He swore again in Italian as Lorenzo and another man appeared in front of us, ready to assist their boss in subduing me. As he spoke to them in low, staccato sentences, I tried to sink my teeth into his hand, but his palm was clamped so tight over my mouth, I couldn’t get enough purchase.
I probably should have been terrified. But instead I was furious. Tears of anger and determination leaked out of my eyes as I struggled against his iron-hard hold. He wasn’t hurting me, but I felt completely controlled by his big body, unable to move, unable to speak. I kicked at his shins, but without any shoes on, the soft thuds were probably hurting me more than him. Meanwhile Lorenzo—the bastard—produced a red silk sash and a couple of zip ties from his jacket pocket.
I began to struggle even harder. What the hell? Did they carry kidnap equipment around with them?
‘Stop. You will hurt yourself and the babe,’ Vito demanded.
You’re the one that’s doing that!
I yelled my reply into his hand, but it came out in a series of garbled grunts.
He lifted his hand, and I had just enough time to suck in a breath—ready to empty my lungs in a scream I hoped would be audible in Scotland Yard five miles away—when the silk was banded across my mouth, forcing my jaw open. Within seconds it had been secured behind my head. Panic joined my fury as I struggled to dislodge it with my tongue without any success. Had he done this before? He seemed to be an expert.
‘If you behave,’ he said, his tone cold, ‘I will not tie your hands and feet.’
More muffled grunts came from me.
Where was everyone? He was doing this in broad daylight. I had some vague idea if I could just delay him from putting me in the car, everything would be okay. Surely someone would alert the police. But as I continued to struggle against his hold, banging my heels against his shins, he tugged my arms behind my back and used a zip tie on my wrists while Lorenzo knelt down to secure my ankles.
Within seconds, I was trussed up like a chicken. He scooped me into his arms. I wriggled furiously as another bodyguard whipped open the SUV’s passenger door. Vito climbed into the back of the vehicle and settled me on his lap. I was sweaty and breathless, and so furious I was practically seeing stars.
How could he do this to me against my will? And why?
The car door slammed, and Lorenzo and the other guard climbed into the front seats. Suddenly we were speeding out of my road and through the streets of Ealing. In minutes the car had turned onto the busy road that led out of London.
Vito held me securely, stifling my struggles, almost as if he was cradling me in his arms. I whipped my head back in one last desperate attempt to hurt him, but he simply lifted his chin out of my line of fire. Then he clasped my jaw and forced my gaze to meet his.
‘Stop, now, or you will remain tied for the whole flight. Do you understand?’
Flight? What flight?Was he planning to take me out of the country?
I blinked furiously, tugging against the bonds on my hands, the zip ties digging into my wrists, the fury giving way to mindless panic.
I shook my head furiously. But it was futile and frustrating, the silk gag making my words unintelligible.
His jaw remained tight—the muscle in it ticking ominously. But otherwise he looked completely unmoved.
Finally, I stopped struggling, because what was the point? He obviously had no regrets about what he’d done. And I had to conserve my energy to figure out how to escape him.Somehow.And get word to Evie.
God, Evie.
The panic blindsided me, making my breathing hit warp speed and my chest feel as if someone had dropped a boulder on it.
My sister would come home to find me gone—without a trace. I didn’t even have my purse with me. She’d be beside herself with worry.
I shook my head again, pleading with my eyes now. He had to let me go.
‘Do not be afraid. I will not hurt you,’ he said, even though he already had. He’d invaded my home and kidnapped me!
But then his gaze dropped to my bump, and he covered it with his palm. His hand felt warm through the cotton of my dress as he smoothed the fabric over my rounded belly. I spotted the teeth marks on the web of skin between his thumb and forefinger. The livid red dots stood out against the tattoo of a serpent which snaked down his wrist.
I hope that hurts, I thought miserably.
But then his roaming palm rose to cradle my breast. I shuddered, the jolt of desire shocking and unstoppable as he brushed the rigid nipple through my clothing as if testing its responsiveness, the fascination on his face clear.
‘Your breasts are even more glorious now that your body is ripe with my child,’ he said, his tone fierce with possessiveness. ‘Your nipples already beg for my mouth.’
I shook my head again—trying to deny it, even though my breasts felt swollen and heavy under his caresses, the nipple engorged in response to his touch.
