Page 14 of The Mafia’s Fiancee

Chapter 6

Emma

Blood dripped frommy wrist.

The pain from forcing my cuff lower and shoving it down didn’t faze me. Nothing could. I was trapped in a state of panic and consumed with worry about Luke.

Antonio visited me only to leave me with a taunting warning that he would have Luke killed. He hadn’t ordered a hit on the man I loved. That would be too simple for the sadist who planned to own me in marriage. Calling in one of his killers to take care of Luke would be too easy. With his parting words, it sounded like he’d arranged for him to be beaten in a fight tonight.

Beaten to death, more like.

“Come on,” I growled, frantic to get this cuff of me. Neither one of them were giving up. My ankle was hopeless. I wouldn’t be able to extend my foot out to slip it off. My bones couldn’t allow it. I was flexible, but only ordinarily so.

I had more hope to ease off this metal shackle on my wrist, though. Still, it didn’t matter how I twisted and squeezed my fingers. I couldn’t hit that point of slippery ease and get off.

Sitting here idle was eating away at me. I had to do something. I refused to be stuck in here like a pathetic damsel in distress, a princess locked away in a room.

I had no doubt Luke would go to that fight. It would be expected of him to rise to the challenge placed on him, but I imagined he would be stressed and determined to find me.

And he couldn’t do that.

He couldn’t possibly know how to get to me here, in my father’s home. He’d be clueless about a way to get in once he identified where the house was. First, he’d have to pass all the guards. Then scale the fence and get through the locked doors. And then more patrolling soldiers stationed outside my window.

This was no fairytale. This fucked-up bullshit was my life, and I’d be damned if I didn’t do my part and try to get out.

To help him. I wasn’t sure when the fighting would take place. They always happened at night, and with the falling darkness outside the window, I felt like time was running out before I could escape and warn Luke not to enter this fight. To let him know that Antonio planned to use it as a means of killing him and getting him out of the way.

That sicko was so possessed with claiming me that he’d go to the extremes of murdering his competition. There wasn’t any, not really. Antonio would never compare to Luke. No one would.

Admitting how fated we were to love each other, to belong to each other, served as my motivation to keep trying. It seemed so fruitless, so hopeless, but as the hours wore on, I didn’t give up. My skin was rubbed raw. Cuts split wider and deeper with the abrasion of the cuffs over my wrist. Alternating between my ankle and my wrist, I worked on getting one of the shackles off. Maybe then, with one free, I could bang the metal pieces together and splinter apart the remaining one.

As I worked, tirelessly and desperately, my stomach growled and ached with hunger pangs. No one had come to give me water or food. I could go without, anyway, because eating something would trigger me closer to throwing up. Yet, the fact that no one came by had to be a warning clue.

My father didn’t want to kill me. No, I wouldn’t starve or suffer from dehydration in this short amount of time, but the lack of provisions seemed to suggest that I wouldn’t be here for long.

Antonio said he’d come back after that fight. The way he likely saw it, he’d see Luke be killed and return to gloat about it.

No. That won’t happen. I couldn’t allow the thought to even enter my mind. I had to hang on to hope. I had to resist and shun the mere thought of him being dead.

Luke was a strong fighter. I’d witnessed his power and skill firsthand, but if he went into this match tonight thinking it would be a fair, level situation, then he’d be hurt in the very least.

But did Antonio mean that he would come back after the fight to take me?

I feared it, and that added more determination into my efforts to slip free.

No weapons or tools were available in the room. Not a single thing that could damage the cuffs or break them off. I doubted I’d find a sharp edge, either, so I could hack off my hand and foot to get free. It seemed extreme, but as a last-resort option, it far outweighed the misery guaranteed to me if I were to marry Antonio and be subject to his whims.

All I could take for granted was that someone would come back. Maybe my father would, to yell at me and hit me harder. Or a guard to check that the noise of me struggling to get out of these cuffs didn’t mean I was getting free. And worse, Antonio could return like he said he would.

My isolation was a blessing, a gift I intended to make use of, so it was late into the night that I kept straining and working against my bonds.

When the doorknob jiggled, finally, I froze in trying to shove the cuff over my wrist. I watched the wooden panel, waiting and held in suspense. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. Tense and anxious, I stared at the opening of the door as someone pushed it open.

Krista!

She shushed and nodded at someone at the door, probably a guard. Once she fully entered my room, she shut the door and locked it from the inside out.

“Emma!” She hurried toward me, her face etched with lines of worry. “Are you o—” She slapped her hand over her mouth to cover her gasp. Looking at the swelling from where my father backhanded me, she shook her head and sped up her approach.