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“Call Dr. De Oliveira, tell her to come to see our hostage’s ankle in the morning. Can’t be returning broken goods to the Sorvinos.” I don’t wait for his response. I hang up and leave my office—still haunted by those blue-gray eyes filled with passion.
Chapter 11 - Kira
Once the guards leave me in the bedroom, I limp over to the bed and lie down. My ankle is aching terribly, and I wish I had some painkillers. I rest back on the bed and stare at the ceiling, trying to ignore the throbbing pain.
I won’t be able to try to escape again if my ankle is sprained because it will stop me from running. I need to come up with another plan to get out.
Miguel is probably my only way out. Perhaps if I can convince him to take me somewhere outside the house, I could slip away and get a message to my cousins. Maybe I could seduce Miguel. If he ever had real feelings for me, that could work.
I groan as I get up and limp to the bathroom. I splash water on my face before I hunt down a pen and paper. I need fresh clothes and toiletries. If I’m going to try something, I can’t smell like soil and sweat.
I rummage around the bedside table and find a pen and paper. I sit down with my leg propped up and begin to scribble the things I will need while I’m being held captive. Maybe I can lull them into a false sense of security if I play along for a bit.
I hobble to the door and open it, looking at the guard.
“Don Rossi said I could give you a list of what I needed. Here it is.” I hold out the paper to the surly-looking man, and he takes it.
He doesn’t move, though, and I notice another guard on the other side. Even if the surly one takes the list to Miguel, there’s still someone else watching the room.
I shut the door and hobble back to the bed, exhausted now from the effort. I crawl under the sheet, leaving the duvet to the side. Too much pressure on my foot, and I feel like I might die.
I don’t remember falling asleep, but the next thing I know, my door is swinging open, and a woman talking loudly comes in.
I sit bolt upright and wince as my ankle twinges.
“Who are you?” I demand to know, glaring at the woman. I don’t know what Miguel is up to, but I don’t trust anyone he sends.
“Hello, sweetheart. Don Rossi said that you hurt your ankle. I need to take a look at it.” She sets a medical bag on the chair beside the bed.
“Why? What are you going to do to me?” I ask, trying to shuffle away.
She reaches out. “Try not to move. You could make it worse. I’m a doctor, and I just want to see how badly it’s hurt and set it if I have to.”
I eye her out. I don’t trust any of Miguel’s people, but if this woman is going to help or at least give me a painkiller, I’ll let her. Then it dawns on me that maybe she will help me further.
I shift my weight to sit up with my legs extended in front of me. She lifts the sheet and pulls it down to reveal my legs. She sits at the bottom of the bed and gingerly takes my foot in her hand. She moves it slowly, and I wince.
“How bad is the pain?” she asks, although she’s staring at the opposite wall as though she’s daydreaming.
“Not terrible now. I can hobble long around the room.” I wince again as she moves it slowly. “I’d love a painkiller, though.”
The doctor smiles graciously at me. “I think that’s all you need. Some painkillers and a day of rest, and you should be fine. It doesn’t seem to be anything serious.”
She starts to rummage in her bag, and I whisper, “Can you help me?”
“I’m here to help you,” she says, looking at me confused.
“No, I mean. I’m Kira Sorvino. I’m being held hostage here. I need to get a message to my cousin Alessandro Sorvino. Can you help me, please? Please! They might kill me.” I look at her with pleading, wide eyes.
She looks shaken, and my hope slowly rises, but she quickly pulls a bottle out of her bag and hands it to me. “Take two every four hours. I have to go.”
“Wait,” I call, “please!”
The doctor hurries out of the room, and I groan and fall back into the pillows. I’m not alone long, though, as the door soon opens again, and Miguel walks in carrying a food tray.
“I thought you might be hungry,” he says, though there’s no trace of warmth in his voice. I shift my legs so he can set the tray on the bed. “Eat it while it’s hot.”
“I’m not hungry, actually,” I say, trying to keep my distance.
