Author's Note: Thank you for being patient! So much happens in the rest of part one, that I wanted to have it completely written before I started posting. Part one is officially complete, so I'll be posting often over the next few days. I hope you enjoy chapter 27!

Chapter 27

Elena

Things got weird.

"Go back to Mystic Falls, Damon!" I yell, pushing him out of the way. We're arguing in the middle of a sidewalk. People have officially whipped out their phones to record but I don't care. Like the Prince of Darkness he is, Damon gives everyone looking on and filming a glare that plainly says, he won't hesitate to end them. He's ridiculous but effective. People now walk around us.

"You're not doing this, Elena!"

"If you come with me, we'll get shot. I can do this on my own while you keep the car running."

"Moretti is messing with you! Don't you get it? He's sending you on a while goose chase. I wouldn't be surprised if those men that shot at you in Macon work for Moretti," Damon argues. "He likes it when you have to call him! That man picks up on the first ring, have you noticed that?"

"You cannot be comparing our situation to some sort of reverse 'he's just not that into you' scenario!"

"Our situation? OUR SITUATION? So now you and Moretti are an our?"

"You are insane!" I scream. "I'm taking a cab."

"Not wearing that, you're not."

"Isn't being a manic asshole exhausting?" I counter.

"He made us go to five different locations, each of which had an item of clothing to pick up before giving us the final location for the drop-off. He told you to wear them, Elena! Don't you get how creepy that is?"

"You've picked out my clothing before, on several occasions."

"That is completely different and you know it."

I lean against the car and fold my arms. "How, exactly?"

I want him to say it. I want him to define what we are because right now, he's driving me to the point of insanity. I need to meet Dom's associate in fifteen minutes and Damon won't let me go.

"He's twice your age and crazy obsessed with you."

He didn't say it.

"You are crazy. Seriously, Damon. It's not like I'm going to fuck Dom's associate."

"You look like you will in what HE picked out for you."

I'm wearing a designer cherry red three-quarter sleeve body-con dress that perfectly covers up the gunshot wound but also is very short and has almost no back. The black heels are those fancy ones with the red sole. Damon didn't lose his shit over the dress, he lost if over the panties that Dom got me because it was just panties. No bra and honestly, this dress doesn't work with a bra.

Since I blew out my hair earlier at the truck stop, I'm able to tie it into a sleek ponytail. Domenico also left makeup at one spot and a place for me to change. He even arranged for a tote bag to be delivered so I have something to put the drugs in. It fits perfectly in the designer tote bag he also left me. Thoughtful, in a weird and gross way. I doubt Moretti went to these lengths for Grayson or Miranda.

But this is my life, apparently. I haven't checked my email or thought about school in days. I haven't had a moment to catch up on homework that Principal Hale collected for me and honestly, I don't care to finish it.

I'm meeting his associate at the Princeton South Beach Hotel bar but I haven't told Damon where I'm meeting the associate. I don't want him ruining the drop-off. He just knows I'm meeting him at a bar.

Dom said his associate would find me and call me by my name. Damon doesn't want me to go alone and I get it, but I don't feel like pissing off Domenico. He's unpredictable and the weird scavenger hunt he made me go on today just proves that.

"Seriously, Damon. Either take me to the hotel and wait outside or fly back to Mystic Falls on Daddy's private jet."

That pissed him off, but I don't have time for his anger. Standing on the side of the street next to Damon's car, I easily hail a cab and hop inside before Damon realizes what I just did. "Princeton South Beach Hotel," I say to the driver. "I'll pay you an extra hundred if you can ditch the black sedan that's about to tail us."

I guess the driver gets that request a lot because he doesn't bat an eye. He swerves to take a hard left at a yellow light and we've officially lost Damon.

I look through the bag I'm carrying and find my phone. Damon has quite literally blown up my new phone. I'm surprised it didn't burst into flames in my hand with the amount if incoming phone calls and text messages I'm getting. So I do the logical thing and turn it off.

When I place the phone back in my bag, my stomach drops. I dig through the contents, my wallet, lipstick, thousands- possibly millions of dollars worth of drugs. All there. My gun? Still in my backpack with Damon. Shit.

I should probably turn my phone back on.

No, it'll just make me anxious. I need to walk into this meeting like the confident eighteen… correction, seventeen-year old that I am. This life is in my blood, maybe I should just own it.

