This is all so surreal; I’m beginning to wonder if it’s a dream. Surely, I’m going to wake up in my own bed, in my tiny bedroom at my place any minute now. I screw my eyes shut and then open them again.
Nope. Still here. Lying on a king-size bed in a beautiful bedroom that’s almost bigger than my entire house, with huge sash windows and shelves stacked with old leather-bound books, not to mention a TV on the wall that is twice the size of my one at home. If I wasn’t being held prisoner by a psychopath, it could almost be fun.
I settle back against the pillows and stare at the ceiling. I could try to pretend that I’m staying in some fancy hotel for the night. Maybe then I could get some sleep. This place is way nicer than any hotel I’ve ever stayed at, but at least I could get up and walk out of there whenever the hell I wanted. Not here though. I have visions of sniper rifles trained on my head as soon as I step out of the door.
I haven’t seen Dante since this afternoon. Sophia brought me dinner, and I ate it because it was freaking delicious and also I was starving. I was about four bites into the most delicious fillet steak when I realized the food might have been drugged. But I figured the damage was already done so I cleared the plate.
Am I still awake? Yes. Am I still breathing? Also yes. So I guess it was okay after all. Besides, I’m pretty sure Dante has other, more unpleasant ways of disposing of people than poisoning them.
Sophia was kind to me. She showed me where the towels were in the bathroom and where I could find fresh linen if needed, as well as how to operate the fancy looking TV remote which has more buttons than a space station. So, yeah, she seems nice, apart from working for the devil that is. I wonder if he kidnapped her too. Is his entire mansion staffed by people he’s kidnapped and refuses to let leave.
My heart pounds, and I force myself to take some deep breaths and slow my thoughts. I have a tendency to ramble in my head when I’m anxious or nervous. I have every right to be nervous though, don’t I? I locked that door as soon as Sophia took my dinner tray, but at any moment, Dante Moretti could come bursting through it, all rippling muscles and tattoos and do whatever the hell he wants with me.
I shudder at the thought. But he knows I was a nurse. Hopefully, that’s what he wants me for, although I have no idea why. He’s clearly in excellent physical health. I mean, he’s tall and muscular, and he has perfect teeth.
Stop it, Kat!
Nursing had always been my dream job. My mom was a nurse too, and it was all I ever wanted to do. I always wanted to work in pediatrics because I love kids, but when my mom was killed in a car wreck when I was fifteen, I decided I wanted to work in the ER instead. Maybe I was looking to help save people just like my mom so that their kids wouldn’t have to open the front door one night to a police officer, who struggled to hold it together when they told them their mom was gone.
And I did it too. I worked at Northwestern Memorial for three years and they were some of the happiest of my life. But that was before.
A tear races down my cheek. I swat it away and pick up the complicated TV remote. I need something to distract me so I switch it on and flick through the channels until I find some old reruns of Friends. My mom loved this show, and we used to watch it with her all the time. It’s like chicken soup TV and despite my circumstances, I smile as Chandler and Joey ride into Monica and Rachel’s apartment on that hideous white dog.
I wake up with the TV still on and my face glued to the pillow with drool.
I didn’t close the curtains because just being able to see the outside world made me feel like less of a prisoner. Sunlight dapples the wooden floor, bathing the room in a soft yellow glow. I must have slept all night even though I rarely sleep for more than five or six hours. I guess being kidnapped by the Mafia takes it out of a girl. And this bed is so damn comfy, it’s like sleeping on a cloud.
After I take a quick shower and freshen up, I dress in my jeans and a sweater and unlock the door. The hallway is quiet. I wonder what time Mafia dons get out of bed in the morning. Or do they mostly sleep all day and work at night like vampires? Dante did say I could go anywhere in the house and my growling stomach is telling me I need to find the kitchen in this huge-ass place. I tiptoe out of the room, careful not to wake anyone just in case nobody is awake yet and I might have a chance to escape.
Walking down the hallway and making my way to the stairs, I groan inwardly as I spot the armed guards by the front door. There goes my escape attempt.
