AYLA
I didn't expect more from Lorenzo Vellani, but I certainly didn't expect less either.
And the flight to Lake Como suddenly felt like forever.
Every cell in my body was awake.
I texted Sophia again to be sure Arthuro was calm.
The same reply came: he was fine.
The moment the plane touched down at Lake Como's terminal, two black Audis were parked a few distances away.
Men in black suits stood on both sides of the door as I reached it.
The blindfold was pulled on immediately I got in; my face was covered in a damp cloth that sent a sickly-sweet scent down my nose.
My lungs burned before everything dissolved into darkness.
I stirred from the weight of light pressing against my eyelids.
Too bright. Too harsh.
I blinked, trying to push it away, but it cut through anyway.
"Turn it off," Lorenzo's voice came—cold, and controlled.
The light snapped off.
Darkness rushed back in.
I sucked in a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.
The air smelled of diesel. Thick. Heavy.
