“What happens if he doesn’t come tomorrow? You’ll be out of bargaining chips.”
I pocket my phone. “Perhaps, but I suppose you might know where your mother is.”
“I’d rather die than tell you” she spits.
I lean in close, my chest pressing against her back as I whisper in her ear. “Oh, you would…eventually.”
I feel her breath catch in her throat. But the satisfaction of scaring her is marred by the sudden flush in her cheeks.
What…
I push against her again experimentally, harder this time, and twisting her arms behind her.
The groan that escapes her lips is…
“The tracker was placed on the Lamborghini before it— oh!”
I pull away from Isabella at the sound of Dante’s voice, feeling oddly caught.
“Dante,” I clear my throat. “Take Ms. Natali to my room and make sure she stays there. Pull backup from the party.”
Thankfully, Dante doesn’t question me as he approaches to drag Isabella away.
She glares at me as she goes. “So what, you expect me to just wait around for you or something?”
I shrug. “I think this place has Netflix. If you get bored.”
“My brother could arrive any minute!”
“He said six hours, and I have a best-man speech to make. So…” I wave her off with a patronizing little gesture.
I’m praying to all the Gods that capturing Isabella Natali will not be the death of me.
4
ISABELLA
“IKNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME!” I scream through the locked door.
There’s a nice little dent in it now from where I was punching it earlier. My hands, now bruised and bloodied, had given up before I could get all the way through, but I get a little bit of satisfaction that Teo will have to pay for the repairs.
“LET ME OUT OF HERE!”
Of all the prisons I expected to find myself in, a premium hotel suite is by far one of the least offensive. It’s pristine—or at least it was before I got here—and covered in all the garnishes of opulence. And he was right; the hotel has Netflix.
That doesn’t make it any less of a prison, though.
“I know your name,Dante.You’ll be the first one my brother skins alive,” I threaten once more.
To his credit, the quieter man hasn’t broken once, not in the three hours I’ve been held here. Not when he undoubtedly heardme smashing the desk lamp on the floor, nor when I nearly broke my own hands on the door.
I slam the wood once more before backing away.
I go back to the window, where I’ve been crafting a sheet rope for the last hour and a half. I keep stopping every ten minutes to make some kind of racket so they think I’m not plotting anything.
The room is on the thirteenth floor. I triple-counted while leaning out of the window over the dizzying heights of Brooklyn below. Between the bed sheets, towels, and the spare linens in the closet, I think I can make it down at least four stories.
Which obviously doesn’t get me all the way to the bottom. But itdoesreach the open window a few floors below.
