A/N Stephenie Meyer owns all. I just own a massive sense of literary insecurity.

To my reviewers - especially those who chime in each chapter - love you guys. Makes me want to continue writing this story.

Some people have mentioned the 'summary' is often a little different than the previous chapter - so sue me. I try to convey the message, not necessary the verbatim text :p

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Previously (EPOV)

This was so inappropriate, there was no way I could ask - no way it was any of my business. In fact, it was way beyond inappropriate - Emmett and Jasper would both kick my ass for even thinking the question

But I had to know. "When you met Demetri, that first time in Rome...?"

I trailed off. Bella's soft voice brought me back as she murmured, "Yes?"

I was going to hell. "Were you a virgin?"

I waited for the slap, but instead, almost a whisper, I heard her. "Yes." Her voice was butter and syrup, but hesitant and regretful. "Demetri was my first, my only. He made me what I am." She swallowed, softly, a wet flex of muscle against flesh. "I was a virgin."

~ * ~

BPOV

Why the hell did he ask me that?

More importantly, why the hell did I answer?

I leaned back into the clammy leather seats of the stolen car, my mind flitting back over the events since I fled the bar. Fled Phoenix.

When Edward had dragged me into that alley and I'd attempted my pathetic Taser defence I honestly thought I was dead... But, instead, he'd turned out to be my somewhat caustic saviour and had dragged my flailing near-corpse through the Arizona heat away from the enemy to safety.

Well. Huh. Safety was always a relative concept me with - fleeting and never to be relied upon. But for now, I was safe. I think.

With Edward, I felt safe. Even when I'd heard their footfall thudding behind us in the labyrinthine alleyways, I'd trusted that he'd get us out of this though I barely knew him.

My head throbbed mercilessly, despite the painkillers Edward had handed me earlier. I was familiar enough with physical injury to be confident that this wasn't a sign of something more dire, but even so the pain was the closest to a migraine I'd ever experienced.

Plus, I was starving. Seriously hungry! My stomach had to be gnawing on itself by now - I mean, a fucking granola bar? Are you kidding me?? I hadn't eaten properly for nearly forty-eight hours and if this went on any longer I'd be trying to eat the bronze-haired asshole of a sex god next to me.

I popped the glove compartment again, finding nothing but a Hershey bar and a packet of Cheetos. I grimaced, but rationalised that beggars can't be choosers and munched on the snacks half-heartedly. Ick.

I offered the packet to Edward. He glanced over, grimaced slightly, but took a handful with a grunt with I was to presume equated to a 'thank you'.

I was immediately pissed. Even though it was his dollar and hand that had bought the processed crap.

"If you didn't want this shit then why did you bother buying it?" I snapped.

He exhaled, thick with exasperation, but didn't look at me. He kept his eyes on the winding freeway unfolding before us. "It was a vending machine. We're not in Italy now, princess. It's processed cheese products or nothing."

Ah, so we're back to hostile angry Edward. Christ, this man has more personalities than happy hour at the asylum.

Jackass.

I swallowed my sarcastic retort - which, incidentally, were mainly based upon his completely inappropriate foray into my personal life earlier - and instead put in my civil tongue. "So how far to Nevada?"

"Are you going to ask me that every two miles?"

"If you prefer I'll start singing the 'are we nearly there yet?' chant, but for now I'll be happy with a half-way civil response to a perfectly polite question."

He just grunted. Fucking prick. Then he grudgingly said, "About half an hour. They'll have some food for us there." He smirked then. "Don't expect fucking mushroom ravioli but it'll be an improvement on the granola bars. They taste like fucking cardboard."

I silently agreed and settled back in my seat. "I'd be happy with McDonald's castaways right now."

~ * ~

EPOV

She was driving me insane.

The fucked-up air con in this admittedly flashy but undeniably impractical sports car did nothing but recycle her delicate freesia and strawberry scent until I wanted to pull over in a screech of hot rubber and pound the hood into a dented mass of metal...

...or pound her until she screamed my name into the dry desert air and collapsed bonelessly into the sand.

Fuck.

Get a grip, Cullen.

It had been quiet for long enough that her voice startled me. "I was wondering..." she paused, seemingly hesitant over how the question would be received. Given my bipolar behaviour I wasn't entirely surprised by her reticence.

