Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 89232 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89232 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
“Here,” the captain says, returning with my phone.
I take it without moving my gaze from the road where the second vehicle pulls off with screeching tires. I keep looking at the spot on the marina where my wife stood only a few seconds ago while dialing my lawyer with a voice command. He’ll pick up, no matter the hour. He’s in Marseille. It shouldn’t take him long to get to the station.
When the line connects, I’m already stalking to the cabin for my keys and coat, my hand shaking with rage.
Those motherfuckers. They know Sabella is out of her depth. They’re not taking her in for questioning about a complaint or for concern about her welfare. They’re taking her in to press her for information on me. And I don’t know how long she’ll last before they break her.
Chapter
Thirty-One
Sabella
* * *
The police station is a cold and miserable place with lime-green doorframes and yellowed tiles. The interrogation room is freezing cold. I’m sure it’s on purpose. So is the humiliating full body search that a female officer executes with surgical gloves and probing fingers.
She asks me to open my mouth before pushing down my tongue. Then she instructs me to bend over and touch my toes. I die a thousand deaths as she does a thorough feel-around in all my private places.
I’m shivering from cold and embarrassment when she’s done. She tells me in a neutral tone to get dressed, watching me as I do so. Her gaze slides over me until I’ve tied my laces, her expression giving nothing away. No words are exchanged and no explanations offered. She simply grabs my arm and escorts me to another room with a metal table and two chairs. A camera that sits in the corner of the ceiling is pointed toward the table. One-sided glass forms a window in the back wall.
A guard enters and handcuffs me to the table. After securing my ankles with chains, they leave and shut the door.
For a long time, nothing happens. I’m alone, shivering with cold. I’m hurting both inside and outside. The hard seat of the wooden chair doesn’t help. I breathe in and out, trying to still my violent trembling and to simply exist without thinking, but as I’m filling my lungs with the stale air that smells of urine and bleach, the time ticks by slowly, and nobody comes.
I know what they’re doing. I know why they stripped me and searched me so thoroughly. I know why they’re letting me sit here in the cold, chained to a table and the floor. They want to break me. They’re hoping I’ll cooperate when they finally come back for me, and I understand why.
The answer is Angelo Russo.
That’s why they planted the drugs on me. I’ve been an idiot to give them my coat. It’s a hard lesson, but one I learned well. I won’t make the same stupid mistake again.
After what feels like hours, the door finally opens and the man who brought me here enters with a file in his hands. I watch him closely as he crosses the floor and takes a seat. His sympathetic look doesn’t fool me. Underneath the surface, I sense his excitement.
He opens the file and studies the piece of paper that lies on top. “Mrs. Russo.” He looks up from the paper and catches my gaze. “My name is Lieutenant Lavigne. I just got the report from the officer who searched you.” He watches me with a penetrating stare. “The report states signs of abuse.”
Not making it easy for him, I raise an eyebrow and wait.
“Marks on your body that indicate a beating,” he says after a couple of seconds.
I tilt my head. “We’ve just been married.”
“Exactly.” He drops the paper and folds his hands on the table. “That doesn’t seem very romantic.”
“Yes, well, each to his own. We have different sexual preferences, if you know what I mean. Have you never tried spanking in the bedroom?” I shrug. “I suppose that’s not your taste.”
He stares at me for a long moment before speaking again. “I’m not a fool, Mrs. Russo. I know who Angelo Russo is and where he comes from.” He leans back with a self-satisfied grin. “I also did a little search on you and where you are from. You come from a prestigious family with ties in high places. It seems very unlikely for someone of your standing to marry a person like Mr. Russo out of your own free will.”
My laugh is nervous despite the confidence I’m striving for. “I don’t think it’s your job to make assumptions. Isn’t your job gathering facts?”
He continues as if he hasn’t heard me. “I’m going to offer you a way out. Give me information on Angelo Russo, any evidence that will help me to put him away, and all your problems will be solved. When he’s behind bars, you can divorce him and go home.”