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I felt even more on edge. Nothing he said was making sense, yet at the same time I feared that his threats were so outlandish that they might carry with them a certain amount of truth. Could he actually do these things? Could he hurt my parents and my friends? Would their blood be on my hands if I didn’t give him what he wanted tonight?
I swallowed, anxiously weighing my options. Should I run and risk his drunk ramblings to be the truth? Do I stay and give myself up to be raped to protect my friends and family from harm? Or do I fight?
He lurched toward me, and I instinctively rose to defend myself. I pushed him away from me and he staggered backwards, dropping low in the process. He tried to recover, but he was far too drunk to steady himself properly and I took advantage by kicking him as hard as I could in the face. He screeched and staggered back several steps straight toward the window. He swayed and couldn’t find his footing, losing his balance and tumbling backwards.
I screamed. I couldn’t have stopped what happened next even if I had wanted to.
I watched in horror as he slowly pitched over the edge of the shattered window. He tried to catch himself on the floor, but it was slick and there was nothing for him to hold onto. I froze, unable to tear my eyes away as his drunken angry eyes met mine and then he was gone.
All I heard after that was his screams until he’d fallen so far that I couldn’t hear him anymore.
A strange terrified keening sound echoed all around me and it took me a few seconds to realize that the sound was coming from me. I curled my arms around my shoulders, trying to protect myself from what I had just witnessed, but I kept seeing his furious eyes staring back at me as he went over the ledge.
We were so high up. There was no possible way he could have ever survived that fall. He was dead and it was my fault. I’d pushed him. I’d kicked him in the face. I’d killed him.
There were signs of a struggle and I was the only one left alive. What if his threats had been real? I couldn’t discount the possibility that his people could come after me, that I would be put in prison for the rest of my life. I didn’t know what Italian prisons were like or what they’d do to me, but I really didn’t want to find out.
I couldn’t stay here. Someone would come looking for him eventually. I didn’t know if the sound of the gun would bring anyone all the way up here. If not, the shattered window certainly would.
Panic welled up from a place deep inside me and I couldn’t push it away. It overwhelmed me until I found it hard to breathe and I did the only thing I could think of.
I ran. Right out of the penthouse and into the elevator. I hit the button for the first floor. It took forever for the doors to close and when they finally did, I breathed a sigh of relief. I just had to get down to the first floor and out onto the street. I could weave between buildings and catch a taxi somewhere close. Maybe I’d get a hotel for a few nights. I could hide out and study and take my finals and get the hell out of here next week on the quickest flight. Perhaps it would be best if I didn’t go back to New York City at all. Maybe I should just disappear and start fresh somewhere new.
I kept telling myself that his threats were nothing but the ramblings of a drunken man. I told myself that over and over until I’d marginally convinced myself that it was true. I sagged against the wall of the elevator, trying to calm the frantic beat of my panicked heart. I watched as the floor numbers descended, although it seemed to be going so
much slower than when I’d taken it up to the penthouse.
The elevator started to slow. I stared at the numbers, watching as they stopped altogether.
I was only on the fifteenth floor. I had a way to go before I reached the ground level.
I pressed the first-floor button again and again, but nothing happened. I started to get nervous.
Why wasn’t it moving?
Then the doors slid open. Outside them stood a group of men all dressed in black. They stared at me and I stared at them. They piled into the elevator and I shrank back against the wall. I told myself that they were just taking it down with me.
They weren’t.
They turned toward me and grabbed me. I struggled, fighting tooth and nail against them, but there were too many. A black bag was slipped over my head and I noticed a faint, sweet flowery scent before I started to feel lightheaded.
My eyes rolled back in my head and I knew no more after that.
Chapter Two
Isabella De Luca
I hurt so much.
Fuck. My head was pounding. I pressed my fingers to my temples, trying to rub the ache away from wherever it was coming from. It didn’t seem to help and when I finally convinced myself to open my eyes, I found myself staring into a massive mirror.
On the goddamn ceiling at least ten feet above me. Above the bed.
Wearing a long lavender flowy sundress that wasn’t mine.
I stared at my own image, trying to remember what happened. Did I get too drunk and stay at my girlfriend’s house? Did I send a late-night text to someone that I shouldn’t have?
The quilt beneath me was royal purple, embroidered with expensive-looking gold and silver thread. The four-poster bed was massive and made of carved mahogany that was probably done by hand. It was obvious that whoever owned this bed came from money.
