Chapter Ten
Nina's POV
I woke to sunlight streaming through unfamiliar curtains and the taste of salt on my lips from dried tears.
For a moment, I didn't remember where I was. Then it all came crashing back.
You're ours now, Nina. Whether you like it or not.
Dante's words echoed in my skull, cold and final as a prison door slamming shut.
I cried myself to sleep last night. Enzo had walked me to my room and made sure I was inside , because apparently mine wasn't secure enough after the attack and left without a word.
I'd curled up on his bed, surrounded by the scent of his cologne and gunpowder, and sobbed until exhaustion dragged me under.
Now, the morning light painted everything gold, too beautiful for the nightmare I was living.
A soft knock at the door made me sit up, heart racing.
"Sí?" I called tentatively.
The door opened, and an elderly woman stepped inside. She was small, round, with silver hair pulled back in a neat bun and kind brown eyes that crinkled at the corners.
She wore a simple gray dress and an apron, carrying a tray with coffee and what looked like fresh pastries.
"Buenos días, mija," she said warmly, setting the tray on the nightstand.
Relief flooded through me. "¿Hablas español?"
"Sí, sí." She smiled, patting my hand. "Me llamo Rosa, pero puedes llamarme Nana. Everyone does."
For the first time since arriving at this house, I felt a flicker of something like comfort. Someone who spoke my mother's language. Someone soft in a house full of sharp edges.
"Nana," I repeated, testing the name. "Gracias."
"De nada, corazón." She poured the coffee, adding cream without asking, like she already knew how I took it.
"You sleep okay? Big night last night, no?"
I accepted the cup, wrapping my hands around the warm ceramic. "Not really. I… I can't believe this is happening."
Nana tsked sympathetically, settling into the chair by the window. "Los hombres," she said, shaking her head.
"Always making trouble. But they keep you safe, yes? That's what matters."
"Safe," I repeated bitterly. "I'm a prisoner."
"You're alive," Nana corrected gently. "Better to be bird in cage than a dead bird, no?"
I didn't have an answer for that.
We talked for a while about small things, easy things. She told me about her grandchildren in Miami, her recipes, the garden she kept behind the house. I told her about my mother, carefully avoiding the pain that threatened to choke me every time I said her name.
Finally, I worked up the courage to ask. "Nana… do you think I could go outside? Just for a little while? I haven't seen the sun since I got here."
She frowned, considering. "I don't know, mija. Los jefes"
"Please," I interrupted. "Even just to the beach. I won't go far. I just… I need to breathe."
Something in my voice must have convinced her. She sighed, standing. "Let me ask. And you need proper clothes for the beach, no? That shirt…" She gestured at Enzo's oversized tee I was still wearing. "Not good for swimming."
"I don't have a swimsuit," I admitted.
"No problema." She winked. "I fix."
She left, and I heard her voice in the hallway, muffled but insistent. Someone, maybe Dante, maybe the other two but responded in sharp Italian. More back and forth. Then silence.
Nana returned five minutes later, phone in hand, looking pleased with herself.
"Boss says okay, but I will watch you. And…" She made another call, speaking rapid Spanish too fast for me to follow. Then she smiled. "Veinte minutos. They bring bikinis."
"Twenty minutes?" I blinked. "How did they get this so fast?"
"They have everything here, mija. Everything."
She wasn't exaggerating.
Exactly twenty minutes later, a sleek black car pulled up to the house. A man in a suit emerged carrying three large shopping bags, which he handed to Nana without a word before driving away.
Nana dumped the bags on the bed. "Pick one!"
I stared.
There were at least a dozen bikinis inside designer labels, expensive fabrics, every color and style imaginable. String bikinis, high waisted ones, sporty cuts, barely-there triangles. All in what looked like my exact size.
"How did they know my size" I trailed off.
Nana just smiled knowingly. "They know everything, mija. Eyes everywhere, remember?"
Right. The cameras.
My cheeks burned, but I pushed the embarrassment aside and rifled through the options. Most were too revealing tiny scraps of fabric that would leave nothing to the imagination. I needed something practical.
My fingers closed on a sky-blue two-piece. The top had decent coverage, the bottoms were high waisted. And the color…
The color matched the ocean outside.
