“Go after her?” I ask, my mind racing.

“Yes.” Caroline is emphatic. “But I have to ask, what makes you think she’s been kidnapped?”

“Her note.”

“Note?”

“Here.” I hand her the crumpled piece of paper and turn away, rubbing my face, trying to gather my splintered thoughts.

Where will he take her?

Did she go willingly?

No. She only had revulsion for him.

He tried to break her fucking fingers!

He must have forced her to go.

How the hell did he find her?

“Maxim, this note doesn’t read like she’s been kidnapped. Have you thought that maybe she’s decided to go home?”

“Caro, she did not leave of her own free will. Trust me.”

I have to get her back.

Fuck.

I storm past Caroline and head into my drawing room.

“Fucking hell!”

“What now?”

“I don’t have a working fucking computer!”

* * *

“I need your passport,” Anatoli says as they speed through London’s streets.

“What?”

“We are driving to the Eurotunnel train. I need your passport.”

Eurotunnel. No!

Alessia swallows. This is real. It’s happening. He’s taking her back to Albania.

“I don’t have a passport.”

“What do you mean you don’t have a passport?”

Alessia stares at him.

“Why, Alessia? Tell me! Did you forget to pack it? I don’t understand.” He frowns.

“I was smuggled into this country by some men who took my passport.”

“Smuggled? Men?” His jaw clenches, and a muscle twitches in his cheek. “What is going on?”

She’s too tired and too broken to explain. “I don’t have a passport.”

“Fucking hell.” Anatoli smacks the steering wheel with his palm. Alessia flinches at the sound.

* * *

“Alessia, wake up.”

Something has changed. Alessia is confused.

Maxim?

She opens her eyes, and her heart sinks further into hell. She’s with Anatoli, and the car is at a standstill, parked on the side of the road. It’s dark, but by the glow of the headlights she can tell they are on a country road surrounded by frosted fields.

“Get out of the car,” he says. Alessia stares at him, and a small blossom of hope flowers in her chest.

He’s going to leave her here. She can walk back. She’s done it once before.

“Out,” he says more forcefully.

He opens his car door, climbs out, and comes around to her door, opening it wide. Taking her hand, he hauls her out of her seat and leads her to the back of the car, where he opens the trunk. It’s empty but for a small rolling suitcase and her duffel.

“You’ll have to get in here.”

“What? No!”

“We have no choice. You don’t have a passport. Get in.”

“Please, Anatoli. I hate the dark. Please.”

He frowns. “Get in or I’ll put you in.”

“Anatoli. Please. No. I don’t like the dark!” He moves quickly, picking her up, dumping her in the trunk, and slamming the lid shut before Alessia can fight back.

“No!” she shouts. It’s pitch-dark inside. She starts to kick and scream as the darkness bleeds into her lungs, suffocating her like the black plastic bag from the last time she crossed the Channel.

She can’t breathe. She can’t breathe. She screams.

Not the dark. No. Not the dark. I hate the dark.

Seconds later the lid pops open and a blinding light shines in her face. She blinks. “Here. Take this.” Anatoli hands her a flashlight. “I don’t know how long the battery will last. But we have no choice. Once we are on the train, I can open the trunk.”

Stunned, Alessia takes the flashlight and holds it protectively to her chest. He moves her bag so that she can use it as a pillow, then shuffles out of his overcoat and lays it over her. “You may get cold. I don’t know if the heating works in here. Go back to sleep. And be quiet.” He gives her a stern look and shuts the trunk once more.

Alessia clutches the light and scrunches up her eyes, trying to regulate her breathing as the car starts to move. In her head she begins to play Bach’s Prelude no. 6 in D Minor on repeat—the colors flashing brilliant hues of bright blue and turquoise in her mind—her fingers flexing, tapping out each note on the flashlight.

* * *

Alessia is shaken awake. She looks sleepily up at Anatoli, who towers over her as he holds open the lid of the trunk. His breath is a foggy cloud around him, lit by a solitary light from the parking lot. His face is stark and ashen. “What took you so long to wake up? I thought you were unconscious!” He sounds relieved.

