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I have a pretty fair idea of who I’m talking to as I roll over and sit up to face him. Despite the ball cap shading his eyes, he’s instantly recognizable. I’ve studied his picture the same way I knew I was looking at Luca the first time I laid eyes on him at the club. He has the same devilish good looks as Luca, though his features are thinner, almost delicate. His mother was a model before she met his father—a man many years her senior whose family is now under the control of his oldest son.
“Alessandro Vitali,” I murmur, nodding my head. “I was wondering if we would ever get the chance to meet face to face.”
His sensual lips stretch into a smile. “And here we are.” He’s dressed in sweats, and he must notice I’m studying him because he looks down at himself and snorts. “Swinging through on my way back from the gym. Forgive me for not looking my best.”
He removes his black cap to reveal a head full of curly, chocolate-brown hair. He would be handsome if not for the hard, sharp glint in his eyes—hazel eyes that seem devoid of feeling as he glances around the room. “Not exactly the Plaza, is it?” he murmurs.
“It’ll do.” What, does he expect me to weep and whine? For fuck’s sake. “What do you want with me?” I demand, still careful to keep any emotion out of my voice.
Another smile, but wider this time. “You are interesting. I can see why he likes you so much. I mean, right off the bat, you’re… appealing.” His gaze lingers on my chest when he says it, and I want to crawl into a hole and never come out.
Of course, he wants me to feel that, so I lift my chin and stare into his face like I don’t notice. “Though I’ve gotta be honest with you,” he continues with a sigh. “I don’t go for mouthy bitches.”
“And I’m sure every mouthy bitch in North America just sighed in disappointment,” I murmur with a faint smile.
He blurts out the sort of laugh that means genuine surprise. “Hell, I might decide to keep you for myself,” he muses, folding his arms over what is clearly a thick chest beneath his hoodie. He takes care of himself, so much so he could snap my neck like a twig. “I mean, I had no idea you’d be so interesting.”
“I have my moments.” What is he getting at? What does this mean?
“So if I were to ask you what you know about the Santoro family and their business, you would entertain me with all sorts of stories. Right?” he prompts, still grinning like we’re old friends.
“No,” I respond flatly. “I wouldn’t.”
“So you say now.” He rocks back on his heels, smirking. “We’ll see how you feel in another day or so. When you’re so cold, you can’t feel your body. So hungry and thirsty, you would agree to anything so long as you get a sip of water.”
“Keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better,” I snap, and his eyes flash, telling me I’ve gone too far, but I’m not about to back down now. “I have nothing to tell you,” I insist as firmly as possible. I show no fear, panic, and begging. It’s the truth, after all. “You think they would tell me anything? They still don’t trust me. Most of them resent me being around. I’m not just a woman. I’m an ex-cop.”
“You’re full of shit.” He snarls, and this is the real Alessandro. The mask has fallen, and he doesn’t bother putting it back into place. His formerly handsome face twists into something vicious, cruel, and full of hatred. “You’ve got Luca so twisted up, he would do anything. He’d say anything. He probably rattles off critical information while you’re sucking his little pencil dick. Don’t give me that bullshit story.”
“It’s the truth,” I tell him with a defeated sigh. “Really. I don’t know anything more than you do. Hell, you probably know more than me. I mean it. You’re wasting your time.” I even shrug as I stare up at him.
“We’ll see about that.” He purses his lips to emit a high-pitched whistle. His two thugs practically trot into the room like the trained dogs they are. The one with the black eye looks even worse than last night, and the one whose face I slashed is using butterfly stitches to keep the wound closed.
Alessandro draws a deep breath, then looks down at the floor, backing away from the bed. “Do it,” he mutters.
I have no time to process his words before the man with the black eye shoves me onto the bed and pins me, holding me down so hard my already sore muscles scream in protest. “What? Stop!” I grunt, kicking and squirming. “What are you?—”
A fist comes at me, and my instincts kick in. I try to dodge, but it’s too late. The blow connects with brutal force, driving all the air out of my lungs. I roll over, clutching my stomach, struggling to breathe.
That’s when I see the side of a knife held by the man I slashed silences me. It makes me go still as I try not to pass out from the pain while my entire field of vision narrows to the blade, gleaming faintly in the gray morning light. “You just relax now,” he urges with a bitter, humorless laugh.
My heart is pounding out of my chest, and there’s still a scream locked behind my clenched teeth, but I’m afraid to make a sound or move. All I can do is stare in growing terror at the knife as it comes closer and closer, tormenting me.
“Get it over with,” Alessandro orders from behind him, sounding bored.
I cringe, sucking in a terrified gasp as a handful of my hair is taken, then pulled straight up and away from my head. The knife comes closer, and I let out a silent scream before it begins to slice through my hair, the motions savage and painful.
Hot, furious tears of shame and sorrow roll down the sides of my face. I’m barely able to bite back the sobs wracking my body as one handful after another is brutally cut away from my head. The men, Alessandro included, joke among themselves about how much Luca is going to like his present.
Finally, Alessandro clears his throat. “One last parting gift,” he says, giving his solider a nod. Before I can comprehend what’s happening, a sharp burning sensation rips through me. I let out a throaty gasp as my gaze sinks to where the knife’s tip has slashed across my hand, and blood begins to trickle down my arm.
From the corner of my eye, I see someone taking a photograph of me, and I know why.
“That will do.” As quickly as it began, it’s over, both men backing away and gathering up most of the hair spread out around my head while I’m left applying pressure to the stinging sharp cut that is so fucking painful I can barely breathe.
“We’ll give you some time to search your memory,” Alessandro offers, standing by the door while I raise a shaking hand to my head. “Maybe you’ll be a little more forthcoming once it’s time for us to have a conversation about how you can help my family. If you know what’s good for you,” he adds, the words heavy with meaning.
He leaves before I can say a word, not that there’s anything to be said. I can only run my hand over my head, where my hair sits in clumpy patches of all different lengths. I’m glad I can’t see the disaster they’ve turned me into. I don’t think I could handle it. I can barely stand touching it, especially when I reach a spot where the hair is chopped nearly down to my scalp.