We travel down a circular drive lined with palm trees decorated with strings of white lights and a vast stretch of greenery. The peach and white hotel has a Spanish cathedral quality to it. The cab driver pulls up in front of the entrance of the hotel. It's massive and lavish and expensive and so Domenico. The asshole had to impress me with architecture- my Achilles heel. He must've seen how many HGTV shows I have saved on my DVR.

I check the rear window to see if Damon was able to catch us and by the looks of it, he didn't. I hand the driver two-hundred dollars and thank him for getting me to the hotel so quickly. A valet opens the door for me and I step out on shaky legs.

I walk through the entrance and observe the arched blue ceilings and stone columns mixed with artfully placed velvet blue and green lounges and potted palm fronds. I stand like an idiot in the middle of the lobby, staring at the antique Tiffany chandeliers when a lean concierge wearing a brown fitted suit and a royal blue tie asks if I need help. Yeah, I need a lot of help but I doubt he'd be able to help with the many issues plaguing Elena Gilbert, or as I found out earlier, Viviana Elena Giovanni. Should I start going by Viv?

I smile politely. "Can you point me in the right direction of the de León Bar?"

"I'll walk you," he replies.

Maybe he doesn't think I'm twenty-one? Am I being paranoid?

Yes, probably.

Maybe.

"That would be lovely," I reply, trying to sound older.

He walks with his hands politely behind his back and explains the history of the hotel, built in the early 1900s. I'm not listening. I'm looking for potential escape routes.

We make it to the entrance of the bar. "I'm sorry, miss, but I'm going to have to ask for identification."

Thanks to Domenico and his surprises today, I now have a real identification cause there's nothing fake about it. It even has my name and picture. Well, it says Viviana Gilbert because Dom thinks he's hilarious. I get the i.d. out of my wallet and hand it to the concierge, he glances at it, then back at me and smiles apologetically. "I apologize, but I had to check."

"Of course."

We bypass the hostess table and he points me to the bar. I thank him before he excuses himself to get back to his desk.

What do people that are twenty-two, as my new driver's license says, drink? Probably beer, but what do fancy people drink? What would Damon tell me to drink? "I'll have a gin and tonic," I tell the bartender. I glance at the bronze name tag pinned to his black vest. Ernesto.

"We have Burleighs, Nolet Reserve, and Gentlemen's Cut," he offers.

I don't know what any of those are.

"Whichever you suggest," I reply.

He nods with a wink and after a few minutes of watching him make my drink. He places a crystal tumbler with a few cubes of ice and a lime wedge on the side. I take a sip and it is freaking unreal. So much better than warm beer served out of red Solo cups and almost as good as whatever Damon makes. "Would you like to start a tab?"

I don't know what that is.

I mean, I know what it is but not in this context.

"No, thank you," I decide to say.

He leaves with a nod, so I look around the bar. Dark wood interior, but continues the theme from outside with the palm fronds and use of deep blues and greens. The alcohol has been flowing for some time, so people in fancy clothing are gathered laughing and flirting. The one thing I notice is that the men are old but the women are younger, not all of them are, but enough to cause me to make the connection. The younger the woman, the higher the heel, the older the fella, I swear to god.

I overhear one wearing a dress similar to mine but in white, talk about being a communications major at the University of Miami. The white fabric contrasts with her tan skin and the metallic heels make the ensemble pop in the cheapest of ways.

I roll my eyes and get back to my drink.

"Do I know you from somewhere?"
A guy in possibly his mid-forties, wearing pleated khakis and a short-sleeved light blue button-up has decided to sit next to me and flirt. Dear Lord.

He smiles when I turn toward him and God, his teeth are blindingly white. Like little Chicklets. I really hope this isn't the guy I'm supposed to make the drop off to.

"Nope."

Then I turn back to my drink which is almost gone.

"But I know I've seen you somewhere."

"That's quite the quandary. Maybe if you go across the room, like to outdoor seating, it'll come to you. Distance does that," I mutter into my drink.

He doesn't take the hint. "I'm not moving from this spot. I'm the luckiest guy in the place to be sitting next to you. Are you a model?"

I spin toward him again to put him in his place and groan. "Oh, my God…"

"Wait, that's it!" He interrupts, realization dawning on him. I think this guy has had one too many drinks. "I do know you from somewhere. You're on one of the channels in my hotel room. I had to pay extra to watch, but man, it was worth it and now I'm sitting right next to you."