Perfect.
"This one," I said.
Nana nodded approvingly. "Very pretty. Like the sky. Now change, rápido. The sun is wasting!"
The moment I stepped outside, I nearly cried.
Fresh air. Real, salty, ocean air, not recycled through vents and filters. The sun is warm on my skin. The sound of waves crashing against sand.
Freedom.
Even if it was an illusion.
Nana walked beside me, her hand light on my elbow. "Remember, mija," she said quietly. "El jefe says no stupid things. You try to run, you die. ¿Entiendes?"
I nodded, swallowing hard. "I understand."
"Bueno."
We walked down a wooden path that led from the house to the beach. The sand was white and fine, warm between my toes as I kicked off my crocs. The ocean stretched endlessly before me, impossibly blue and calm.
I could see them, of course. The guards.
Two on the deck of the house, watching through binoculars. One in the lifeguard tower to my left. Another patrolling the perimeter near the rocks. All armed. All alert.
But they weren't looking at me. Not really. Just doing their jobs, scanning for external threats.
I walked toward the water slowly, letting the sand play between my toes, the sun soaking into my skin. Nana stayed near the path, settling onto a beach chair someone had left out, content to watch from a distance.
The water was cool when it first touched my feet, sending goosebumps up my legs. I waded in deeper, letting the waves lap at my knees, my thighs, my waist.
God, this feels good.
For the first time in days, my chest didn't feel so tight. My mind didn't race quite so fast.
I looked out at the horizon.
That's when I saw them.
Boats.
White sails in the distance, maybe half a mile out. Fishing boats, probably, or tourists. Normal people living normal lives.
People who could help me.
My heart began to pound.
No. Don't be stupid, Nina.
But the thought took root, growing wild and desperate.
What if I swam out there? What if I made it to one of those boats? They'd have radios, phones. I could call for help. Get away from this place, away from Dante and Nikolai and Enzo and their red room and their promises that I was theirs.
I glanced back.
Nana was reading a magazine, shaded by an umbrella. The guards were still scanning the perimeter, focused outward, not inward.
And I was wearing sky blue.
The exact color of the ocean.
Easier to get lost in the water.
My pulse roared in my ears, louder than the waves.
This was insane. Reckless. Probably suicidal.
But what was the alternative? Stay here forever? Become whatever they wanted me to be?
You're ours now, Nina.
No.
No.
I took a deep breath and dove.
The water was colder once I was fully submerged, shocking against my overheated skin. I kicked hard, propelling myself forward, breaking the surface only long enough to gasp air before diving again.
Swim. Just swim.
The boats were far. Farther than they'd looked from shore. But I was a decent swimmer summers at the country club pool, swim team in high school. I could do this.
I had to do this.
My arms burned. My lungs screamed. The salt stung my eyes, but I didn't stop.
Fifty strokes. A hundred. Two hundred.
I surfaced, gasping, and looked back.
The beach was a distant line of white. The guards were tiny figures. No alarms. No shouts.
They hadn't noticed yet.
Hope surged through me, electric and wild.
I kept swimming.
But the ocean was deeper here. Darker. The current stronger, pulling at my legs, trying to drag me sideways.
And the boats…
The boats didn't look any closer.
Panic flickered at the edges of my vision.
Keep going. Don't stop.
My muscles trembled. My strokes grew sloppy, inefficient. Water filled my mouth, and I choked, coughing, struggling to stay afloat.
Come on, Nina. You can do this.
But I couldn't.
The current pulled harder, a riptide I hadn't felt before. My legs kicked uselessly, finding no purchase. The sky seemed farther away suddenly, the water deeper, colder.
I tried to scream, but seawater flooded my throat.
No. No, no, no!
My arms stopped working. My legs went limp.
The ocean swallowed me whole.
Darkness pressed in from all sides, thick and cold and absolute. My lungs burned, desperate for air that wouldn't come. I sank, weightless, spinning slowly in the black.
This is it.
This is how I die.
Not at the hands of a rival mafia. Not in a red room full of chains.
But here. Alone. In the ocean and my mother's beautiful face was the last thing I saw before blanking out.