The combination of his dark features, broad shoulders, and wicked smile makes him all the more menacing. Despite being petrified, I straighten my shoulders, aiming to create a larger presence, and plaster an unfazed, non-petrified look on my face.

I scan my surroundings, planning scenarios in my head on how best to escape.

I should run. Run and scream, in any direction. Hopefully, that’ll get someone’s attention.

I’m aware I don’t have much to use against him, other than my purse.

My new purse.

I look down briefly at it, noticing how small it is. Something I never thought to care about before now. I clutch it, my knuckles turning white from my tight hold.

He notices my hesitation and moves closer to me.

Shit. I need to leave now.

“What’s a bella donna doing all alone?”

His thick accent distracts me.

My nerves scatter any sense I might’ve had prior to this moment.

“Meeting someone. Excuse me,” I say hastily, moving away from him.

I start to make my escape and head towards the door.

I freeze. A large man appears from behind a column. He makes a bee line towards me.

Shit, no.

I turn, tightly smiling at the man in my way of the door. I want it to look like I’m not afraid, and that I haven’t seen the other man coming my way.

Stay calm.

I start walking the other direction, and pause, looking up at another man, maybe twice the size as the first, less than a foot away from me. Realizing I now have limited options, I face the wicked smile. Three other men have shown up, coming from god knows where behind him.

I force myself to breathe.

Terror runs through me. I’m outnumbered. They’ve planned this.

I should’ve listened; I should’ve stayed at the hotel.

I’m sorry, Dante.

The largest of the men is mere inches from me, facing my side. I feel the heat of his breath on my neck. I swallow the rising bile in my throat, praying that he won’t touch me.

My adrenaline’s peaked, and my nerves are everywhere.

“Hmmm una Bella Bellezza,” the man breathing on me chuckles in a deep, scratchy voice. Shit—what does that mean?

“I wouldn’t move if I were you, he likes a struggle,” the man instructs with his wicked, menacing smile. He looks at me and then to the man at my side.

Using my purse as a shield and weapon, I prepare to swing it and hit the man next to me in the head. With that distraction, I could easily make a getaway.

I give myself a pep talk and steady my stance, bracing myself for the attack.

But I’m blindsided when another man out of nowhere yanks my purse from me and runs the opposite direction.

Shit! Where did he come from? I stumble from his force and struggle to find my balance.

The other men, all the fucking men, move closer, taking advantage of my sudden state of vulnerability. The largest considers this an opportune time to come breaths away from me, placing one hand on the small of my back.

I tremble at his touch.

Shit, my phone. That’s the only way someone can locate me.

That’s if anyone is looking for me.

Though he might’ve been calling, I’m sure Dante’s relieved that I left. If he’s anything like Ryan, he’s already onto his next conquest. Disobeying his orders would give him more than enough reason to cheat.

Find someone better, more exciting. Leaving me, just like everyone else has.

I did tell him I would be there by ten…maybe he’s still waiting for me, diligently.

Perhaps he cares a little, or cares only because I did break his rules. I hope he’s pissed enough to care, and wants to humiliate me, make me pay for what I did.

Shit, I hope.

Please find me, Dante.

“No, no, I bet she wants it,” the scratchy voice responds.

He smells of cigarettes and alcohol. It nauseates me, and his hand on my back doesn’t help. The bile forces its way to my mouth—it’s taking everything in me not to vomit on these men. I’m sure that’d please them.

“Good girls like these, these American tourists, always want a nice Italian boy.”

They all villainously laugh.

“Should we have our way with her?”

A man in the distance interrupts.

Taking a strand of my hair, the large man brings it to his nose. He sniffs it and runs it over his mouth. I see this from my peripheral as I’m trying to avoid any eye contact with either of them.

Prickly chills spread down my spine, and I hide my gag reflex. I’m disgusted.

“Don’t touch me,” I say with all the strength and courage I have.

I angle my head away, hoping to get my hair out of his hands and some distance between us.

“Oh, the Bella can speak.”

He smiles, pulling my hair, hard.

I fall into him, his leather jacket touching my exposed skin.

I recoil and push him away per reflex. Shit—he didn’t like that.

He grabs my arm, making me wince at his painfully tight hold. I struggle, trying to wiggle myself out of it. His strength overpowers me.

He grabs ahold of my other arm, pinning them both behind my back. My chest lifts, and all the men stare hungrily at my tits—I feel overexposed and sick to my stomach. I’m not sure how I’m going to get out of this one.

With his calloused, rough hands squeezing my arms, he pushes my body closer to the man in front of me. The dumb ass man who asked me for directions. I should’ve ran when I had the chance.

Adrenaline is rushing through my veins. My breathing becomes ragged, and I force myself to stay present. Don’t pass out.

Grabbing my jaw, he forces my direction. I shake my head back and forth, not wanting another pair of hands on me, but he holds onto it tighter. Briefly, I notice the multiple pairs of eyes from the crowd of men gathered around…staring at me.

Looking into his dark black eyes, a wave of hopelessness washes over me. They’re the deepest shade of black I’ve ever seen. My body starts impulsively shaking worse than before.

“Do we have a struggle, mi Bella? I sure hope so.”

He moves his hand down my neck, my chest, over my tits and continues to outline of my curves. I swallow hard, hating every moment of this. His touch feels like a knife carving into me.

I turn my head—forcing this moment out of focus—and I see a man licking his lips, looking at me as if I’m his dinner.

This pisses me off. I can’t let this happen. I won’t.

This can’t be the end. I can’t die a newlywed.

I’ve just started living my life. Becoming and embracing my true self.

With all my strength, I forcefully jerk my body out of the man’s hold.

Surprisingly, I get out of his grip. They must’ve not expected that. I make a run for it, weaving through the crowd of men.

I see the open aisle inches away from me, a glimpse of hope growing in my chest—and then I’ m forcefully pulled back.

Another man, who’s even larger than the last two—wraps one of my arms around my back painfully, and grabs my neck.

I can still breathe, though I’m not underestimating my vulnerability.

I see out of the corner of my eye a man with a knife, prepared to attack at any moment.

Shit, this isn’t good. I knew it was bad, but it’s not getting any better.

I gasp for air, afraid that at any moment he could squeeze the life out of me.

“Don’t run, it’ll make it worse,” he says roughly with an annoyed look on his face.

“Don’t,” I manage to squeeze out.

“Don’t what? Is the bella donna afraid? No one is here to rescue you.”

“You have what you want, leave me alone.”

“We’re greedy. Cash can only get you so far.”

They all laugh at his remark. This is a fucking show for them, damn entertainment.

“A Bella as fine as you can make a man happy in more ways than one.”

He squeezes my neck a little tighter and eyes me up and down.

My stomach drops feeling his gaze on me.

I know I’m vulnerable—their strength more than outweighs mine—but I won’t go down without a fight, I’ll die trying.

I’m not a show to be watched, or an object to be used. I have left the shackles of a controlling fiancé, the restrictions of diets and beauty regimes. I need to fight for my freedom, for the life I’ve always dreamt of.

I have tools I can use—teeth, long nails, sturdy shoes, and a knee perfectly placed right under his most sensitive spot.

Once his eyes meet mine, I take my knee and jab it as hard as I can into his groin. He immediately releases his hold, and I punch him in the face. Another man comes towards me and I backhand him, making sure my ring hits him right in the eye.

Marriage might end up saving me, after all.