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With a yawn, I reach for my phone on the nightstand to check the time. But it isn’t there. Must still be in my evening purse, which I left by the coat rack in the hallway when we got in last night….
I swing my legs from the bed and head for the bathroom. After a quick shower, I shrug on a pair of jeans and a sweater, then go through to the kitchen. The clock on the wall tells me it’s already lunchtime. I’m not hungry though, so I just have a cup of coffee and a piece of toast. It’s too early to call Camila and tell her about the ball, but I need to charge my phone, so I step into the hallway. My purse is where I left it and I snap open the catch.
No phone.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I squish my brows together, trying to remember when I last used it. That selfie I took in the speedboat. I’m sure I put it back in my purse, though. I checked my bag in with our cloaks afterward, and it didn’t seem any lighter. Could someone have stolen it? I drag my hands through my hair. Everything is stored on my cell, from my bank account log in to all my social media. I didn’t bother bringing a laptop with me from the States…
I chew on a fingernail. Not being able to contact anyone makes me feel vulnerable. What if Camila, Marco or Alessio try to call me? They’ll worry if I don’t respond. Even more annoying, my phone is my window on the world. I’m totally isolated in this apartment without it…
An idea occurs to me. Marco’s parents have a landline. I’m sure they won’t mind if I use it to call him. I shuffle on a pair of sneakers, grab my keys, and exit the apartment. Within minutes I’m ringing their doorbell.
No answer. Shit. Now I remember Marco mentioned that his dad had a hospital appointment today. A long one with all kinds of scans and tests. I sigh heavily and go back upstairs.
To alleviate boredom, I decide to clean the kitchen. Marco and Alessio employ agency cleaners who come once a week, but they don’t have time for a deep clean. I’m about to start taking plates out of the cupboards when the doorbell rings.
A man’s voice calls out, “It’s Giorgio. Signor Lorrer sent me to check you. He’s been trying to phone you but you didn’t answer…”
“I’m fine.” I step into the hall. “Come in, we can call him on your telefonino and I’ll make us both a cup of coffee.”
I unlock the door and pull it open.
The blood drains from my face.
Pockface is standing next to Giorgio, sneering at me.
My breath bursts in and out.
I spin on my heel, ready to run and barricade myself in the bedroom.
But sturdy arms grab me.
I let out a scream and aim a kick at Giorgio’s shins.
He claps a hand over my mouth.
My heartbeats race.
I struggle, and try to rake him with my nails, but he’s too strong for me.
Pockface comes into my periphery.
He presses a cloth to my nose.
The smell of ether invades my nostrils.
Oh, Jesus, oh, God.
My body has gone all floppy. My tongue feels like it’s become too big for my mouth.
Pockface starts putting a gag on me.
Giorgio ties my hands behind my back, muttering, “Sorry, signorina.”
He’s sorry? What the fuck?!? How can he betray me like this?
My heartbeats nearly explode and I crumple to the floor.
I can’t focus… my thoughts have turned fuzzy.
Giorgio lifts me and slings me over his shoulder.
I hear the door to the apartment slam shut, hear the elevator ping.
I’m blacking out, the fuzziness in my head is getting worse. But I’m still half aware of what’s happening. They’re taking me to a boat. Is it Marco’s? I’m not sure. They lie me down and cover me with a blanket. My vision blackens and I’m gone…Chapter Twenty-SixAlessio – present timeDeputy Superintendent Koffler stands next to me in the police launch. He’s come along for back-up, but I doubt I’ll need it. Whoever took Sefi has fled the scene with her. A feeling of dread invades me, so sharp it’s a physical pain in my stomach.
Sefi is missing.
Fear for her safety has turned every muscle in my body rigid.
When he called, I tried to reassure Marco that there has to be an innocent explanation for her disappearance. I told him she’d maybe broken curfew and had gone to meet up with her co-workers. But why didn’t she phone us, then?
The police launch’s sirens wail as we race down the Grand Canal toward Palazzo Lorrer. The Italian flag flutters at the stern, and we leave a massive white wake in the green water behind us, gondolas and small craft rushing to get out of our way.