Relieved?

“We’re going to stay the night here,” he says.

Alessia blinks, huddling down into the coat. It’s cold. Her head is fuzzy from crying. Her eyes are swollen. And she doesn’t want to spend the night with him.

“Out,” he snaps, and extends his hand. Sighing, Alessia sits up. The cold wind whips around her, blowing her hair across her face. Stiffly she clambers out of the car, refusing Anatoli’s help. She doesn’t want his hands on her. He reaches past her for his coat, which he shuffles on. He grabs his case and hands her the duffel containing her clothes before shutting the trunk. The parking lot is deserted except for two other cars. Not far away stands a squat, nondescript building that Alessia assumes is a hotel.

“Follow me.” He walks briskly toward the entrance. Alessia quietly sets her bag on the ground, turns, and runs.

* * *

I stare at the ceiling, my mind churning through all the plans I’ve put in place since Alessia was taken. Tomorrow I’ll fly to Albania, and Tom Alexander will accompany me. Annoyingly, it’s too-short notice for a private jet, so we’re flying commercial. Thanks to Magda, we have the address of Alessia’s parents. It’s also thanks to Magda that Alessia’s fiancé found her. I don’t dwell on this tidbit of information, because it makes me incandescent with fury.

Calm down, mate.

We’ll pick up a car, drive to Tirana, and overnight there at the Plaza hotel. Tom has arranged for us to meet up with a translator who will come with us to Kuk?s the following day.

And we’ll stay there for however long it takes. We’ll wait for Alessia and her kidnapper.

Not for the first time this evening, I wish I’d bought her that phone. It’s so frustrating not being able to contact her.

I hope she’s okay.

I close my eyes, imagining horrible scenarios.

My sweet girl.

My sweet, sweet Alessia.

I’m coming to get you. I’ve got you.

I love you.

* * *

Alessia flees blindly into the dark, fueled by her adrenaline rush. She’s running over the asphalt, then onto rough grass. Behind her she hears a shout. It’s him. She hears his footsteps pounding on the frozen ground. Getting closer.

Closer still.

Then silence.

He’s on the grass.

No.

She pushes herself harder, hoping that her feet will carry her away from him. But he grabs her, and she’s falling. Falling. Tackled to the ground so forcefully that she scrapes her face on the frosted grass. Anatoli lies on top of her back, panting heavily. “You stupid bitch. Where the hell do you think you’re going to go at this time?” he hisses in her ear. He kneels up and drags her over until she’s lying on her back, then sits astride her. He slaps her hard across her face, snapping her head to the side. He leans down over her, puts his hand on her throat, and squeezes.

He’s going to kill her.

She doesn’t struggle.

She stares at him. Her eyes on his. In their frigid blue, she sees the darkness of his heart. His hate. His anger. His inadequacy. His hand tightens, and he’s choking the life from her. Her head begins to swim. She reaches up and clutches his arm.

This is how I am going to die….

She sees her end. Here. Somewhere in France at the hands of this violent man. She wants it. She welcomes it. She doesn’t want to live a life in fear, like her mother. “Kill me,” she mouths.

Anatoli growls something incomprehensible—and lets go.

Alessia takes a huge breath and puts her hands up to her throat, coughing and spluttering, her body overruling her, fighting for life, sucking in precious air, and reviving her.

She gasps. “This is why I don’t want to marry you.” Her voice is husky and small, forcing sound through her bruised larynx.

Anatoli grabs her jaw and looms over her, his face close enough for her to feel his warm breath on her cheek . “?‘A woman is a sack, made to endure,’?” he snarls, with a cruel glint in his eye.

Alessia gazes at him as hot tears scald the sides of her face and pool in her ears. She hadn’t been aware that she was crying. He is quoting from the ancient Kanun of Lek Dukagjini, the primitive feudal code that governed the mountain tribes in the north and east of her country for centuries. Its legacy lingers. Anatoli sits back.

“I would be better off dead than with you.” Her voice is emotionless.

He frowns, nonplussed. “Don’t be ridiculous.” He slowly rises, standing over her. “Get up.”