I sighed, resisting the urge to clench my jaw. "Ask me whatever you like, Bella. I've pried into your private life too much for you to be shy now."

She gave a shy half-smile at that, but kept her eyes on her twisting fingers placed in her lap. "How long have you been with the Cullen Group?"

"Awhile," I said, cautiously, worried this conversation would venture into dangerous territory.

"And you know about Demetri?" She phrased it as a question, but it was clearly a statement.

"Yes."

She swallowed, a soft and nervous sound. A few moments more of silence, then, "What...exactly...do you know about him?"

It was a complex question, a dangerous question. But in light of how forthcoming she had been it would be unfair for me to scoff and deny her equal disclosure now. I decided to offer to her what I could.

"Demetri Neri Volturi," I recited, reciting the memorised details of his file. "Born in Tuscany to Aro and Sulpucia Matilde Volturi. He first hit the polizia di stato's radar when he was fifteen after three state witnesses were killed by a sniper just outside Milan. A couple of people reported that a black-haired youth had fled the building opposite with a heavy briefcase, but the evidence was too circumstantial for a prosecution. Plus," I said, my voice thick with disgust, "the witnesses all backed down within three weeks of the incident. I'm sure you can guess why."

I glanced over at Bella. She was a little pale, but seemed calm. "Go on," she murmured.

"The polizia were suspicious of Demetri - particularly with his father's connections - but never managed to keep him in prison for more than forty-eight hours. Over the years he was linked to several other crimes - murders, assaults, money laundering, many smuggling incidents both in the EU and to the US."

I decided to spare her the details. One of the victims linked to Demetri was only twelve years' old and had been unfortunate enough to see his father being beaten to death by one of Aro's henchmen. He'd only been identified by dental records.

I continued. "When Demetri was elected president of the Volterra Academy there was nothing of substance to oppose the appointment, even though several elements in the government were very unhappy with the board's decision. But the academy is a private institution and has little to no state intervention, not to mention that the Volturi have always been free with their bribe money. The polizia watched him and his father closely, but their PR front was more than strong enough to beat the judicial system.

"You probably know this already - I'm sure the FBI told you as much when they debriefed you. The US state department - and Interpol - are certain that Volterra Academy is one of the Volturi's many money laundering schemes. It's genius, really. They offer more than enough scholarships to the international community to be beyond suspicion, while the 'donations' roll in and are apparently spent on furthering education."

She interrupted me then, her voice soft, continuing the story. She stared out of the window and her features were hidden by the thick matted curtain of her hair. "At any one time there are only a handful of students at the Academy who knew the truth, and they are all children of the organisation. They're taught from an early age to keep dangerous knowledge 'in the family'." She smiled bitterly. "They were all very convincing. Most of the students there were too overwhelmed to question the oddities - the language barrier, the honour of being chosen for the scholarship. No one questioned it. No one questioned anything."

I couldn't help myself; I had to know. "Did you?"

"No," she said honestly. "Or, at least I didn't at first. After Stefan everything was different and that was when I began to realise that things were not what they seemed."

I frowned at the unfamiliar name. "Stefan?"

She flinched a little, her shoulders rounded, but I couldn't make her expression as she still had her face turned to the window. "He was just a boy, a kid really. His name was Stefan Russo and he worked in the gardens at Volterra. He told me his family was from Milan originally but moved to Volterra before he was born."

She fell silent, a small sad smile on her face. I glanced at her as I took the next exit, wondering if she was waiting for me to speak or if she was simply collecting her thoughts.

Just then, she continued. "I met him after I moved into Demetri's house." She paused then, looking angry and a little guilty. "The how and why is a story for another day. Anyway, Stefan tended our front gardens and that is how I met him, an impetuous and flirty boy who wanted to practice his English on the newest imports." Her lips curled slightly as she spoke, her voice fond but sorrowful.

"He amused me. Ever since I'd moved in with Demetri everything seemed so serious, so measured. I'd hardly been flush with companions beforehand, but I was decidedly alone once I chose to live with him. The other students at Volterra simply avoided me - no one was ever rude, or insulting, but it was like everyone was suddenly afraid to even look at me." She laughed then, low and cynical. "Of course, when I learned the truth their reactions made perfect sense.

"Regardless, Stefan was the only person who spoke to me like I was a normal girl. Like I wasn't a live grenade that needed a wide blast zone. He teased me and flirted - always harmless, but entertaining - and helped me practice my Italian just as I spoke English to him so he would become more fluent.

