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he kid in my belly could be taking too much of my resources yet, but I’d never been this desperate for food.
I shuddered. Maybe the plan was just to leave me here alone. To starve me to death.
One of the men had given me water last night. A big glass of it that I’d sucked down. Since then, all had been quiet.
The fear and recriminations that had ridden me hard yesterday had subsided into only the occasional tremor last night. Somehow I’d fallen into an exhausted sleep sitting up and had awakened from horrible dreams of Marco and men in trucks to the milky light of morning. My head still dully ached from where they’d slammed me into the truck yesterday, but the pain was manageable.
What wasn’t was the not knowing. Had I been left here to die? Or would they be back to finish me off? And who were they, exactly?
The logical guess was Marco and Lorenzo and his men. But logical didn’t hold much sway with these people, I’d found. And the bigger question was why. Was I being used as leverage with Gio? Or did this circle back around to the situation my sister had gotten involved in with Marco and Lorenzo? The craziness with the fight, and the threats…
God, my head hurt even more when I tried to line up the pieces.
I must’ve fallen asleep again, because the next time I opened my eyes, the sunshine through the narrow windows was even more intense, and a scraping noise indicated a door was being opened. I sat up straighter in my chair and rotated my wrists as best as I could, trying not to panic though my heart was chugging in my ears like a kickdrum.
And now I was getting nauseated too. I hoped like hell that was because I was hungry, because now was not the time for the kid to make itself known.
Sharp, staccato footsteps sounded on the concrete, reminding me of all the abandoned warehouses I’d been in for Mia and Fox’s fights. Guess I’d ended up in another one. I sent up a quick prayer to the higher power and tried to make my face into an emotionless mask. I’d be damned if I gave them one moment’s satisfaction from my fear.
“Baciame. Finally.” I stiffened as an Italian man crouched in front of me. Dark wavy hair, dark eyes, golden skin. “You’re Carly. You gotta be Carly.”
I blinked at him, unsure what to say. Should I admit who I was?
God, he was pretty. And he wasn’t just pretty, he looked like—
“I’m Dante Costas.”
Yep. I should’ve known the beautiful stick had hit both brothers in equal measure. Some part of me rejoiced, but the rest wasn’t quite willing to throw a ticker tape parade. Slater had said this dude was in the mob too and wanted for murder. Not attempted either like Giovanni.
There are some semantics for you. Rationalize much?
“Okay, don’t talk to me. That’s fine. I’m going to get you out of here and bring you back to my brother.” He reached behind me to fumble with the ropes on my wrists and I stiffened. “Don’t worry.” He shot me a devastating grin. Giovanni’s grin. “I prefer Italian women. You’re not my type.”
“How do you know I’m not Italian?”
“Ahh, she speaks.” He brushed a finger over my cheek. “With this fair Irish skin? Doubtful. This bruise must hurt,” he added, touching my temple. I grimaced and he nodded. “We’ll get some ice for it. First—” He broke off and cursed under his breath as he pivoted on his expensive shoes to scan the warehouse. “That’ll teach me to make small talk. They’re coming back.”
“Who?” My heartbeat kicked up again. “Who’s coming back?”
“Sit tight.” He returned to working on my wrists, loosening the ropes. “You can get out of this if you need to, but don’t do it unless you have to. Pretend you’re still tied up.”
“I am still tied up.” I inclined my chin toward my bound ankles.
“Sorry. I got distracted by the big blue eyes.” He shot me a grin and moved away quickly, melting into the rows of boxes stacked behind me.
There was a ton of shit back there, but no matter how I craned my neck, I couldn’t get a good look at what kind of stuff it was so I’d be able to identify where they’d stashed me away. But at least he’d freed my wrists. I wiggled my fingers a little as that scraping noise echoed across the space again, like a garage door being opened.
Maybe this used to be a car warehouse? Then the sound of a pair of deep male voices.
“Donny, go. I have this covered.” A bunch of Italian followed that I didn’t understand.
Donny wasn’t a name I recognized. There was a quick assent, then more footsteps, slow and measured, the exact opposite of Dante’s impatient step. I rotated my right wrist slowly, carefully, trying to barely move my arm. I wanted to be ready, just in case. Dante was hidden in the shadows somewhere, but he could be a foe disguised as a friend.
Right now, I trusted no one other than myself.
The footsteps stopped a short distance away, and I turned my head, trying to see. The chair was bolted to the damn floor, so I couldn’t move it.
A man started to laugh at my struggle, and the sound made me curl my frozen toes into the ground. I couldn’t get away from it, and it seemed to echo off the walls. It wasn’t Marco’s laugh. This was lower, raspier, a smoker who was running out of breath.
