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Perhaps it does.
The car door shuts quickly, and the car follows me down the road as I make a bid for my freedom. I won’t go back to that estate; his men won’t outnumber me, and I won’t take whatever bullshit he has planned for me.
The car keeps up with me easily enough, and I know it’s stupid that I’m running. I won’t outrun a car. I scan my surroundings, praying for an opening somewhere. Anywhere.
I will do anything I can to escape, but my lungs are starting to burn, and my legs are screaming in pain. The grass ends, and I’m back on the road. The rough tarmac hurts my feet.
I start to panic when an option doesn’t immediately present itself. I won’t make it home before they catch me, or before I run out of steam. And I already am.
My breath rasps out of my aching chest as I slow down slightly and my steps falter. I can almost imagine whoever is in the car is smug as shit right now. I’d love to smack the smile off their face.
That’s when I spot it: a narrow alley between two properties to my right, one that the car won’t fit through. I take off again as fast as I can toward it.
The car speeds up, realizing what I’m doing, but it doesn’t catch me in time as I dart down the narrow strip. I pray to God that there is an exit or I’ll be screwed for sure.
Trash cans, no doubt from the surrounding houses, line the alley, and I try not to run into them. Weaving between them, I see the exit further down and slow down, breathing a sigh of relief.
I don’t completely slow down, but I don’t sprint. I feel like I’m trapped with the stink of garbage suffocating me until I emerge onto a street at the end and gulp in huge breaths of cold air.
I continue to walk down the road, not wanting to stop despite my legs shaking and hurting from running, and my lungs complaining. I don’t want to slow down too much; you never know what will happen.
My body aches even more now from the fight with Michael. All I want to do is stop, rest, and make it home to a nice hot bath to soak in. My heart races as I hear footsteps behind me, and I pause to look back.
Two men in dark suits come out of my alley, and they look pissed. Even in the light from the street lamps, I don’t recognize them from Michael’s house, nor from my own. So who could they be? And what do they want?
Well, I’m not sticking around to find out. I turn and run once more, but my legs don’t want to cooperate, and my lungs are protesting. I’m weak, and I have nothing left in me. The men catch up to me easily enough and grab me with rough hands. One on each side.
I scream and try to struggle out of their grasp, but I’m no match for these goons. They lift me so my toes drag on the tarmac and they force me back toward the alley.
The bigger of the two clamps a hand over my mouth to stifle my screams, so I bite his hand.
He pulls away. “Fucking bitch,” he curses.
They stop and set me on my feet. I try to pull away again, but the smaller one has me clamped in his hands as the bigger one takes off his tie and gags me.
I glare at them. They lift me again and drag me toward the car. Once we reach it, they take out handcuffs and cuff my hands behind my back. I’m fully expecting them to put me in the trunk, but at least they don’t do that. Instead, they shove me into the back of the car. The bigger one gets in with me while the other one climbs in the driver’s side.
Who the fuck are these people?
It’s a short drive, from what I can tell, but the men don’t utter a word to me. In the dark and with the winding roads, I lose my bearings, and I’m not entirely sure where we are.
When we slow down, I gaze out of the window at a large mansion. Despite my situation, I note that it’s beautiful and well taken care of. That it has excellent security.
What really catches my eye is the beautiful nighttime lights in the garden and up to the building itself. What the hell am I thinking? I’m being kidnapped, and I’m thinking about pretty lights. What the hell is wrong with me?
The car stops, and the big goon gets out and drags me out with him. The smaller goon comes around the side, and thankfully, this time they don’t lift me and drag me but instead let me walk toward the front doors.
Standing there in the bright outside light is a tall, handsome man seemingly waiting for us to arrive. He has a dark gaze as he watches us.
The goons stop, and the man’s eyes sweep up and down my body, eliciting a reaction I’m not comfortable with. His gaze turns darker, and fear rushes through my body.
Instead of ordering me down to some dungeon, though, the man meets my eyes and says something much worse: “I’m Matteo Ricci. That cunt shouldn’t have touched you.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
MATTEO
The level of anger that washes over me as I gaze at Guilia is unmatched. She’s battered and bleeding, and I want to make it all okay.
