CHAPTER FIVE

GINEVRA

Sometimes, I wondered how many raptures I had missed. I’d sit in my room and hear about all the massacres, the genocides, volcanic eruptions, suicides, homosides, and every natural and unatural causes of death—and I’d ask myself, was it rapture for the victims?

Rapture had after all been painted that way in my head—a few would be taken, and those undeserving would be left behind.

Why was I always left behind?

365 days in a year, millions out of billions of people would cross over to the other side, they’d get their rapture—but me, was I unrapturable? Had I done something wrong?

What was it about me that had death spitting me out? I asked these questions because at the end of the day, I desired to be raptured.

I wanted to be raptured.

Why was I still breathing? The thought had popped into my head as my eyes shot open. The thought popped into my head in between the pain and muscle spasms I felt.

Through the strong odor of alcohol swabs.

Everything was a little blurry, but I could see the IV drip bag resting on the white washed ceiling, and a man standing over me.

As I struggled to fully awake, more darkness clouded me. I felt imprisoned, the despicable truth of my past taunting my consciousness. Every memory I loathed resurfaced, leaving me a whimpering mess—there was no escaping my past. There was no running away. The farther I ran, the more those events caught up on me.

I groaned again, feeling irritated by the continuous beeping noise that wouldn’t stop resonating in my ear drums.

“Shut it off,” I breathed, a strained whimper escaping my throat. The noise didn’t stop. “Shut it the fuck off!” I forced my voice aloud, my eyes finally snapping open, shooting a glare at the startled doctor hovering over me.

A doctor.

My brows creased together in confusion. “Where am I?” I questioned and the doctor eyed me suspiciously, his confused eyes darting around the entire room as if to mock my inability to note that I was in a hospital. Heaving out a shaky breath, I asked, “where the fuck am I?”

He cleared his throat. “In the hospital?”

“You have an accent,” I observed. “Am I in Italy?”

Silence stretched in the room for a few minutes before the doctor began speaking. “Where else are you meant to be?” He inquired, his fingers working fast as he scribbled a few things on a clipboard. “It is quite concerning that you wound up here all beat up, with traces of hard drugs in your blood and now you’re awake and can’t even remember a thing. Do I have to involve la polizia?”

“I—“

“They’ll be no need for that.” A powerful voice spoke as the door jammed shut. The same ocean blue eyes that had kept me on my toes for months collided with mine, and those plump lips stretched into a smile.

A smiled which seemed forced.

“Ghost?” I whispered. He hummed a response as he sat by the edge of the bed. One glare shot at the doctor and the man scurried away. I swallowed thickly. “How did you find me?”

Ghost hummed again, his eyes taking my form in, gently, slowly—sluggishly. I was unnerved by the look in his eyes. “Anonymous tip,” he drawled his answer. “I’ve missed you, Ginevra Rodriguez. What kept you so long in Russia? Was Viktor Advik a difficult man to deal with?”

I fell silent.

The Pakhan of Russia Bratva was an extremely difficult man—he wasn’t just difficult, he was wickedness personified.

I recalled how I blacked out the moment I stepped out of my car—the moment the heel of my shoe made contact with the ground. I didn’t know how long I was unconscious for but all I knew, was that I was continuously waking up, and passing back out.

I had no control over how my body operated anymore. My head was a mess. My nightmares had become so real that I began losing my mind.

I was hallucinating, I knew I was hallucinating, but I couldn’t stop myself from doing so.

The Russians had done something to me. And that something clawed at my skin, bones, mind, body, and soul.

Day and night, all I did was scream. I begged for them to spare me even a minute of torture. But my plea seemed to be a compelling force for them.

The torture didn’t end until I began to take it silently. They didn’t stop until I was silenced. It took about a week after that before The Pakhan made his presence known.

That day, when The Pakhan walked into the room I was held in, an unsettling silence had stretched across the room, leaving me in complete fear. I needed not to be told that a person of power was in the same space as I.

"You look a great deal of pain," The Pakhan had murmured, his eyes glaring into mine. "I got your gift, Ginevra Rodriguez, and I can only wonder how stupid you are to have stepped foot on Russia soil after what your people did to my daughter.” His voice had been calm, too calm for comfort.

I gulped down the thick lump forming in my throat as I managed to breathlessly whisper. "You're not going to kill me."

"Ah! really?" He had asked humorlessly.

"Not if I have the answers you seek," I said, my words a complete mess—slurred and murmured.

The man had just offered me a single nod like he was amused by my make-believe courage. "You really are gutsy. A person in your present state attempting to strike a deal with me, do you think me incapable of uncovering the truth?"

I was completely terrified of the man that stood tall before me, but I couldn’t afford to show my fear. I had to prove myself worthy. I had already gotten the man’s attention and it would be a mistake on my part if I had let my fears win.

With a chuckle, I held his gaze and spoke—this time making certain my voice was stable enough to exude authority. "If you were capable, you would have uncovered that truth by now, but here we are."

All the man did was hum as he signaled his men to unchain me. And when they did unchain me, it hadn’t taken a second before I was dragged across the floor and slammed on the chair at the opposite side of The Pakhan.

