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I’m forcefully yanked out of the SUV and dragged into the house. Music is still coming from outside, where Alissa is celebrating her birthday.
Was she in on it? Was that why she came to visit me and invited me to her party?
A sense of betrayal rocks me to my core as I’m hauled to the study and shoved into the room. The door slams shut behind me, and with wide eyes, I stare at the five heads of the Cosa Nostra.
Mr. Parisi gestures to the chair I sat in earlier, but I ignore it. I’ll rather stand.
My heart is pounding a mile a minute, my mouth dry from the breaths rushing from me.
I should’ve left all my belongings. I should’ve taken the cab earlier out of the city before they could get guards to watch me. I should’ve told Viktor what was happening while I had the chance.
Shit, I was so damn stupid.
When I don’t move, Mr. Greco gets up, and with three steps, he reaches me. His palm connects so hard with my cheek, I fall to the side. Pain engulfs the entire left side of my face, my skin prickling as if tiny flames are licking at me.
“I’m not surprised you tried to run,” Mr. Parisi says. “I haven’t met a Manno that’s not a coward.”
My emotions are all over the place as I push myself into a sitting position and press my palm to my flaming cheek.
It’s the first time in my life someone has hit me, and it has my mind reeling with shock.
Not even Viktor hit me when he took me captive. He might’ve yanked me around and forcefully restrained me, but he never hit me.
“Did you really think we wouldn’t watch you?” Mr. Amato asks.
God, I'm so stupid.
The man who stopped me at the airport steps forward. “She tried to make a call, but I stopped it. The phone is locked.”
Mr. Parisi takes my phone and glares at me. “What’s the password?”
I shake my head desperately because God only knows what will happen if they read the texts between Viktor and me.
Anger tightens his features. “Who did you try to call?”
“Nine-one-one,” I lie as I scramble to my feet.
“The woman doesn’t have the money to repay us,” Mr. Amato says. “Just kill her and be done with it.”
NoNoNoNoNo.
Before I can plead for my life, Mr. Messina snaps, “The debt needs to be settled!”
“How do you propose we get the money out of her?” Mr. Parisi asks.
Panicking, I’m about to say I’ll get it even if I have to ask Viktor, but Mr. Greco comes to stand in front of me, his eyes sweeping over me with depraved hunger that makes me feel physically ill.
“I’ll pay the debt on the condition that she marries me.”
What? There’s no way in hell I’m marrying a man three times my age.
Mr. Greco is easily fifty years old, and the evil glint in his eyes just makes him look… gross.
“Have you lost your mind, Salvatore?” Mr. Parisi laughs.
I’m shoved into the chair as the men start to argue.
“I vote for a quick death,” Mr. Amato mutters.