I frown, remembering Moretti's earlier comment about me being a porn star. "I don't know what you're talking about, but I can assure you that it wasn't me and I'm insulted by your implications."

"Okay," he replies with a wink. "Heya, barkeep! Get this sexy lady another drink."

Yeah, he's drunk and crazy. I can't believe they let this guy in a nice such a nice establishment.

An imposing man in an impeccable charcoal grey suit with tan skin and dark black hair places a hand on the asshole's shoulder. "You need to leave," he orders.

Chicklet teeth may be drunk, but he is out of the stool and stumbling to the other end of the bar where security intercepts him and escorts him out of the bar.

The mystery man eloquently sits in the stool next to mine. "May I get you another drink?"

I nod. He doesn't bother asking what I ordered. "Gin and tonic, but with Burleighs," he orders the bartender, who magically appeared when this guy sat down, ignoring the other people waiting. "Glenfidditch, neat for myself."

"Thank you," I say because I feel like I need to say something. This guy commands respect and I am grateful he got rid of Chicklet teeth. If I got rid of him, there would've been a scene with blood.

"Allow me to introduce myself," he says with an outstretched hand. "My name is Marco Reyes and you must be Viviana Giovanni."

I freeze momentarily.

I should've gone back to get my gun the moment I realized I didn't have it in my bag. It's not hard to connect the dots on this one. The person I'm making the exchange with is head of the Reyes cartel. No wonder Domenico had me wear this dress.

He takes my hand and lifts it to his lips. "Your beauty has been compared to Helen of Troy, but that comparison does not do you justice."

He's a charmer, this one. I take a sip of the gin and tonic placed before me by the bartender and dammit, the gin Marco picked out is better.

"How was your trip to my beautiful city?"

I don't miss the way he takes ownership of the city. I wonder if he'd say the same thing if he ran the cartel in Orlando. Maybe he does and Snow White is a distributor. "A couple of your men tried to kidnap me, so it could've been better."

"Can you blame me?"
Arrogant, just like the rest of them. At least he takes ownership of his actions. "So what was the plan? Kidnap me and sell me to the highest bidder, the drugs being an added bonus?"

The bar is noisy so I doubt anyone heard us, plus I'm pretty sure Reyes owns the hotel, so I'm not really worried about the volume of my voice.

His dark eyes sparkle in the dim lighting of the bar. "Sell you? No, that would not be advantageous to me. You would enjoy the plans I had for you."

"Doubt that."

"You fascinate me," he says. "I was going to send my little brother but the way you evaded my men and knew to move the drugs, cover it up with clothing, and ditch your car impressed me. You think ten steps ahead of your opponent."

"I play chess in my spare time," I joke. I don't but he's making me sound like some genius. I may be top of the senior class, but genius, I am not. I still bombed my college entrance exams.

"So what's your plan, now?"

I bring the tumbler to my lips while he thinks. "We are going to have a nice conversation while we finish our drinks and then you'll follow me."

Don't go to a second location.

Don't go to a second location.

Words that were said in an elementary school assembly repeat in my head.

"Wouldn't it be easier to do the handoff right now? Then we can both be on our way. I'm sure you have a family to go home to."

He takes a sip of his drink. If he drinks this slowly, we'll be here all night. Might not be a bad thing. "I don't have a family or wife to go home to."

Marco's voice caught at the last word. He was going to say "yet". He was going to say, I don't have a family or wife to go home to yet.

Maybe he has a fiancé or a girlfriend that are the 'yet' he's referring to because this is not normal. How many people know I'm a Giovanni or Russo? Wait…he called me Viviana as in, Viviana Elena Giovanni. Did Moretti tell him? And if so, why? It seems like it'd go against his plans.

"I heard you are a runner. My compound is located on a long stretch of beach I own. You'd be able to run miles and miles on my property."

I pick up my almost full tumbler, down it then slam the glass on the table. "Gotta use the ladies room," I say, hopping off of the stool.

Marco catches my wrist and leans forward, not because he's worried about being overheard but he wants to make sure I hear every word. "I own this hotel and have men stationed at every exit who know your description, down to the dress I bought you. You don't want to know what will happen if you leave without me."

Dress he bought me? Moretti has some explaining to do.

