Damiano steps away from me and looks down to the ground, deep in thought. I thought the meager information I had would hardly be enough for him, but maybe I was wrong. For him, there is a hidden meaning in what I’ve said.
I wipe the wetness off my face, and my bladder throbs.
“I need to pee,” I say.
He sucks in a breath and levels me with a contemplative look. Then he nods.
“Bathroom is through the door behind you,” he says. His voice is strangely flat.
My wrists are red. I start to rub them and notice Damiano watching me. He looks away. “Go.”
He doesn’t need to tell me twice. I duck through the door, lock it behind me, and survey the space as I empty my bladder. Crap. There aren’t any windows. I wasn’t particularly hopeful there’d be a way to get out of here, but having my suspicions confirmed stings none the less.
He found out my name. I’m so mad at myself I want to scream. Why did I leave my passport in such an obvious place? I could have hidden it better.
No, I’m probably just deluding myself. If I had to guess, he sent Ras to search for it, and if Ras hadn’t found it in my mattress, he’d have dug up the entire apartment. I should have gotten rid of it when I could.
It’s too late to think of that now. Damiano knows who I am, which means I’m one phone call away from being found. I need to find a way out of here before Damiano makes it.
I finish my business and wash my hands. There’s no mirror here, nothing that could be used as a kind of weapon. Maybe I could get creative with the toilet paper. I make a grimace at the thought. I doubt I’d have a chance against the massive man outside even with a shard of glass.
The memory of my little meltdown when he told me he’d call Papà sends a surge of frustration through me. God, why have I lost my ability to keep it together? All of Mamma’s training really was for nothing. He found a weak spot when I started to bawl. I need to keep myself in check. The more I show him, the more ammunition he gets.
He’s pacing the length of the room when I emerge. I take advantage of his distracted state and glance around for a way out, but the grate on the window looks exceptionally sturdy, and beside the discarded rope, the room is bare.
Suddenly, Damiano stops and turns to me. “Come here,” he demands. His expression is thunderous. Clearly, he still hasn’t shaken off whatever my information revealed to him.
I move to the furthest corner from him and cross my arms over my midriff. “What are you going to do with me?”
His gaze darkens. “What did I tell you about following my orders?”
“You promised you won’t send me back,” I remind him.
“Do you think my memory is that bad?” he asks. “You’re staying here for now. Now stop arguing and come here.”
When I stay frozen in place, he frowns and stalks over to me. In his hands, he still has the rope.
“Please don’t string me up again,” I beg.
He reaches for my arms, and I put them behind me and back up until my shoulder blades hit the wall.
“I’m serious. My wrists hurt.”
“Do you think I care about where you hurt?” His voice is rough, but he refuses to meet my eyes.
I’m not sure I believe him.
“I won’t run. I swear,” I say.
“We both know that’s a lie.” He places his palm on my shoulder and turns me around, pressing his hips against mine when I try to resist.
I huff against the wall. “Damn you.”
“I’m not going to string you up,” he says even as I feel the rough lick of the rope against my forearms. He ties it higher than before, not touching the raw skin. “We’re having dinner.”
What? My head spins. “This is a bad way to ask someone out on a date.”
He finishes tying my arms and moves to my legs. “What can I say? Our courtship is evolving.”
“It’s not a courtship. It’s kidnapping.”
When he stands, he brings his lips close to my ear. “And yet you seem to prefer this to being sent home. Want to tell me why?”
Tension blankets my body. “No.”
His big hands cover my biceps. “If you tell me, I’ll untie you.”
I chomp down on my bottom lip. He wants to know all of my secrets, but I can’t give him this one. My past with Lazaro has nothing to do with Martina, and if I tell him about the things I’ve done, I doubt he’ll feel any obligation to keep his promise. Whatever affection he might still feel for me will disappear in a heartbeat. “I said no.”
He pulls back. “One way or another, I’ll get it out of you eventually,” he says with dark conviction. Then, he wraps an arm around my waist and tosses me over his shoulder as if I’m a sack of potatoes. “Behave yourself when we get up there.”
I don’t think twice before starting to buck against him. “Put me down!”
