I HAD NEVER BEEN more perplexed in my life.

The plan, as Antonio explained to me in hushed tones over the phone, as he flew on a private jet with his girlfriend napping one seat over, was quite simple. I was to be a bargaining chip in his increasingly elaborate-sounding plan with the Steeles, an option to them: either Alexander Steele took back his heavily pregnant wife--who, to me, looked like she might go into labour at any minute--or he took me.

Me. I didn't even consider myself a Steele. For starters, I spoke fluent Italian. For another thing, I had spent more of my life with the Cavalli's than the Steeles. Finally, the Steeles were such a strange and cold and unloving family. People may have thought a mafia family would have been as bloodless--or bloodthirsty, I supposed--but I had never met such an awkwardly dysfunctional household until I set foot in my biological father's apartment.

It felt odd to call Aaron Steele any version of dad. I settled for 'sir', something I had called my own father, but I could see the pain that he tried to hide in his eyes every time he heard it.

But, back to the plan.

I'm sitting in the Cavalli compound and the mere thought makes me remember a conversation with my parents when I was nine. Yes, we have a compound. No, Allie, you may not bring your school friends over to ride ponies there, the compound is for emergencies only. With how paranoid Roberto Cavalli was, I wouldn't be surprised if he also had a bunker somewhere on the land, only that I hadn't discovered it yet.

I never did get to sneak one of my friends into the compound. But now, meeting Katerina Steele - or is it Devereaux? - as she's being rolled into the compound in a wheelchair, one hand on her heavily pregnant abdomen, this almost feels like that. Only, we aren't friends. We may technically be some sort of family, but we definitely aren't friends.

Still, part of me is curious. What are my other family like? Do they ever talk about me? Does Alexander or Abigail miss me? Do they remember me at all? Katerina Steele is like a portal into another life, like glimpsing who I could have become.

You're Allie, I remind myself, but I don't even know what that nickname is short for anymore.

That's how I find myself in the foyer, scolding Paulie when he almost lets the wheelchair hit a snag in the carpet. "You could have killed her."

Paulie rolls his eyes but doesn't say anything. He's always been the strong and silent type. Most of our guards are, which is nice at times but also can make for awkward car rides sitting in silence.

"I'm fine," Katerina says in a low murmur, and we both stir. The drugs must be wearing off. I spent two hours with Antonio researching drugs to use to knock people out that would be safe during pregnancy. He didn't have anything better to do, other than mope around the house after some heartbreak that he won't tell me about. All I know is, I don't want to know about it. Though I hope Christina doesn't leave.

Her eyes flutter open, revealing hazel irises that fix... on me. With a gasp, her hands fly to her mouth. "Who are you? Where am I?"

I'm pretty sure she knows the answer to question one, but I answer both for her anyways. "I'm Allie. This is the Cavalli Compound. I tried to call it Camp Cavalli when I was younger, you know, like Camp David, because I was really obsessed with politics at that time, but the name never stuck. So. Anyways. Here we are!"

"Oh..." A yawn causes her jaw to pop. "Wait... what? You're Allie? As in, Allison Steele...?"

"You know what, some people have tried to call me that, but I feel like the name Allison just doesn't suit me. I knew an Allison in gymnastics once, and she was the meanest girl you will ever meet. Of course, she could also do a perfect split," I say. I can't tell if I'm rambling in the hopes of endearing myself to her, or because I'm nervous. Probably both.

"A pleasure to meet you," she says as Paulie rolls her chair through the hallway. For someone who's just been kidnapped, her manners are impeccable. "So I should call you Allie..."

"That would be best. And you're Katerina, right?" I say, popping my fruity gum.

She eyes me suspiciously. "So the Cavallis kidnapped me and brought me to their compound and now my tour guide is the other girl who has been kidnapped, fifteen years ago?"

"Was that a question? Because I don't think I can answer it," I say, beginning to feel uneasy about this whole setup.

"Just an observation," she says, sitting primly with her hands folded in her lap. Her stiff posture and general aura of ladylikeness remind me of my older sister, Bianca. "So, where are you taking me in this compound?"