I head downstairs anyway in search of a kitchen. I bet Mafia man has a whole team of servants to cater for his every need, but I would prefer to make my own breakfast. I pad along the marble floors, which are surprisingly warm, until I hear the faint sound of a radio and detect the smell of fresh coffee.
Smiling, I walk into the huge, bright kitchen. It’s so homely, and unlike the marble and sleek decor of the hallways, this is rustic and charming. Vases of sunflowers are perched on the windowsills and copper pans hang from a rack on the ceiling. A wooden table with long benches either side dominates the center of the room. It’s so warm and inviting, I guess this must be the servants’ quarters or something. I doubt the psychopath prince ever comes in here.
“Good morning, Kat,” Sophia says with a smile. “Sit. I’ll fix you some breakfast. What do you want? Bacon? Eggs? Pancakes? Cereal?”
“I can fix something, thank you,” I tell her.
She eyes me skeptically. “Not when I am in my kitchen.”
“Okay.” I hold my hands up in surrender as I sit on one of the wooden benches. “I would love some eggs if it’s not too much trouble.”
She smiles widely before she starts preparing my breakfast. She hums along to the radio and seems so at peace here it makes me feel a little less uneasy. I mean, Dante can’t be a complete monster if he treats his staff well, can he? Unless she’s not like this when he’s around? Maybe he’s a raging tyrant who barks orders at her all day and makes her cower in fear. And this time of the morning, before he gets out of bed, is the only time she feels any happiness.
“Morning.” Dante’s deep, gravelly voice fills the room, and I swallow as I realize I’m about to learn which of my theories are true.
I don’t dare turn my head and look at him. Sophia is cheery when she turns to face him. “Good morning, sir. You want your usual?”
He clears his throat. “Please, and some coffee.”
“Of course,” she says with a polite nod. I mean she doesn’t look afraid of him, but what do I know? Maybe she’s a good actress. And what’s he even doing in here?
“Did you sleep well?” he asks as he walks toward the table and stands next to me.
I brace myself to turn and look at him and… holy mother of God, he’s wearing only black sweatpants, and I come face to face with his golden, tattooed abs. A bead of sweat trickles down his abdomen, and for the tiniest fleeting moment, I wonder what it would be like to lick it off.
I cast my eyes up and over the rest of his body, which is as perfectly chiseled as his stomach until my eyes rest on his face. His eyes are so dark they’re almost black. His hair is wet too, sweaty, like he just worked out.
“Yes. The room was perfectly adequate for a prison cell,” I say, and my voice sounds surprisingly calm given how much my insides are quivering.
“I’m glad to hear it,” he replies, ignoring my barb as he sits at the table opposite me.
He rests his tattooed arms on the table, and when he clenches his fists, the thick muscles in his forearms flex, and I have to drag my eyes away from them. But the rest of him is no easier to look at. His chest and biceps are covered in tattoos too. He is literally ink and muscle. All of him. Not an ounce of fat anywhere.
“I don’t usually have guests for breakfast,” he says, and I realize I’m staring at him.
Heat flushes across my cheeks. “I-I, uh, you’re just kind of sweaty is all,” I stammer. “I mean, it’s not very hygienic to sit at the dining table like that.”
“This isn’t the dining table though. This is the breakfast table. My breakfast table. I always eat straight after my workout. If you’d like to eat at the dining table, then it’s two doors down.”
I summon the courage to look into his eyes and immediately regret it because he’s glaring at me, but I don’t see anger there. His pupils are blown wide and I suddenly feel like if I don’t stop looking at his chiseled muscles, then I might end up being his breakfast.
“Here is fine,” I reply, keeping my eyes fixed on his. I like being in here with Sophia humming along to the radio because it feels like a little slice of normalcy in this fucked up version of reality I am in.
“Fine,” he says with an arrogant smirk.
I cannot believe he just caught me staring at his muscles.