I tilt my head to the side and analyze his profile. Dark, almost black eyes, full thick hair, stubble around his jaw and he fills out his suit quite well. I bet he wears a Speedo on the beach and nobody around him minds.

I may be a little drunk, but this is a very good looking man and also very dangerous. His eyes darken like he knows what I'm thinking. But he doesn't. He's not a mind reader. "You know, Domenico Moretti also promised me a tour of his compound. Is that like an illegal boss thing? Show me your castle and lock me in while I'm looking around? If so, you need new material."

I release myself from his grip and walk in the direction of the bathrooms with my bag slung over my shoulder. My original plan was to call Damon but with guards surrounding the place, I don't want him to walk into trouble that may get him killed.

I can't call Moretti because he clearly set me up. I just don't know why.

However, I don't think Domenico knew Marco would be the one to do the exchange. Maybe his plan was to have me deal with Marco's little brother. Calling Domenico means admitting failure. I just need a plan to get out. I need insurance.

Then I have it. I know exactly what I need to do.

A few minutes later, after using the restroom, I walk back to Marco.

He stands and takes me by the arm. "We will be able to talk more comfortably in my office."

At least it's not to a hotel room, if it was he'd find out why I like running so much. We walk out of the lobby and down a few hallways. I don't miss the way his hand slides down my bare back. People regard Marco as royalty. I mean, he's the owner and everything but I'm genuinely surprised that the concierge who walked me to the bar didn't get on his knees and bow to Marco.

I start getting worried when we take a private elevator to the top floor. "My office and private residence are on the top floor. There's a garden with a secluded area for us to talk on the roof."

"Perfect place to jump off," I mutter under my breath.

"What?"

"Nothing," I reply.

"There is no reason to rush this, Viviana. We are going to drink, eat the meal my chef prepared, and then if we feel up to it, make the exchange," he says.

Damon is not going to be happy. I told him that I wouldn't leave him. I promised I wouldn't leave him and here I am, abandoning him. I'll never admit this, but he was right about going tonight. Dammit.

"You know, Miami has great colleges. The mafia isn't known for letting their women go to college, but I'd let you go," he offers like it's the most normal thing in the world.

"How kind of you."

"We have much to discuss, Viviana."

He guides me through a hallway decorated much like the lobby, but the framed collection of pictures add a personal touch I didn't expect. Mostly black and white photos of Reyes ancestors. Plaques beneath the dark wood frames label the pictures. Pictures of the hotel being built and labeled 1921, with Alejandro Reyes standing in the front.

"Are you interested in history?" He asks, obviously seeing me look at the photos.

"Why? Are you going to tell me that there's a great history program at the University of Miami?"

Marco chuckles. "I am not sure about that, but whatever you want to study, I'll make sure it is available to you."

Now we're talking about this in the affirmative. The officer that spoke at my elementary school assembly was right. I should've never let him take me to a second location. Lesson learned, Officer Holliday.

We walk up a staircase and he opens a glass door to an immaculate garden lit up with twinkly white lights that span the entire roof. There's a pool in the middle with a few cabanas and a fire pit with a circular seating area. All this surrounded by greenery. He leads me down a path to a table dimly illuminated by the light from the garden. It's set for two and has champagne chilling in a silver bucket. The moon illuminates the water in the distance. If I wasn't so worried, I'd take a moment to enjoy the view.

"I doubt this is how you treat everyone who makes drug drops for you."

"No, it is not," he agrees, pulling out a chair for me. I sit because I have no choice. "I hate to spoil our evening with routine protocol, but I am going to have to ask for your phone."

Fuck.

I want to lie and say I don't have my phone but he interrupts me, explaining he saw it in my bag. I hand it to him and he looks at it. "Turn it on."

"Why? You have it so you know I'm not able to contact anyone."

"Do not make me ask twice."

I roll my eyes but turn on the phone. I hand him the phone. He glances at it and puts it in his suit jacket.

A waiter comes by and pours us glasses of champagne and I down most of my glass before Marco can make some sort of toast.

"Why the date?"

He doesn't seem bothered by my rudeness and takes a sip out of his glass. "You are Viviana Russo Giovanni, the lost daughter of the Giovanni empire. You have the power to tie organizations together or you could be used to start a war. I have not decided which I prefer."

"Who told you my name?"