"The hospital wing," I respond without thinking. "No offence, but you look like you could give birth at any moment."

Her eyes widen as though in panic. I can't blame her. "But... my husband." She swallows thickly, a tear slipping around her face. "He's not here... Do you even have doctors in this place?"

She casts an eye around the surroundings: lavish furniture, gilt-edged oil paintings, plush Oriental carpets and mahogany panelling.

"I assure you, we're not complete savages in the middle of nowhere," I say drily. "This place just happens to be a little remote, but we have a doctor-on-call. Though usually, she's more used to taking care of people who have been shot at."

"Well, I'd fall under that category too," Katerina mutters under her breath.

"You've been shot? You're not bleeding," I say, glancing at her. She's wearing a flimsy paper-thin hospital gown, an IV hooked into her arm.

"No, but I was shot a few years ago at my engagement party," she says casually.

"Huh." It's no less dramatic than my own family reunions turn out, always with someone injured on the inside or the outside. "So, tell me about yourself. I don't know how long my brother wants you to be here."

She starts at the word brother. "Oh, you mean Antonio."

I almost say, who else? Before I realize she thought I might be referring to her husband. Because technically, I'm a Steele. "Yes."

"Why is he keeping me here?" An edge of hurt panic creeps into her tone. "I haven't done anything to him. I'm an innocent bystander in this whole saga... I mean, for crying out loud, I'm pregnant. I don't want to give birth while kidnapped!"

"Calm down," I say, which is rich coming from me. I am, to be frank, almost never calm. "It's going to be okay."

She sucks in a deep breath and I half expect her to struggle against her bonds or rip out the IV, but instead, she lowers her head and murmurs something that sounds like a prayer, her dark hair shielding her face. I'm not sure what to make of it.

I guess if I was in her situation, I would be praying, too.

I DON'T KNOW WHAT to believe anymore.

Well, that's a lie. Scratch that. I know I believe in God. I know I believe He will pull me through this, that no matter where I end up, I will be serving Him.

But I don't know what to think about Antonio. I'm supposed to be betraying him. I'm no femme fatale. Sinking the knife in his back would be all too easy and yet his blood would never stop staining my hands and my misdeeds would never stop weighing down my heart.

I almost wish I had never met him. Yet I know that's the coward's way out, too.

I know I need to stand firm and believe in my convictions. I know that he has done despicable things, awful things, darker acts than I could ever imagine. Yet I also know that he sheltered a puppy, that he held me with tender hands, that he helped me look for my mother. I know that he is capable of terrible evil and great destruction, yet on the other face of the coin, he has made me feel things that I've never felt and he has shown me that he is capable of goodness. The way he interacts with his nephew, with his family.

He was born into this family. He can't help it, my heart whispers.

Everyone has a choice, everyone has free will, and he used his to sin, my mind says. There is no sin without free will, and he's shown me that he has plenty of both.

"What are you thinking about?" Antonio asks softly on the plane ride back home.

I stare out the window, listless, my eyes watching the blue sky and puffy white tendrils of clouds drift by. Before this year, I had never even left the country. Now, I've left twice in a month. Yet I can't bring it in me to enjoy any of it. Not even when we met up with Thyra in Paris, since it was close enough to Monte Carlo, and had a girls' night out.

I had hoped to leave Monte Carlo triumphantly, with answers in hand. Instead, all I have is more questions to add to my mental list, and I can voice none of them to him.

What do you really want from me?

Where do I fit into your life?

Who are you, truly, and what would you do to me if I stayed with you long enough?

I am terrified that you could tell me all your worst crimes and I would still be willing to stay with you. I am horrified by the depths of affection that I might hold for you, by the willingness I harbour to forgive you, for every awful deed and thought and word you might have committed against me. I don't know who you are anymore. I had hoped you would be pure evil, but I have learned that there are so many things that are much worse than that.

"Nothing," I say. "My mom, that's all. We said we would have a spa day when I got back."

He makes noncommittal noises of encouragement. "Sounds fun."

"Do you ever just - hang out with your siblings?" I ask, having an only child's curiosity. "Do you play, I don't know, board games or something?"