His grip on my waist tightens, and he slaps me hard on the ass. I yelp.
“If you want to be conscious for dinner, stop moving now,” he bites out.
“I’m not hungry!”
He carries me over to the stairs and sits me down on the third step. “You’re going to pretend like you are and eat whatever my sister’s warmed up for us.”
That makes me freeze up. “Your sister’s having dinner with us?”
“Yes,” he says as he digs for something in the back pocket of his jeans.
A vision of her curled up on that cold floor in my old house, so small and fragile, flashes inside my mind, and it sends a chill down my spine. Thank God she managed to get to safety.
“Open wide.”
“What the—mphhf!” My words are cut off as he stuffs something in my mouth.
He rolls his eyes at my muffled outrage. “It’s a clean handkerchief. Relax.” Then he hauls me over his shoulder again and scales the steps.
Does he really plan to present me at dinner like this? Tied up and gagged? As he carries me through the house, I try to take in as much of my new surroundings as I can, but it’s a bit tricky when I’m hanging upside down. We pass through what I think is a large living room and enter the dining room. He deposits me in a chair.
I have my answer.
Ras and Martina are sitting across from me, their dinner plates heaped with food. Martina’s jaw drops. Ras hikes a brow.
“Valentina is joining us,” Damiano announces as he takes his seat at the head of the table.
There’s a very long awkward silence as my eyes flit over the three of them.
“We’re having roast chicken,” Martina says finally.
“Thnkff ouu.”
She gulps and shoots a worried look at her brother. “She can’t eat like that, Dem.”
My captor is already digging into his food, completely unruffled by this scene. Nothing seems to ruin his appetite. “If she promises to keep her tongue in check, the gag comes off.”
Martina slowly moves her gaze from her brother to me. “Will you promise?”
I glance at Damiano. He’s not even looking at me. He’s so absorbed with his damned chicken. “Mhm.”
“She said yes…I think,” Martina says.
Ras makes a move to get out of his seat. “I’ll get that out of your mouth.”
“I’ll do it,” Damiano snaps. He reaches over and jerks the cloth from between my teeth, and Ras sits back down.
I start to cough.
“Give her some water,” Martina pleads, and Damiano pours water in a glass in front of me.
My arms are still tied behind my back. “I can’t reach it.”
He curses under his breath in Italian, picks up the glass, and brings it to my lips. “Drink.”
I take a sip. He’s staring at me so intensely it makes goosebumps erupt over my skin. “Tilt it more,” I say.
When he does, some of the water spills out of the corner of my mouth and drips down my chin. I pull back and lick the water off my lips. He zeroes in on the movement, and a slither of something warm passes through my belly. The moment suddenly feels entirely too intimate.
I turn away and collect myself.
Ras and Martina return to their plates, but every now and then I catch her shooting me curious looks.
It takes her a few minutes to work up the courage, but then she says, “I want to thank you for helping me.”
I give her a weak smile. “I’m happy you made it home safe. Even if you have to live with a don for a brother.”
The temperature in the room drops, as if someone turned on the AC at full blast. Damiano’s lips flatten.
What is it? Is he not the don? He hasn’t said it explicitly, but it was a safe assumption to make after what he told me about his father.
It’s Ras who deigns me worthy of an explanation. “Damiano isn’t the Casalese don. He’s the capo of Ibiza.”
Maybe here these things don’t get tied to one’s bloodline like they do with the Garzolos. Still, I can’t help but feel there’s something Ras has left unsaid.
“You’re probably hungry,” Martina says.
“I’m all right.”
“No need to be shy,” Ras says, taking a sip of his wine. “Have a bite. I’d offer you some of this Tempranillo, but it seems like it might be more hassle that its worth.” He gestures at the half empty cup of water Damiano left in front of me.
Yeah, I could do without spilling wine all over me.
The chicken does smell heavenly. I eye the half-eaten bird. It looks like it’s glazed with honey and there are slices of lemons and fingerling potatoes in the juices on the tray around it.
“I don’t think I can eat that without my hands.”
“I’m not removing the ropes,” Damiano says as he methodically cuts into his meat.
