as if it was collapsing in terror.

You’re not brave, not like your mother.

No, that was true. She wasn’t. She was made of fear instead and that fear in turn had made her stupid. She’d thought that the knowledge in her head would be worth more to him than her physical presence. More than the weight of her own crimes.

She was wrong.

‘Please.’ The word was a scraped thread of sound, which was all she could muster up. ‘Not a cell.’

Begging now?

Her mother hadn’t begged. Her mother had been fearless, stepping between her and her enraged father, taking the blow that had been meant for her.

She could only dream of being that brave, that strong.

The sound of footsteps came and two security guards dressed in black appeared in the doorway. She knew how skilled they were. She’d watched them in the camera feed de Santi had shown her. There was no escape for her. There never had been.

Always, in every way, she was trapped.

Fear had locked all her muscles, her breathing getting faster. They would drag her away, wouldn’t they? Drag her into a hole, into the darkness, and she would be trapped there. It was like dying, that darkness. A weight that would crush all the life and the breath out of her...

The guards came towards her and her vision wavered, turning black around the edges. The darkness was coming for her. It would swallow her whole.

She opened her mouth to scream but there was no air in her lungs, no air anywhere, and she was falling, falling into that blackness, and there was no end to it...

‘Breathe, civetta,’ a deep, cold voice ordered in her ear. ‘Breathe.’

It was to be obeyed, that voice. It brooked no argument. So she tried, sucking in air, pushing back against the crushing weight on her chest and the darkness pressing in.

A wave of dizziness caught her, making her tremble. She was so cold. She couldn’t feel her fingers or her toes.

‘Breathe,’ the voice ordered again, and so she did.

More dizziness and she was trembling even harder. But something was around her, something strong. Something hot. Holding her. The heat made her feel less cold and she was held very tightly, which seemed to ease the shaking.

A warm scent surrounded her, cedar and sandalwood, oddly comforting, and she could have sworn she could hear the beating of someone’s heart. It was strong and steady and slow, and she found herself trying to breathe to match that rhythm. In fact, if she concentrated, it steadied the frantic race of her own heartbeat too.

Gradually the tight pull of her muscles relaxed and the cold feeling in her hands and feet began to ease, the weight on her chest lifting. Everything was still dark, but as her consciousness returned she gradually realised that it was because her eyes were closed.

And then she realised something else: that the thing holding her was a person and the strong bands around her were arms. That the warmth was someone’s body. She was lying against someone and it was their heart she could hear beating.

Shock rippled through her.

‘Breathe,’ the voice