Homemade crackers and braided breadsticks arrive with an olive tapenade spread. Marco helps himself to a cracker and smears the olive spread on it, then places it on my plate and makes one for himself. I don't touch it. "Eat and I will tell you."

I take a bite of the cracker and hate that it's so good.

"At five o'clock in the morning, I received a phone call that made me very happy. The girl that everyone thought died, is alive and known as Elena Gilbert, of Mystic Falls. Domenico Moretti was planning on making a drop of a new product in my territory, an arrangement we came to a few days ago. Moretti runs the territory from Mystic Falls to Charleston. He's small potatoes and eager to expand, so eager in fact, I knew he knew about the girl from Mystic Falls that's the daughter of two major families. His obsession with a Mystic Falls expansion has been very advantageous to me. There isn't much that goes on in that town he doesn't know about. It was serendipity, Viviana, because when I offered him something he could not refuse, he told me that you were on the way to make the drop," he explains. "I believe it was a last minute change in plans."

"That explains why he made me leave in the middle of the school day."

"Did he?"

"The principal called me into his office and guess who was sitting behind the principal's desk?"

"Hmmm," he brings the champagne glass to his lips.

"There's something I want to know," I say, ignoring the server delivering a salad. "You said that everyone thought I died. What happened?"

"There are rumors that the Giovanni family were out for blood because of the death of one of their own. The Russo girl was seen hanging around Antonio Giovanni. Two teenagers who fell in love when Isabella visited a friend in upstate New York for the summer and Antonio was at their summer home. Fought more than they got along."

"How do you know all of this?"

"My aunt is a gossip. She said there were rumors that the reason he was out for blood was because his child was murdered. It is a fragmented story that has grown more sensational with time, so I wouldn't take too much of it seriously. But you were spotted with Isabella after your supposed death, which is when the rumors really started to explode."

"Is there like an illegal crime newspaper that circulates between the cartel and the mafia families?"

Marco snaps his fingers. The server promptly returns and moves to take our plates but Marco stops him. "I need a printed map of North and South America."

The server nods and leaves.

"Fast service."

"Money has its perks."

Another server picks up our salad plates and refills out champagne glasses. I've had one glass of Champagne and two gin and tonics, so I stick to water for the time being.

"You have not touched your food."

"I'm not hungry."

"I'm not going to hurt you if that's what you're worried about," he promises.

"So we make the exchange and you're just going to let me go?"

"For now."

I don't believe him, but it's better for me if he thinks that I do. The server pours us red wine and serves us steak and a layered potato thing with vegetables. I haven't been paying attention to what the sever's been saying all evening. I get it, this is expensive, five-star cuisine. I care more about getting out of here.

I can tell Marco is really trying. He takes the spoon out of a silver dish and pours a green sauce over my steak. "It's similar to Chimichurri but made with cilantro. It is delicious, my mother's recipe."

I eat a piece of the steak and groan. It's incredible, he's right. "I don't think I realized how hungry I was."

He chuckles. "My mother is an excellent cook but doesn't like anyone touching her kitchen. You can watch and she'll feed you while you watch, but touch her favorite spatula and you'll be eating cold cereal for a week."

I drink some of the wine and feel myself lightening up. "I wouldn't know what that's like."

"I must confess, I don't know a lot about your family other than you are Isabella and Antonio's daughter."

"To be honest, there's a lot that I don't know either. It's exhausting keeping up with all the new information that's thrown at me. I only recently learned about Antonio and Isabella. Every time I catch a break and am able to take a breath, I learn something new."

With a wine glass in hand, Marco regards me with surprise. "You didn't know?"

I lift one shoulder up in a sort of half shrug. "Every family has its secrets."

The server returns while we're eating with the map Marco requested. He circles Florida, southern California, Baja, and most of Central America. "My cartel runs these areas, but in Mexico, along the border of Arizona, New Mexico, and Texas, another cartel runs that area. They are an uncivilized pack of rodents searching for their next meal. They lack morals."

"There are morals in the drug trade?"

"Only if you want to survive. That area is constantly being taken over by the third cartel. I let them battle it out. There are major families in South America that have been running cartels for years, we trade with them because they are civilized and have morals."

"Again, cartels have morals?"

"To a degree," he answers. "My family has been here for a century and will be here a century from now. The Torres and Castillo cartel used to be the Ortega and Soto cartels, and so on."

