Several men and women strolled by. Most glanced at my costume and whispered to themselves. Other people milled about the entrance—well-dressed patrons and staff alike. Their eyes followed me as I was dragged through the doors.
“Hey!” I called to one large man. “These guys are kidnapping me! Call the cops!”
My stepfather shook his head. “She’s mentally insane. You see what she’s wearing. Right?”
“No! I’m a ballerina!”
Some stared with curiosity, others with pity, but none of them dared to intervene.
It probably didn’t help that over fifty of my stepfather’s armed men followed behind us.
No normal person would intervene.
Dread hit me.
My stepfather spoke, “Gianni should be in the ball room where the wedding will be—”
“Jesus Christ.” I shivered. “I do not want to do this—”
“I said enough—”
“I don’t care what you said—”
“It is going to happen, Bella. Just accept it.”
“I’ll never accept it.”
“Be quiet; people are looking.” He hissed, but I didn’t care.
A fresh surge of determination surged through me.
“I’m being kidnapped!! Call the cops! They’re making me marry some guy I don’t know!”
People rushed away.
“This is a kidnapping! Just do an anonymous tip!”
Vito snickered. “We have police in our pockets, and whatever cops we don’t have, Gianni surely owns them.”
As we moved deeper into the hotel, the crowd thinned out, and I became aware of soft murmuring voices and the tinkling of glasses from behind a pair of tall, grandiose doors.
Oh no. This is where it is.
My heart dropped a beat faster with each step we took towards them.
I shoved and fought.
Vito tightened his grip on my arm. Another man got on my side, not grabbing me, but surely intending to catch me if I ran off.
Damn it.
We approached the doors. It felt like walking towards my execution and I couldn't take it any longer.
This is the last chance to make a run for it.
“I can walk myself,” I said through gritted teeth, trying to wrench my arms from their grasp. “Let me go so I can walk in with respect.”
Soon as you let me go, I’m running out of here!