My stomach decides to betray me by emitting a loud growl.
Martina gives me a pitying look. “Dem…”
He looks like he’s about to drag me back down to the basement and be done with this whole charade, but instead he plucks the napkin off his lap, drops it on the table, and jerks me from my chair into his lap.
“What on earth are you doing?”
He reaches around me to take a chicken thigh off the tray and starts to cut into it.
I try to get off him. “I don’t want to sit on you.”
“Stop squirming,” he says with a grunt.
I appreciate Martina trying to stick up for me, but I kind of wish she’d just gotten up and fed me the chicken herself, because this is far worse than staying hungry.
“I don’t need you to feed me,” I hiss at Damiano, but my will to argue leaves me when I smell the chicken up close.
I part my lips, and he puts the fork inside my mouth.
Damn, that’s good. I make a hum of appreciation and try to chew in as dignified manner as my current position allows. He’s still staring at me when I swallow, so I open my mouth again to let him know I’m ready for more.
Damiano’s lips give a hint of a smile. “So it can be trained,” he murmurs before feeding me another forkful.
I clamp down on the utensil with my lips and make sure to get everything. Who knows when he’s going to feed me next? I might as well get as much as I can while the opportunity has presented itself. That way I’ll have enough energy to make a run for it.
He drops his dark gaze to my lips again, and my pulse speeds up. Why is it that one look from him is still enough to get me riled up? Whatever was starting between us is definitely over now, even if he had his fingers inside of me what feels like just moments ago.
I swear he sees that thought reflected in my eyes, and in response, those same fingers tighten around the fork. His nostrils flare with an inhale. His length hardens against the backs of my thighs and sends a burst of warmth through my core.
I’m about to grind against him when I remember where we are.
Jesus. He is my captor. I can’t indulge in the inexplicable physical attraction I feel for him.
A chair squeaks across the floor and breaks the spell. “I’m done, so I’m going back up to my room,” Mari says.
Damiano takes the fork out of my mouth and puts it on his plate with a soft clank. “Take a look at some programs tonight and send me anything you like, all right?”
He went from predator to good older brother in the span of a second, and it’s disorienting as hell.
“I will. Good night.” She gives me an uncertain smile. “Good night, Valentina.”
“Night,” I say.
She leaves, and then it’s just the three of us.
“What now?” I ask. “Are you going to serve me dessert?”
Damiano’s palms wrap around my waist. “Not unless you’re offering yourself up as one.”
My cheeks redden at his hoarse voice. This man has no shame.
Ras stands, his expression bemused. “I’ll wait for you in your office,” he says to Damiano.
“Fine.” His gaze never leaves my face. The air between us crackles with electricity.
For my own sanity, I need to put an end to this.
“I want off,” I say as fiercely as I can manage. “This—” I tilt my chin down toward my body, “—is off-limits to you. Forever.”
He lifts me off him with a quiet chuckle. “Toys exist to be played with.”
“I’m not your toy,” I snap as he puts me back down on my chair. I try to push farther away from him with my feet, but all I accomplish is tipping over my chair. Just when I think I’m about to crack my head on the hardwood floor, Damiano steadies me.
“Time to put you away for the night,” he says, lifting me over his shoulder.
I’m about to beg him not to lock me in the basement again when I notice he’s taking me upstairs.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
He halts in front of a door on the second floor of the house and nudges it open with his foot. Once we’re inside, he deposits me on a bed.
I sit up and look around. It seems to be a guest bedroom that hasn’t been used in a while. Besides the bed, there are two nightstands, a console table, and a chair. It’s bare of any personal belongings. The most exciting thing about all of this is the large window, until I realize there’s a metal grate on the outside of it.
Damiano moves back toward the door. “The alarm will go off if you so much as touch that window. Don’t make me take you back below.”
“Fine. How long are you going to keep me here?”
He leaves without giving me an answer and locks the door behind him.
I pull my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around them. The air in the room is perfectly still. There isn’t a single sound coming through the walls, and I’m left with just my thoughts to keep me company.
It seems the old saying is true. You can never outrun the mafia.