"So why don't you just overrun the area when they're weak?" I ask.

"For now, I am keeping them busy. I have plans, Vivianna. I think ahead."

I ponder that while we finish our meal. I didn't realize there was so much organized crime. I always thought that was just in the movies. Even the Founding Families are an organization, as well-intentioned as they may be. They successfully kept me hidden for years. I need time to look at the documents Domenico sent me.

"What do you want to do with your life?" Startled from my train of thought, I gaze at Marco.
I can't help but compare him to Damon. Damon knows his way around a car, can build things with his hands, is both the smartest and dumbest person I know, and can knock a guy out in a single punch. He's rougher around the edges but lacks the confidence that comes with age. He's uncertain, knows what he wants to do that day but has no real direction when it comes to the future. I've never heard him talk about what he wants, not what his father wants him to do, but what he wants to do with his life. It would be hypocritical of me to say I know what I want to do, but I'm trying to give myself options. I don't know if Damon has it in him to fight for what he wants. He may tell his dad to fuck off, but in the end, I don't think he wants to disappoint him. I saw his eyes light up when his dad called him a couple of weeks ago- he was that fourteen-year-old kid again, dying for his father's attention.

Marco knows exactly who he is and I have a feeling he's always known it. He's graceful in his movements and refined. He has a swimmer's build, lean with broad shoulders and biceps that bulge every time he moves to take a bite. He's cunning and smart and I have no doubt he runs the cartel with purpose and without getting emotions involved. Which means I am separate from the cartel. I am a curiosity.

I set my fork and knife across the porcelain plate and bring the wine glass to my lips to buy myself time. What do I want? "I don't know," I reply, honestly. "I finished filling out my college applications and I lied on all of them when it came to that question. I had fun coming up with answers; on an application for the University of Virginia, I said I wanted to be an astronaut."

"You would like to go to space? See the moon?"

"Stars are pretty," I laugh with a shrug.

He chuckles. "Maybe you do not want to go to college."

"Maybe I have a feeling I'll never be able to go," I reply. "But applying gives me a future to hope for. A future with options."

An easy grin spreads on his face. "It is too bad that because of who you are, your options are limited."

There's a definite finality in his tone like he's as realistic about my fate as I am. Over a blackberry soufflé with chocolate sauce and whipped cream, which is heavenly, he tells me about Miami and his family. I find myself laughing at a story he tells me about his little brother teaching him how to surf at their family home in Puerto Vallarta. He was so humiliated that his little brother was better, he went out every morning, while everyone was asleep to get better. "I don't stop until I get what I want, and I wanted to be better than him."

I have a feeling his words have a deeper meaning but choose to ignore it. "You want to be the best."

"Yes, Viviana."

I take my spoon and scrape the bottom of the ramekin, trying to get every last morsel. "Are you happy?"

"No."

He says it so quickly and with such conviction, I drop my spoon. "We've been talking for a little over an hour. You own a beautiful hotel, in a city you love. You have homes all over the world. You have an illegal but profitable business. You've only talked about your family with love. I have no doubt women line up to be with you. What more could you want?"

"It is time to make the exchange."

I nod, here we go.

He calls the server back over and asks for his iPad. That's what we're exchanging, drugs for an iPad? Maybe he's just showing me an exchange of money? He presses a button when I hand over the goods?

Instead, he places the iPad in front of me. "You need to see this first."

He presses play. The opening credits read, Starr Industries presents: Friday Night Delights. Is this supposed to be some sort of play on Friday Night lights? Before I can ponder that question, the video starts. It's a freeze-frame of me jumping on a bed in nothing but panties. On the frozen shot are the words, Staring New-cummer: Elena Gilbert, covering my bare breasts.

I want to laugh at the play on words but I'm also staring at the screen completely horrified and transfixed. I don't want to remember this and I don't want to watch this and after the opening scene of three conveniently unidentifiable guys, wearing black football helmets comes in while I'm writhing on the bed. It doesn't take a genius to see that I'm out of it. Then music comes on and I remember the beat of that song because it's played in my nightmares. The ones I don't tell Damon about. I immediately push the iPad back to Marco. "I don't need to watch that."

"It has been out for almost twenty-four hours and is already the top-selling video."

"How did you know I was Elena Gilbert?"

