Page 85 of Read This Before the Villain falls in Love with You

He stands up slowly and circles around the back of my chair. His breath turns warm against the side of my neck. "Everyone breaks, Nora. Some just need a little cold, a little blood, and enough pain."

"You smell like sour garlic and desperation," I bite out, refusing to flinch. "Back off."

His fingers grip my shoulder. I wrench sideways and slam my elbow straight into his ribs. Air huffs out of his lungs. The guard with the broken nose lunges in and cracks the back of his hand across my cheekbone. My head snaps to the side. Warm blood fills my mouth. I turn back, spit red onto the metal tabletop, and bare my teeth in a tight grin.

"That all you've got? My last client hit harder and he was a tech bro with anxiety."

Bellini straightens his jacket, breathing measured now. "Restrain her properly. No more chairs. No more courtesy."

Hands shove me through the doorway. Cold iron clicks around both wrists, hoisting them high into the wall bracket until my toes barely graze the stones. A sharp fire burns through my shoulders. I clench my teeth and run my eyes across the wood of the heavy door. Seventeen iron bolts stud the frame. The bottom hinge sits crooked, its pin loose and rusted. Water glistens down the stones on the left, but the right side flakes dry.

Gum lingers in the doorway and jingles a plastic bottle between his fingers. "Boss told me you get water when you ask nice."

"Ask nice?" I laugh, the sound raw and jagged in my throat. "Sweetheart, the only thing I'll ask nice is for your dental records so I can match them to the floor later when I kick your teeth in."

The door bangs shut. Darkness drops over me like a wet sack. Water drips against the floor, steady as a clock. My shoulders shake. Heat burns up into my neck. I suck in air through my nose and blow it out through my teeth. Count to four. Count again. Plan the next move.

Minutes drag into hours. The ache in my arms turns numb and heavy. I wiggle my fingers to force blood into the tips. I list old clients. Phone numbers. Board members. Anything to keep my head clear. The latch rattles. Light cuts across the floor.

Bellini walks in alone. He holds a bottle of clear water in one hand. He bends down and sets it on the dirty stones, two feet past my shoes.

"Still upright," he observes. "Most beg by now."

I spit a bit of blood onto his shoe. "Most don't have my billing rate. Also most aren't me. Big fucking difference."

He crouches, studying me like a bug under a microscope. "I could make this easier. Information on Moretti shipments. Schedules. Soft targets. Speak and the cuffs come off. Food. A bed. Even a phone call home if you behave."

I snort, a sharp pain lacing through my ribs. "You want free consulting? Cute. My day rate starts at five figures and requires a contract, not a dungeon. Also I don't snitch on people I..." I catch myself, swallowing the word. "On people who annoy me less than you do."

His eyes glitter. "Love. You almost said love. How deliciously inconvenient for everyone."

"I almost said many things, you old bastard. Mostly involving your mother and a rusty cheese grater. Focus."

He stands. Nudges the bottle closer with his shoe, then farther again. Petty bastard. "Your loyalty is touching. Misplaced. Luca's parents died screaming. His uncle is a traitor in slow motion. The girl will be next if he doesn't fold. You are just the opening act."

Anger clears the fog better than water ever could. I glare through the darkness. "Threaten them again and I'll make sure every agency from here to London gets your grocery list. I have friends who eat men like you for breakfast and bill the leftovers."

He laughs, genuine this time. "God, I almost want to keep you. Such a waste under Moretti. Perhaps after I gut him I'll make you an offer. Real power. Not this romantic little captivity game."

"Hard pass," I counter, my voice cracking but firm. "I already have a job. And infinitely better taste in partners."

The heavy iron door swings open with a sharp clang. Heels click against the wet flagstones. Sara Bellini strides in, her designer trench coat swinging around her knees, and stops beside Don Vincenzo with a toxic sneer on her lips.

Sara waves a hand toward the guards. "Father, let me have her. Go handle the docks. I'll finish this little piece of trash myself."

Don Vincenzo glances between us, his mouth twitching into a thin line before he gives a cold nod. "Do not leave a mess, Sara. And do not take too long." He waves to the guards, and the three of them file out, leaving the heavy door half shut.

Sara pulls a thin silver blade from her designer pocket. She tilts her head and steps closer. "Look at you. Nora Elizabeth Blake. Luca's precious new plaything hanging like dirty laundry in my basement."

"Nice knife," I croak, eyes locked on hers. "Compensating for a lack of personality, or does being a mafia parasite just require accessories?"

She laughs, a high, grating screech that echoes off the stone. "You think you're clever? Luca thinks he's a god, but my family tore his apart piece by piece. We broke his parents. We made them beg in the dirt before we put bullets in their heads. And Luca? He cried like a wounded dog while we took everything from him."

A raw heat flares in my chest, but I lock my jaw and keep hanging there. "Luca has more spine in his little finger than your entire bloodline, you pathetic bitch."

Sara's smile turns vile, her eyes narrowing as she twirls the blade. "Oh, and don't get me started on little Sofia. That fragile little doll. Did Luca ever tell you about school? How easy it was to torment her?"

My fingers tighten into fists against the cold iron cuffs. "Keep her name out of your mouth."