A smile quirks his lips. I hate it, the way he looks less and less like some distant Michelangelo statue and more and more like a real person, whom I could fall in love with. Someone whom I might already be in love with. "We play foosball, actually."

Lucas's words echo in my mind, the ones he spoke to me before I left New York. You're not falling for him. You're falling for this idea of him, for this idea that you can fix him; like he's a fallen angel with broken wings. He isn't. He could very well be the devil himself, Tina.

My heart breaks a little. "Are you any good at it?"

"I'm better at pool," he says. "Foosball has too many moving pieces, all at once. It's hard to keep your eye on the ball."

"But pool?" I say.

He shrugs his broad shoulders. "There's only really one or two balls you need to keep your eyes on at all times, and at that moment, you get tunnel vision. You focus in on that one thing, that one path that leads you where you need to go."

I don't know why his words ring with me, striking a chord. A Scriptural chord. For I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through Me.

"Must be why I'm so bad at it," I say wryly. "I can't focus on one thing at a time."

His smile fades. Maybe I've brought up something else in his mind, some shadow looming over us, threatening to swallow both of us whole. "How unfortunate. I had hoped you were giving me your undivided attention."

On the screen, the news plays on mute. A chyron rolls at the bottom while the anchors speak. SHIPMENT OF DRUGS CONFISCATED AT LAGUARDIA! POSSIBLE LINK TO CAVALLI CRIME FAMILY. Antonio reads the same thing I do, but our reactions are totally different.

The nervous sweat that pools in my palms is definitely giving me away. Meanwhile, Antonio blinks once before resuming his cool composure.

Yet another reason out of a thousand that I shouldn't be with him. We're too different. His icy collectedness would drive me insane.

It hasn't so far, a voice in my heart whispers.

Shut up, heart. Your job is to pump blood, not give input on my trainwreck of a love life.

Somehow, the arguing isn't working.

Does Lucas know? Is he the one who made the arrest and gave the tip to stop and search? Is he the one who put two and two together for the FBI and told them that it was linked to the Cavalli's? New, but no less anxiety-inducing queries run through my mind. I swallow. I should say something. I will. "That's bad, isn't it?"

"Hmm." A completely useless noise that I could interpret in ten different ways. Yep. We can't be together. His stoicism would drive me insane. Absolutely up the wall. Do not think about him pushing you against a wall, Christina.

Some things are easier said than done. "What are you going to do?" I say.

H shrugs and opens the in-flight magazine. On a private jet. Why is there an inflight magazine on a private jet?

"You know, I don't really appreciate being given the cold shoulder," I start to say.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair, and rolls up the magazine, tossing it to the seat next to him. Then he pats the space between us, as if to say, come here, his gaze set on mine. I scoot over, nerves and excitement thrumming through my body at different paces.

One of them is saying yes. The other one is saying heck no.

His arm wraps around my shoulder. "In my line of work," he says. "I have to make very... difficult choices. Choices that, either way, will lead to a great deal of regret. But please, Christina, believe me when I say this... you are the decision I will never regret making. Never."

Something sinks in the pit of my stomach. No, worse than that. It's like someone's taken a wrecking ball to my insides and swung with rapid-fire precision, hitting the most vital parts of me. I can't breathe. Can't eat. Can't even feel my heartbeat. "Thank you," I say with trembling lips and a mouth as dry as sandpaper, because what else am I supposed to say?

I can't tell him I don't regret opening Tinder and going on a date with him. Nor can I tell him the truth: that regret and desire war in me every day. That every night when I lie in bed, I wonder what my life would look like without him and I don't want to know, yet I realize that I do. I would probably have given into my mom's pleadings and taken Lucas back. or maybe I would find some nice, normal guy to date and he would be an accountant and he would hold my hand and buy me flowers and give me a good night kiss because he wanted to, not because he was on the run from the DEA and was using me as a distraction.

I wouldn't be here at all if I had the choice. But I don't have a choice. And yet still I'm not choosing him.

He kisses the top of my head. "You don't need to thank me."

No, I don't. I need to betray him. And that hurts even worse.