I manage another breath. Use it as fuel to continue pushing. Right as my left foot brushes something solid, an arm wraps around my waist. Through no effort of my own, I’m moving, pulled against the unmistakable heat and hardness of another body.
Now, I scream.
Water isn’t a rational fear, but I’ve been warned about abduction my entire life. Been reminded why I should panic in that scenario almost as often.
A hand claps over my open mouth, silencing me, and I struggle harder.
I can’t recall ever being this tired.
I can’t recall ever being this scared.
All of Isabella’s ridiculous arguments for why I shouldn’t have come this weekend? Suddenly not sounding ridiculous at all. She’ll think she failed me. My father—what will Salvatore doto her? He might be relieved to be rid of me, but he can’t stand incompetence.
I widen my mouth as much as possible, then bite the palm covering it as hard as I can.
The taste of copper fills my mouth as a stream of strange, angry-sounding syllables fills my ears.
I can hear. My head is fully above water. I can stand, too, the tiled bottom firm beneath my feet.
Or I thought I could stand. When arms abruptly release me, I nearly collapse. I half stumble, half sag onto the nearest edge, spinning to face my attacker as quickly as possible.
To do what? I have no idea. My muscles feel cast in lead, and I can’t see anything through the mess of wet hair flopped over my face. I swipe it away with both hands, back to the wall, aiming my most lethal glare at the pool’s other occupant.
He let me go—why? Because it’s obvious I’m an easy target? I never truly believed anyone would come after a dead girl, and I’m about to pay a high price for ignoring what I mistook as paranoia.
The man isn’t looking at me. He’s inspecting his palm with a frown on his face.
His hand is big. So is the rest of him. Tall and broad and muscular. A more-than-worthy opponent when I’m sober and energized. Capable yet younger than I expected. Much, much younger. Close to my age. It shouldn’t surprise me. My brothers went from children to men overnight. The lifespan of a made man is much shorter than an average one.
He glances up suddenly. His eyes meeting mine makes it difficult for me to breathe again, like I’m back underwater. He says something, but I don’t understand a harsh word of it. Russian maybe?
I could respond in Italian to confuse him back, but I’m not sure I should. He’s likely going off a general description of me. Maybe I can convince him I’m not who he thinks I am.
Before I can decide what to say, he’s moving, cutting through the water that almost killed me like it’s effortless. He grabs the bottle of vodka from the spot where I left it, splashing some on his hand before swallowing a large sip of the rest. Makes a face, squints at the label, grimaces, and then sips again.
I’m frozen in place.
I’m not proud of my stillness since this is ostensibly a window to escape. I could run. Scream. Wake the ten other girls. I’m not here alone.
Would he kill them to capture me? Could I live with that horror on my conscience? Be so selfish as to drag them into this nightmare with me?
He sets the vodka down with aclankthat I worry will break the bottle. Glances over at me. More Russian, followed by a sudden, unexpected grin.
I stiffen in response to the change in his expression. Not because his smile is menacing—because it’s not. I nearly smile back.
He’s attractive. Very attractive. That could be why he was chosen for this task. If I hadn’t been preoccupied by almost drowning, I would have been distracted by his appearance sooner.
“Are you okay?” he asks, which strikes me as a strange question.
I’m alive, obviously, maybe to his disappointment. My never surfacing would have simplified his assignment. A cold trickle of apprehension slithers down my spine as I consider the reasons he might have been instructed to capture me conscious.
I nod once.
His smirk remains, but it twists. Becomes a little mocking, I think. “Ask me the same?”
He holds his palm up, flashing the red indentation, dotted with beads of blood—a perfect print of my teeth—readily visible against pale skin. He must not spend much time outdoors during daylight hours because I can’t picture him slathering on sunscreen.
I scowl at his audacity to think I’m in the wrong. “You grabbed me,” I hiss, stopping short of adding the other crimes I fear are coming.