A simple demand was made. “Tell me what you know about the murder of Ariana Viktor Advik.”

That simple demand alone led to my unending torture, because I wasn’t willing to give up any answers just yet. I needed to strike a deal, and until the deal was struck, I was willing to remain silent.

That deal had taken too long to be struck. So long that I had passed out in the middle of my unending hell, and when my eyes finally opened, I found myself in Italy.

My life was going exceedingly great.

Dragging my hands across my face, I breathed in a long, shuddered breath. “The Pakhan gave me five days to deliver the culprit to him in Russia.”

Ghost hummed. “Well, you have to act fast. You’ve been here for three days and that leaves you with less than two days to put things in order.”

“Merda.” I sighed. “I’m still sore all over, I don’t think I’m ready to do this.”

Laughter rippled out of Ghost—he mocked me with each chuckle and each tsk. “Stop whining, Ginevra, pain is a state of mind. Get your ass out of that bed and do what you need to do in order to stay alive, except you want to be skinned alive by that unforgiving man.”

He was right. I needed to do this, for myself and for Julia. I had to stand true by the promises I made to her.

I gathered all the strength I could, and slid out of the hospital’s bed.

My movements were sluggish at first, until I chugged down a cup of coffee and got a shot of morphine. I began operating like a machine. Again.

All I needed to do was stay alive.

“Stay alive, Ginevra.” I chanted continuously to myself as I drove home in the car Ghost had lent me.

. . .

It took more than a few hours and five more cups of coffee before I arrived the Rodriguez estate.

I was already running out of time, hence, my impatience. A meeting with the members of the parliament was already scheduled over the phone before I walked into mio padre’s manor.

Anger.

That was the exact emotion I felt the moment I walked into the cursed house. My father, mother, brother, and both sisters—they were seated with smiles on their faces as they conversed whilst having a peaceful lunch. None looked worried about my safety. None cared about what might’ve prompted my sudden disappearance.

They were happy within themselves.

I scoffed to myself, feeling the weight of guilt lifted off my shoulders. I could ruin them now without batting an eye.

“Look who’s back home,” my sister—Emma—jested. All eyes snapped towards me and with a shrug of my shoulders, my gaze was diverted to my brother.

He seethed. “The fuck are you staring at?”

“You?” I answered, a ghostly smile sweeping across my lips. “I’m staring at you, Gustavo, and I’m wondering how you plan on getting yourself out of this mess.”

“What mess?” It was mio padre’s voice that thundered this time. He knew what his son was capable of, and the look in his eyes showed how petrified he was of whatever situation his son might’ve landed himself into. Again.

I laughed. “You should ask your son, papà. Ask him why he’s so self destructive.”

“Abbastanza!” Gustavo roared.

My father heaved out a breath—a calming breath. A shaky breath. “What are you talking about, Ginevra?”

“Ariana Viktor Advik is dead.” I declared, my index and middle finger pushing a raspberry fruit into my mouth as my eyes landed on my brother’s. “You killed her, didn’t you?”

Time stilled.

Breaths shook.

Mouths dropped open.

Tears brimmed my mother’s eyes.

My father’s jaw locked. “Gustavo. . .”

“I don’t know what she’s talking about, papá!” My dearest brother screamed in fear. “Why’re you accusing me of things I know nothing of? What proof do you have?”

I chortled. “Oh, I have proof, so many of them.” I declared, throwing my tab and a brown envelope on the glass table centering the dinning area.

“Look at me,” I kissed my teeth, “look at the evidence of how much I’ve had to suffer because you chose to be stupid! I’m done. I’m done protecting you, and I’m done covering up for you. The Pakhan of Russia will be coming, I hope you’re ready.”

Mio Padre rose from his seat. “Ginevra,” he began, his voice pinged with rage. “As the head of this family, you’ll not let this escalate. You’ll protect your brother. It is an order.”

“I can’t.” I shook my head. “I can’t do this. Who’ll take the blame? Who?” My gaze fell on my pale-looking brother. “Except he’s willing to give me a name. I’m sure he didn’t do this alone, right, Gustavo? They was someone else, si?”

He nodded absentmindedly.

I chuckled at how weak he truly was. “Well, give me a name.”

“I can’t. I can’t betray him.”

“Very well then,” I made a move to leave but father’s voice boomed. “I’ll fucking put a bullet in your skull if you don’t start talking right this instant! You think I care about some stronzo? You’ll not put my family to shame like this, Gustavo!”

“It’s Maxwell!” Gustavo’s chest quaked. “I did it with Maxwell.”

“Cazzo,” papá breathed. His breath strained and ragged. “You heard him, take care of it.”

“On one condition.” I smiled.

“Of course, Ginevra. Nothing comes free with you. Get it done, I’ll do whatever you need me to.”

I beamed again. “Of course you would.”

I began making my way out of my father’s manor with a smile on my face—I felt their gazes burning against my back—I was proud of my boldness.

I hadn’t stuttered, I hadn’t faltered, and my gaze hadn’t wavered.

I was winning.

I won.