"He was my friend."

She swallowed audibly and I could see the tears glimmering in her eyes. I could almost see Bella then - so young and so lost, surrounded by people who knew the truth about her fiance and the consequences of upsetting his young wife-to-be. It must have been so freeing to behave like a teenager for a while, to pretend that nothing else was out there and no one was watching.

But it was clear from her tone, from her countenance, that the story didn't end well. Somehow I knew this lively Italian kid was no longer with us.

"What happened to him?" My voice was so low it was almost a whisper. I wondered if she even heard me.

"He tried to kiss me one day," she whispered, shaking her head. "It was so stupid - we were joking around and he was being dramatic. Stefan was reciting some of Petruchio's lines from The Taming of The Shrew for his high school play and I was playing Katherina; he got carried away, dipping me and kissing me on the lips.

"I laughed and pushed him away, scolding him with my words but it was clear to any observer that I was amused." She scrunched her eyes and looked away. "I had no idea Demetri was there, watching."

Bella's hands trembled almost imperceptibly. She started to shred the paper napkin gripped in her palms. "After I pushed Stefan away he apologised profusely. At first I thought it was simply that he'd been carried away by the moment and the script, but he said that wasn't it.

"He gripped my shoulders, and said 'You are too beautiful and too innocent to be drawn into this nest of vipers with your eyes sewn shut.'

"I never had a chance to ask him what he meant. At that moment I realised Demetri had been watching us all along, gripping the patio doors with enough force to shatter the glass.

"Stefan went white," she said, so softly, her voice and eyes brimming with tears. "He just stared at Demetri in abject terror. I was so puzzled at first, so confused at to why he could be so scared... Up until then Demetri had always been kind, even-tempered, so fair - I never dreamed he had an angry bone in his body. But when I saw his eyes, saw the unbridled rage - saw my fiance who I thought I knew now looking like a stranger.

"It was as if I'd never seen him before," Bella half-sobbed, her voice thick. "I honestly thought Demetri would kill me then, fly across the counter and wring my neck until I lay broken on the floor. But he never even said a word to me, to either of us; he just turned his black gaze upon Stefan until the poor boy ran out of the doors and into the night, as pale as if he'd seen a ghost.

"Demetri glared at me then and I was so scared. He ordered me to bed, to speak of this no more. Compared to the dark fury in his face his tone was eerily even and controlled." Bella tugged on her hair and made a sound of pure frustration. "A year before if a man - if anyone - had attempted to issue me such an order I would have laughed in their face and left immediately. I would have scoffed at anyone's pretensions that I could be dictated to.

"But...I was scared and had nowhere to go." Bella was back to the weeping timid kitten, her head cast down to her lap. I wanted to hold her and stoke her hair, tell her I understood. "So I went to bed. I went to bed and I didn't say a word."

I was almost sure of the answer but I asked anyway, "What happened to Stefan?" This was no longer about my curiosity - this was about drawing the poison from her wound.

"I never saw him again," she whispered. "When Demetri was elsewhere I asked some of the staff if they knew where Stefan was. They looked scared, answering only that he'd been transferred and wouldn't be back. No one knew where he'd gone, only that he'd quit and wouldn't be back. The look on their faces made me stop asking, but...I still wondered.

"It was three days later when I heard a woman screaming and cursing in Italian on our front lawn. She was hysterical, sobbing and full of rage and grief. Her passion was terrifying but so impressive - I almost envied her, her bravery, that she didn't care who heard her or the consequences. It made me feel so weak, so useless - I couldn't even ask a solid question as to where my friend had disappeared to.

"I could barely make out three words of every ten she yelled but I heard enough to know she was asking after her son, her baby Stefan, demanding to know what happened to him."

Bella let out another soul-breaking sob then, curling in upon herself and clutching the half-torn napkin to her chest like it was a life raft.

"When I arrived in Volterra I didn't speak a word of Italian, and all my classes were taught in English. Looking back I'm fairly certain Demetri didn't want me to understand his language.

"But I did - I learnt informally in my tourist wanderings and the other students at Volterra. And Stefan's casual conversation helped me with the dialect, so I could understand most of what the woman was screaming at my fiance.

