Submitting To The Devil - The Devil's Snare - Book 2

Chapter Forty Eight

Niko
This morning, an unsettling instinct crept into my mind—a gut feeling or perhaps a sixth sense—that today was poised to take a dark turn. With this foreboding hovering over me, I pulled Sven aside before Bianca even woke up. The weight of unpreparedness settled heavily on my shoulders. I had nothing that I usually had at my fingertips, and I couldn't shake the echo of Alexandra's words: living without permission but forever at the forefront of my thoughts.
When I arrived on this isolated island, I came armed with the weapons that had adorned me on my wedding day—two knives and two guns with only one round in each, reminders of a day when I was meant to be the groom, not the protector. It wasn't until just a few days ago that I finally reclaimed my phone, another lifeline to reality.
A wave of unease washed over me as I stepped off the boat. It felt as if I was walking into my impending fate. I turned to Sven, my voice low and steady, asking him to gather everything we needed to ensure Bianca's safety. I braced for the worst-case scenario that hung in the air like a storm cloud as she sat on the deck a few feet away. We both felt it would come to that—a fight we didn't want but knew was inevitable.
With a grave smile etched on his face, he returned to the dock, a heavy backpack slung over his shoulders, a testament to the seriousness of our mission.
The first sign that things weren't right should have set off instinctual survival in my mind. Dimitri was silent, and my calls went unanswered, so I dialed Luca.
That phone call hit me like a punch to the gut, Luca's voice low and emotionless, laden with urgency.
"Why are you on the mainland? You haven't been called," he said, distraction evident in his tone. I could hear murmurings in the background—a chaotic blend of voices hinting at something darker unfolding.
"Your father messaged me," I said impulsively, the words spilling forth without thought. There would be no trace of this conversation; he had used his burner phone to reach me, a ghostly whisper in the digital world Luca liked to live in.
"You need to hide," Luca urged, his voice dropping as if to guard against unseen ears. "Something went down two nights ago—my parents were airlifted out in a chopper, Niko."
The curse erupted from my lips, jagged and raw. "Fuck."
"I'll try to wire you some money to the western, and I'm sending a team, but you have to lay low. Is it safe to return to the island?" he pressed, concern thick in his voice.
"No, I don't think it is," I gritted out, the gravity of our situation sinking in like a stone. Being on open water wasn't in our best interest.
"Lay low. I'm coming for the both of you," he promised, and in a heartbeat, the line went dead, leaving a silence filled with uncertainty and dread.
I couldn't leave us on the street like that. I had to find cover and hoped we hadn't already been seen. So I turned in motion of three hundred sixty degrees to figure out just where we could hide that wouldn't reveal us. Every hotel was high-end, with windows that only aided a sniper's view. Only the motels twenty minutes from here would suffice exactly what I wanted, but I couldn't risk walking around in broad daylight with Bianca.
"Come," I wave in a moment of decisiveness, walking toward the Hilton; if only I can get us into the dead of night where we can move in the dark, I might be able to get us out of here. Until then, I need to plan with Sven just how we're going to do this. "Apparently, Lucia and Dimitri are home already. Something went down two days ago, and it's not been safe for them to come back here for us; they never called for us as they presumed we were safe on the island," I hush in disbelief.
"Then who sent you that message?" Sven asks me.
"I don't know, man. But you need to help me get Bianca home safely," I plead.
"And how are we going to do that?" Sven asks with raised brows and crinkled eyes.
"Luca's looking into chartering a plane; until then, we need to lay low so as not to raise suspicion or reveal that we're here on the mainland. No one knows we're here yet; hiding is our best bet."
"Do you have money?" Sven barrages me with questions.
"Yes," I nod, but in the same instance, I frown. It's all fucking digital, every last penny.
"What?" they both mirror my horror.
"Applepay, it's traceable," I mumble.
"May I?" Bianca asks for my main phone, and I pass it to her without question. Only a second later, she turns it back to my face. She's downloading a banking app, and I'm not sure where she's going with this.
"Use that," she stipulates with indifference as I glance down at the phone, reading her father's name on the card now residing in my wallet.
I nod, but I'm not sure I will use it. There has to be another way; I think to myself as we walk in unison to the counter, Sven standing on our six until I ask him to step closer.
"Do you have any cash at all?" I request eagerly.
"No," he shakes his head.
Swearing softly to myself, a profound sense of unease settles in as I contemplate the idea of using Bianca's father's money. The truth is, it feels like a more secure choice than dipping into my own funds—especially with the unsettling thought that someone might be monitoring my bank account, ensuring they remain one step ahead of us at every opportunity. I can almost picture them pinpointing our location in mere seconds, tracking our every move.
I can only hope that no one is watching over Rossi's bank account. It seems ludicrous to consider, given that he's deceased and the process of dividing his estate among his children has already begun. Yet, in situations like this, caution is paramount, and the unexpected is always around the corner. This is precisely why I request the blueprints of the fire escapes from the manager, selecting a room and paying extra for all available accommodations on that floor—to create the best possible chance for a swift exit if my instincts prove right about the lurking danger behind us.
Opting for the third floor was a deliberate choice, as it provides an accessible escape route through the neighbouring balconies should the need arise. Our room is a spacious family suite, seamlessly connected to the adjacent room with a lockable door that I requested the key for, which boasts a balcony leading down to the fire escape stairs and the street below. This layout enhances our escape potential and offers an additional layer of security; we can hear the lift discernibly announcing its arrival, serving as a crucial alert should anyone dare to intrude upon our temporary sanctuary.
With every other room booked, I made a significant promise to the concierge, offering a hefty sum of money to ensure that the floor remained exclusive to us for the entirety of the night. He eagerly agreed, but only time will tell if he's loyal to a fault.
In the room, I find myself standing by the window, gazing down at the vibrant tapestry of life unfolding on the semi-busy street below. The sun casts a warm glow on passersbys, whose laughter and chatter weave together to create a harmonious soundtrack of everyday life. They stroll with an air of ease, their eyes occasionally lifting to admire the intricate architecture that crowns the mainland. Yet, amid this lively scene, my own heart feels strangely heavy, and I can't shake the nagging impulse to scrutinise each individual. I search for any flicker of suspicious behaviour, hoping that the slightest sign will shed light on the unseen danger we have stumbled into.
"Who do you think it is?" Sven whispers, his voice barely rising above the tension in the room. I shift my gaze from him to the corner where Bianca reclines on the bed, her gaze fixed on the ceiling as if searching for answers in the cracks above.
"It has to be the Densels," I murmur, anger simmering beneath my breath. The very mention of their name ignites a familiar frustration within me. "It's worrying they've used Dimitri's number for me. Luca hadn't explained what happened, but all I could think about was the fact they'd manipulated this moment to take that phone. They wanted us out in the open."
"The Densels are dirty scum. We both know this. What's your plan?" Sven presses, a hint of urgency lacing his words. I can feel his insistence grating on my last nerves, amplifying my impatience. Yet he lays his bag on the floor and begins to undo it to check over the things he keeps inside.
"I've just one round loaded in each of my guns—barely enough to threaten a fly. How about you?" I grit out, my voice tight with tension as I shift my focus from Bianca to the swirling crowd outside the hotel, my eyes scanning for any sign of trouble.
"One pistol, one rifle, ten rounds for each, and one blade. I wasn't expecting a war when I was called to be your personal tour guide," he shrugs. It's not like I could expect more, were not on the job, were on my fucking honeymoon. And we sure shouldn't have left the safety of the island where a safe house could have prevented this vulnerability.