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I feel a knot of anxiety in my stomach. Dialing the police, I wait for an answer, rehearsing what I’m going to say.
“New York Police Department, how can I help you?” The voice on the other end is professional, detached.
Taking a deep breath, I muster the courage to speak. “Hi, I need help. I’ve been kidnapped.”
The officer’s tone shifts to one of concern. “Alright, ma’am, can you tell me your location? Are you in a safe place right now?”
I glance around the luxurious room, feeling a pang of irony. “I’m not sure. I’m in a penthouse. I don’t know the address. It’s in Manhattan somewhere, overlooking Central Park.”
“Okay, ma’am, we’re going to help you. Can you describe the person who took you? Do you know his name?”
My voice trembles as I answer, “His name is Dominic Caruso. He saved me from a shooting and then brought me here but all the doors are locked and I can’t get out.”
Suddenly, the officer’s professional demeanor crumbles into fear. “Dominic Caruso? Miss, if this is some kind of test...”
“No, it’s not a test!” I cut in, my desperation growing. “He’s brought me to his penthouse, and I’m scared. I don’t know what he wants from me.”
There’s a sharp intake of breath from the officer. “Miss, I... I can’t help you. I wouldn’t dare go against Don Caruso’s wishes. Please, tell him I meant no disrespect by taking your call.”
“But you’re the police! You have to help me!” My voice cracks as I realize the extent of Dominic’s influence. “Please, I’m trapped in here and I can’t get out.”
I suddenly become aware of a presence in the doorway. I turn, my heart skipping a beat, to find Dominic standing there with a wedding dress draped over one arm, his expression unreadable. It’s clear he’s been listening to the entire call. He strides over and takes the phone from my hand.
“Who is this?” he says down the line, pausing for a moment. “Adrian? How’s your little boy? Good, I’m glad he’s doing better. You take care now.” He hangs up, passing the phone back to me. “I told you not to bother.”
I recoil slightly, clutching the fabric of the chair for support. “I’m not marrying you,” I state, trying to keep my voice steady as he holds the wedding dress out toward me.
Dominic’s eyes lock onto mine, a predator assessing its prey. “I could force you,” he says, his voice low and menacing as he grips my waist with one hand, squeezing lightly. “You have five minutes to get changed. Get on with it.”
7
DOMINIC
Standing outside the church in the rain, Isabella looks both ethereal and out of place in her wedding dress, the raindrops clinging to the delicate fabric. She’s stopped dead at the top of the steps, arms folded across her chest.
“Get inside,” I tell her. “Vincent could be lining up a shot right now.”
“I’m not going in there until you tell me the truth, Dominic,” she asserts, her voice barely audible above the patter of the rain.
“What truth?”
“If we’re getting married, we shouldn’t have secrets, right? So why is Vincent Marconi trying to kill me? The truth or you’ll have to drag me kicking and screaming down that aisle.”
“He’s the brother of my late wife, Maria. He wants revenge for her death.”
Her reaction is immediate, her voice trembling. “Did you kill her?”
I fix my gaze on her, refusing to look away. “He believes I did.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“It was an arranged marriage. We were both young. It was a mistake.” My words hang in the rain-soaked air, a confession but not a full answer. “There was a car crash. Vincent was in Europe at the time. I heard he’d drowned but it turns out he was in a coma. Woke up and the first thing he did was hire a crew to kill me.”
“At your building?”
“Exactly. The crew saw your face and he waited to see what you meant to me. When he saw us together today, he decided you meant something to me and decided to kill you to hurt me.”
Isabella steps back, her expression one of terror. “You killed your wife. Are you going to kill me too if I refuse to marry you?”