"Screaming at him as she asked why he killed her son. Demetri spoke so fast and fierce, I missed much of the dialogue, but I knew he was warning her of 'the rules'. I got the impression that her family would be in danger if she did not desist and leave. I wanted to help - to help her and to help Stefan - but I had no idea what to do, what to say. How to help...

"And...I was scared for myself." Bella buried herself into her hair as she spoke this last admission, heavy with shame as she curled her legs into her body and hugged her knees.

She spoke on, her voice barely more than a whisper that I could barely catch above the purr of the car's engine. "A few minutes later Heidi, Demetri's cousin, showed up and whisked me away to the far side of the estate. I asked what was going on, feigning ignorance to the language and what had transpired. Heidi told me she was just a beggar wanting more bread this week. I just nodded, like the coward I am, and blinked inanely as we discussed fabric choices for the ball later in the year."

Bella's cheeks were thick with tears now and the napkin in her hands was been reduced to white powder. "I discussed fashion while he murdered another family. I hid and pretended to not notice, just glad that he hadn't taken his fury out on me.

"A week after that I was sat in Heidi's apartment, flicking through the TV channels while I waited for her to get ready. That was also the time that I figured out that Demetri put a filter on my television and internet, blocking me from most of the international news. But, again, that is a story for another day.

"The news broadcast spoke of five bodies found by sniffer dogs just outside of Florence. The Russo family. Mother, father, three children including the eldest son, a gardener named Stefan. I held my breath, thinking it must be some ridiculous coincidence, then they showed his picture and I knew.

"It was the last school photograph he'd had done. He still had his stupid hat on from the play, the most ridiculous feathered affair you'd ever seen. He took The Taming of The Shrew so seriously, was so happy to be cast as Petruchio that he wore the fucking thing everywhere. It was one of the things they used to identify his body - apparently he had been buried with it.

"I turned the television off and was sick all over Heidi's pristine living room." She gave a disgusted snort. "She wasn't even angry - her and Felix thought I was pregnant and insisted on taking me straight back to Demetri. I played happy families with him, smiling even though I wanted to scream until my throat was raw."

She gave a dry, hacking cough. Instinctively I grabbed the water bottle next to me, twisting the cap off and handing it to Bella. She gulped half of it down, almost choking but not pausing for a breath. She fastened the cap onto the bottle and handed it back to me, muttering a low "Thank you" and melting back into her seat.

"A few days after I found out about Stefan and his family...that was when I first realised I was being followed. To classes, to the shops, to the library - hell, even to the fucking bathroom! If one of Aro's family wasn't with me at all times, then I found that there were always a couple of guys from the house that 'happened' to be on the same street."

"Perceptive," I said, interjecting into her story. "The Volturi guard are well trained. Most people don't realise they're being followed until it's too late."

Bella shrugged, twirling a curl of her hair around a finger. "Adrenaline and fear are wondrous things. They sharpen visual acuity and memory something fierce. Besides, I think they figured I was too stupid and oblivious to realise what was going on. They were sloppy."

Her tone was bitter and self-deprecating, and I'm pretty sure my abrupt laughter shocked her. Bella stared at me, not angry but a little hostile and a lot puzzled. "What's so funny?"

I reached over and pushed the perfumed curtain of hair aside, brushed the soft tender skin of her throat as I tilted her chin towards me. "I apologise. I don't think anything you just shared with me was funny, Bella. I'm not laughing at you. It's just...fuck, Aro's guard definitely underestimated you."

Her face was blank, a porcelain mask. Then she gave me a wry half grin and nodded. "Hell yeah, those fuckers definitely underestimated me."

I snorted and shook my head, pleased to see the mirroring black amusement on Bella's features. I saw the exit sign before us and turned off cleanly, scanning the roadside for our contact.

"This is where we're meeting them?" Bella asked curiously, noting my behaviour.

"Yeah," I said. "Just down the end of this road."

I turned the car and saw him. The car lit him and his supplies in stark relief, headlights blazing through him in the dead Nevada desert.

"Is that..." Bella asked, leaning forward with a wide-toothed smile.

I pulled the car to a stop and pinched the bridge of my nose, ignoring the stupid-ass grin on our contact's face.

"Yeah," I huffed, grinding my teeth. "That's Emmett."

~ * ~

Please review - is this chapter too much dialogue/back ground? I don't want to bore you guys. Let me know whether you found it interesting or irritating - flames welcome (polite flames, anyway).