“Now that you’re here anyway —” I clear my throat because my voice is suddenly way more high-pitched and croaky than it normally is. “Can we discuss exactly what happens now?”
He frowns at me. “What happens?”
“Yes. What happens. What the hell am I supposed to be doing here? When can I leave? What are the rules of the game?”
“This is no game, Kat.”
“You think I don’t know that?” I hiss, glaring at him. “It’s just a phrase. This is my life, asshole! You just picked me up out of it and dropped me here. I have no way of contacting the outside world. No money.” I never had a cell phone, preferring to use my landline to call my cousin, Mia, once a week. But other than that, I chose to stay off grid. How ironic that I’m now so off grid, nobody will ever find me even if they bothered to look.
“You won’t need either of those things.”
“Can I leave? To go to the store or take a walk?”
“No.”
“But what if I need to go buy tampons or pads or something?”
He doesn’t bat an eye at the reference to my period. My ex-boyfriend used to shudder at the mere mention of the word tampon. “Put them on the grocery list,” he says coolly.
Sophia places two mugs of fresh coffee on the table in front of us and then goes back to fixing breakfast.
“I need to speak with my cousin. She’ll wonder where I am if I don’t check in.”
“Mia?” he asks.
I blink at him. “You know Mia?”
“I know she’s your only other living relative and she lives in Boston.”
“Wow! You really did do your homework.”
“I told you, I learn all there is to know about my enemies, Kat.”
“She’s not your enemy. I’m not your enemy,” I snap.
“No?”
My brain catches up with my feelings to find the right response. “Well, I guess you’re mine now after you kidnapped me.”
“I guess.” He shrugs before he takes a sip of his coffee.
“You’re an asshole, you know that?”
He eyes me over the rim of his coffee mug. “I’ve been called worse.”
“I hate you.”
“I’d expect nothing less.”
I realize this is pointless. He doesn’t care how I feel about him. “So, Mia…” I say.
“What about her?”
“Can I call her?”
“If you behave yourself, you can call her once a week in my office.”
“If I behave?” I snap.
“Yes.”
“And what would that look like? Me behaving?”
“Doing as you’re told,” he says as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“But what is it I’m going to be told to do, Dante?” I hear the desperation in my voice even as I try to keep calm and rational.
He puts his mug on the table and sighs. “I don’t know yet.”
“You must have some idea. Not knowing what you want from me is torture. Is that the idea though? Is this all part of the plan?”
He narrows his eyes as he stares at me and it makes me feel too vulnerable with him. “Tell me what it is you’re worried I will ask you to do.”
I swallow hard as my eyes fill with tears. “I can’t…”
“Kat?” he says, and the deep, commanding tone of his voice makes my body prickle with nervous energy.
I don’t want to be raped or assaulted! That’s what I want to scream at him, but they are words I still struggle to say out loud. “I don’t want to be used for anyone’s entertainment, or their pleasure,” I whisper instead.
“You won’t be.”
My eyes snap up to his again to find he’s still staring at me. “Promise?” I ask.
He licks his lower lip, his eyes not leaving mine. “Yes.”
“Thank you,” I reply instinctively before I remember that this man kidnapped me. I shouldn’t be thanking him for agreeing not to let his men rape me, but I’m still grateful anyway.
“I meant what I said yesterday. You have free rein of the west wing of the house except my study. Most of the east wing is locked because those rooms belong to my brother and his wife.”
I don’t miss the subtle change in his tone when he mentions his brother. I’ve heard the rumors about their epic falling out years earlier, when Dante stole his brother’s birthright. Lorenzo Moretti is the eldest son and was supposed to take over the family business. I suspect nobody outside of their family knows the truth of why he didn’t. There was adequate rumor and gossip and conjecture about it. Kind of like an urban legend. Much the same as the rumors about Dante murdering his fiancée and her family the night before their wedding.
That reminder of the man he truly is makes me shudder.
“I’ll send for you when I find you something useful to do,” he goes on, and I nod, wondering just what the hell that might be.