He gives me a look that plainly says, are you kidding me with this question. "Starr Industries is run by a man named Axel Pace."

The number one porn video in the world documents my rape. I put my head in my hands, suddenly feeling sick from all the alcohol and food and oh my god, this was Frederick, Chase, and Noah's big revenge. Goodbye, college. Goodbye, shot at the Olympics.

I run over to one of the large potted frond plants and vomit and continue to vomit the contents of my dinner. My hair is in a ponytail, but Marco comes over and moves it out of the way and rubs my back while I ruin his pretty plant. When I think I've expelled everything, Marco hands me a warm wet cloth to wipe my face makes me drink a bottle of water.

"How could you tell that I didn't know about the video?"

We're sitting on a lounge in the fire pit. "I swear I have not watched the video, but from what I saw, I could tell that you were not a willing participant. I was going to ask who the boys were in the video."

I could tell him who they were but I know what would happen and I may hate Chase, Noah, and Frederick, but I don't want them killed. I wouldn't mind if they were castrated though.

"I don't know," I reply, but I can tell he doesn't believe me. "Why did you show me that?"

"I had to make sure you knew. I want to be honest and upfront with you, especially before we make the exchange."

Honest and upfront, sure but he's talking in circles.

"Let's just do the exchange and I'll be out of your hair."

"You should stay the night in one of my rooms," he offers. "You have had a long day."

I shake my head and hug my tote bag to my stomach. "What would you like me to take to Domenico?"

He sighs, disappointed I'm not taking him up on his offer. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small velvet black box and hands it to me. "You are the exchange, Viviana Elena Giovanni. I bought your adopted parents' debt and you are part of a very big deal between myself and Domenico Moretti. He knew the only way to get you to Miami was to have it be part of your arrangement to sell for him. I wanted to spend an evening eating and drinking with you so I'd know if you were what I am looking for. I admit I was upset that Moretti tried to cover up your gunshot wound in an attempt to make you more presentable. It was not needed."

I may throw up in the pot again.

"How…?" I stutter, not knowing where to start.

"My men were the ones that tried to take you and shot at you. I was trying to get to you early so I wouldn't have to make the deal and could just keep you, but you evaded me. You are a smart girl," he says with admiration in his voice.

He is crazy. Freaking crazy.

"I—I'm seventeen," I stutter. "I can't…" I hold up the ring box.

"When you graduate, I will come and get you," he states.

"I'm not something that can be bought or sold," I argue. "I'm a human being…"

"You are a human being who was born into this world. I have already made a deal with Moretti for more territory he was in desperate need of and his drug will flow through the streets of both Miami and Tijuana. With your last name, I will be able to do something no one before me has done and bring together the cartel and the mafia," he explains.

"Isn't your deal with Moretti bringing together the cartel and the mafia?"

"He is small potatoes and even what I gave him is nothing in return for something more powerful and precious than he realizes."

For some reason, I never took Moretti seriously. I think that's why I was able to talk to him as I did. Clearly, he has another agenda and I don't believe this is the last that I'll see of Moretti. He knows too much.

"What about the Russo and Giovanni family? Thanks to that video, I am no longer hidden."

"I am warning you," he clasps his hands around mine covering the black box I haven't dared open. I can't ignore the fact that they are warm and comforting. He's being honest, but knowing Moretti, Moretti would take honesty for naivety. "You do not want to involve the Russo family or the Giovanni family until you have proper protection."

"Why?"

"Your mother, Isabella, knew something after growing up in that world, just as I know things from growing up in my world. You would have been killed to avoid a war between the two families or killed in the middle of a war between the two families. The Russo family and the Giovanni family are both ruthless and smart. One family may take you in and lock you up and marry you to a sadist to gain more power. There are rumors just as we have rumors, but I can promise you protection and I'd try to make you happy. My family would love you and treat you as their own."

"I am nothing more than a pawn to you," I say bitterly. "I'm a pawn to everyone. Moretti thinks he can sell me, you buy me before my blood can sell me off. The woman who I thought was my mother sold information on me. Do you see how unfair this is? You talk of morals and you're just as bad."

"You will not always think that," he mutters. I snort at the ridiculous of it, which he returns with a glare. "Where is my product?"

I reach into my bag and hand it to him.

He feels the weight of the bag. "This is not everything."

"No, it's not."

A muscle ticks in his jaw. "Where is the rest?"