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Getting out of bed, I stretch the ache out of my muscles before looking down to see all the marks Neo left behind. My fingertip traces over the small cut on my inner thigh. It’s more like a scratch, but fuck, it felt good.
I’ve never done that before. I’m not really sure how I feel about it. Deciding that’s a thought for another day, I throw on some clothes and head downstairs in search of caffeine.
I find Holly in the kitchen. She’s completely different from any other mafia wife I’ve ever met. She’s way too sweet and innocent for this world, and I have no idea how she managed to get the attention of my brother. Though I’m glad she did, because at least I don’t have to put up with a whiny-ass bitch for a sister-in-law.
“Morning. You’re up early. Are you sick again?” I ask her.
“Um, no, thank God. Not yet, anyway. I’m making hot chocolate. Want one?” Her Australian accent means I need an extra moment to process her question. At the mention of hot chocolate, I remember that Theo threw out every ounce of coffee in this house—some shit about it not being good to drink while you’re pregnant.
“I’d much rather have some coffee, but sure, since your husband has decided to be overbearing, I’ll settle for a hot chocolate.” I sit on the counter, grumbling to myself.
“I’d die for one of Helena’s coffees right now,” Holly says wistfully.
“We should just go. You know T and Neo are not going to be back for ages. They won’t even know we left.” I’m not even sure where they are. But I’m guessing if T’s not hovering all over his wife, it must mean he’s not home.
“I don’t know… Theo asked me to stay in the house,” Holly responds with a shrug.
“Do you always do everything he orders you to do?” I counter with a raise of my brow.
“He didn’t order me; he asked. There’s a difference.”
“Okay, so he didn’t order you. That means you can leave the house.” I smirk. “Come on, we’ve been cooped up for days. Let’s get dressed and go.”
* * *
We’re in the car: Holly, her twin sister Reilly, and me in the back seat. Two Valentino bodyguards occupy the front. I tried to argue that we didn’t need them babysitting us. But they wouldn’t hear of it and insisted they either take us, or we wouldn’t be leaving the estate. I was about to put them in their place, then I thought of Holly and Reilly. Maybe it’s smarter to have the extra protection.
“Angelica, have you spoken to Neo since he left the house this morning?” My sister-in-law turns to me.
“No, why would I?” Shit, are the walls in the house that thin? There’s no way she knows I spent all night with him.
“I sent T a message to tell him we were going out and he hasn’t responded.” Her voice quivers with worry. Which makes me worry. I’m just better at hiding it.
“Holly, he’s fine. He’s Theo Valentino. Trust me, I used to hear stories about him all the way back in Italy.”
“You’re right. Come on, we’re here.”
I jump out and wait for Holly and Reilly to climb out behind me. It really is near impossible to tell the twins apart from each other.
After ordering practically the entire café, while trying not to interrogate Helena for info on her brother, Reilly and I decide to take our coffee and baked goods back to the car while Holly uses the restroom. Reilly has just opened the car door when I see the two goons approaching. However, I don’t want to draw attention to the fact that I know they are there.
“Step away from the car, Mrs. Valentino. We’re going to take a little trip.” My nose scrunches up at the thick Irish accent. The fucking Clover. He’s the fucker who’s after my brother. He’s the scumbag who’s been stealing little girls from Italian streets and selling them. I can’t wait to get my hands on the son of a bitch.
One of the idiots—the guy with a clear death wish—has a gun pointed at my head, the other has his pointed at Reilly. I wink at her and smirk. I know she’s probably freaking the fuck out right now, but I need her to remain calm. I knew something was wrong the moment Holly said she hadn’t heard from my brother.
As soon as we’re thrown into a white van, I start cursing at our captors, using my arsenal of Italian expletives. Mostly to see if they understand, but also, I need to play along with the irate, helpless mafia princess they think I am.
“Angelica, calm down. How the hell do we get out of here?” Reilly hisses at me.
“We don’t. We wait. We let them take us to wherever they’re taking us, and we wait. Don’t worry, I won’t let anything happen to you, Holly,” I promise her.
“Right, we’ve been abducted at gunpoint but don’t worry. Sorry, mate, it’s a little fucking bloody hard not to worry right now,” she says dryly.
“Trust me,” I whisper before issuing the typical threats to these incompetent fuckers. They have no fucking clue what new hell’s about to rain down on them. “Do you have any idea who I am, idiots? When my father finds out about this, you’ll be sorry. He won’t just kill you; he’ll keep you alive for months. He’ll torture you every fucking day, until he finally gets bored of hearing you scream. Then, when he does decide to end your miserable lives, your last words will be thanking him for the final act of mercy.”
A window at the front of the van opens. “Daddy can’t save you now, sweetheart. Whoever the fuck your daddy is.” A thick Irish accent laughs back at us.
“You don’t know that I’m Angelica Donatello? That my father’s Al Donatello?” I smile as the man’s face visibly pales. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
