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The man threw the small bottle beside her. The plastic crashed into the wall before rolling towards her. Was it drugged?
“Not drugged,” the man clarified, evidently reading her thoughts. “We’re gonna have a little chat, that’s all.”
She didn’t believe him. There was something in the tone of his voice, something too casual in the way he’d framed that sentence that made Amara very wary. Looking down at the bottle, Amara felt tempted to pick it up but refrained. She was thirsty but she’d rather stay conscious.
After seeing she wasn’t picking the bottle up, the man asked, “You know who we work for?”
She had zero ideas. She shook her head, not knowing if that was the smart thing to do.
“Good, that’s very good,” the man nodded encouragingly, and Amara took a breath in relief. Okay, ignorance was the good thing.
“Do you know why you’re here?”
Amara shook her head again, pulling down at the hem of her dress as nerves assaulted her, blood rushing to her ears.
The man leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees, still too much in the dark for her to make out his features. “You’re here to give us some answers. You do that, nobody is going to get hurt, and we let you go. Got that?”
A shiver started at the base of her spine, lead settling in her gut. He was lying. She could tell. They weren’t going to let her go.
But she nodded in reply.
“You know Lorenzo Maroni?” the man asked, taking out a cigarette and putting it to his mouth. He lit a match, momentarily throwing a little light on his features, before taking a huge puff. The smoke didn’t smell like the usual cigarette; it was sweet, almost cloyingly so as she inhaled it.
“I…I know of him,” Amara stuttered, her body filling with adrenaline as her heartbeat spiked. God, why was she there? It didn’t make any sense. She didn’t know what this man wanted from her.
“You’ve never seen him?”
“Just in passing,” Amara said, her voice climbing as her nerves attacked her, her habit coming to the fore under the tremendous strain on her mind.
The man nodded, taking out his phone and showing her the image of a man. “Can you see him?”
Amara squinted slightly, looking at the picture. It was the photo of a bald man wearing glasses. He seemed familiar but she didn’t recognize him. It was possible she’d seen him on the compound.
“Ever seen him?”
Amara shook her head. “I think you have the wrong person,” she said hopefully, trying to reason with him. “Please just let me go. I don’t know anything.”
She heard him laugh, and Amara’s blood chilled.
“Oh, I have the right person,” he assured her, his voice setting all her alarm bells ringing. “Tell me about Dante Maroni.”
Amara felt her heart stop for a second, before continuing the hard rhythm. “He’s Lorenzo Maroni’s son.”
“Yes. He’s a mean fucker, that one,” the man huffed out. “He ever talk business with you?”
She shook her head. “I barely know Dante.”
“That’s not what a little birdie told me,” the man sing-songed. “In fact, I heard you two looked awfully cozy with each other, if you know what I mean.”
A vigorous shiver wracked her.
“No,” she empathically denied. “I don’t know him. I don’t know anything. Please just let me go.”
The man laughed. “You’re cute.”
No. No.
Her skin crawled. Amara made sure her dress still covered her knees and folded in on herself, to make her body as small as possible.
