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With this news, I ignore Lara altogether and head to my closet. I have business to attend to now, business that can’t wait. Regrettably, not even for pretty eyes like hers.
5
LARA
After Christian is called away, there isn’t much for me to do aside from wandering around his huge place by myself. A quick check of the front door confirms that he has this place locked down and guarded to prevent me from leaving. As I explore the various rooms, I try to sort through my conflicting thoughts and feelings about him. I’ve spent less than forty-eight hours with him at this point, and already I find myself a bit attracted to him, a bit afraid of him, a lot annoyed with him, and still angry as hell that this sudden arranged marriage prevented my escape from the city and this mafia life. I suppose part of that blame goes to my father—but Christian is the one who’s currently my captor.
At times, I wish I had been born a male so that I couldn’t be married off and used as collateral to be shared. But it’s the system that’s broken here, not me. One day, I want to either be free of it or shut it down entirely.
The more I wander around aimlessly, searching for anything that helps me to understand Christian more, the more I find myself getting curious about his conflict with the Hell’s Devils. I know he’s powerful, but there are several powerfulcaposin the city. Why is the biker gang targeting him specifically? Is it strictly because they want to preside unchallenged over Hell’s Kitchen so bad? Because I’m pretty sure there are othercaposwho would just as eagerly stand in their way throughout the other boroughs of the city. Mid-level people like my father make enemies here too, but not at the level that acapolike Christian might. My father and the small ring he runs is no threat to the biker gang. But Christian’s financial hold on the entire neighborhoodis.
I wonder how a biker gang intends to take down an entireborgataand acapoas dangerous as Christian is famed to be. I’m still holding onto that question in my mind when I check a door and suddenly find it unlocked, leading out into a side hallway and then toward a freight elevator. There isn’t anyone guarding this door to prevent me from leaving.
At first, I figure it’s a trap to see if I’ll try to run, only to find myself being caught again and likely punished. But then it dawns on me that if there was serious business to attend to, Christian likely took most of his men with him in order to deal with the bikers. I can tell he doesn’t think of me as a threat. It’s very obvious in the way he plays around with me, like a predator plays with its food, completely secure in the notion that it can’t be challenged. But Christian is wrong to have left only a barebones staff to keep an eye on me.
I slip out the door and into the hall, making my way toward the stairwell before even Ester knows I’m gone. I make my way down the stairwell, not taking the elevator since the noise might draw attention, and then peer out the small rectangular window in the door at the bottom. There are a couple of his soldiers stationed outside the building to ensure that no one comes in or out without permission. That’s not unusual for acapo’s home. I wonder what the other residents of this building think, or if the entire rest of this place is simply filled with residences for his crew.
I watch as the men talk and then turn to take a quick walk of the perimeter. As soon as they’re gone, I slip out and into the streets within the span of the few seconds it takes before they return. When I’ve put a little distance between me and them, I look back to take note of things I had missed before. The building’s east fire escape, for example, runs directly in front of Christian’s bedroom; I could’ve gotten down that way too, I’m now realizing. But as I’m checking things out, I suddenly see my brother out of the corner of my eye, who I quickly realize is on the other side of the glass over at one of Christian’s restaurants across the street. And he’s sitting with Christian as well, having a conversation. And thecapoof the Giotto family is with them too, a man named Malacoda I’ve met a couple of times in passing through Loreto. I can’t hear what they’re talking about.
I wait for a new customer to walk in through the front doors, and I quickly grab this morning’s newspaper that must have recently been delivered and jam it in like a wedge. The crack isn’t noticeable by anyone but it’s just enough to let their conversation waft out into the cool air so that I can hear them from the alley corner where I’m hiding. I pull my thin coat around me, being reminded that I only have the clothes on my back and my purse since having left my father’s place. I try to clear out the background noise in my head to hear what they’re saying.
The three of them talk about the threat the biker gang poses, and then Malacoda asks Christian what he plans to do about it. I hear a few words about a “possible alliance” and can tell that my brother is once again trying to solidify protection for those he cares about—this time, his best friend and not me. He probably assumes I’m safely tucked away inside Christian’s posh penthouse.
I strain to hear the details as Christian starts to answer Malacoda’s question. But before I can hear anything further, a hand covers my mouth with a cloth that feels damp against my lips and smells like a musty basement with a pungent chemical kick. For the second time in as many days, I black out. It’s starting to get really old, waking up and not knowing where I am or how I’ve gotten there.
This time when I wake up, I’m inside a room with no windows. I can hear men talking outside the closed door, and they don’t sound like voices I recognize. “What the hell are we supposed to do with her?” someone asks.
“Roman has a plan.”
“What kind of a plan involves snatching a chick in Manhattan and bringing her all the way to Brooklyn? This is going to be more trouble than it’s worth,” the second man grumbles in response.
Brooklyn?The Hell’s Devils’ relocated headquarters is in Brooklyn. Their clubhouse used to be in Hell’s Kitchen but the new leader, who I assume is this “Roman” they’re talking about, made a point to pull them out to Bed-Stuy when he took over—something about needing to “reset and gain perspective for the gang’s future endeavors” or some crap like that. I don’t know too much about it, only the ramblings I used to hear my father talking to his drug clientele about. He took a particular interest in the biker gang, and I assume it was because he wanted to ensure that his own runners steered clear of them.
“Theplan,” a very authoritative voice says above the others, “is to use the girl as leverage, which is exactly why I had her brought here to our clubhouse.”
“Yes, of course, Roman,” the first guy says. He sounds like a groveling goon in response to the arrival of their gang president.
It’s difficult to piece together what’s happening outside the door when I can’t see anything. But listening to what’s being said is enough to at least help me understand where I’m being held captive. I swear, my life is becoming a string of one imprisonment after another. When I’m finally free, I’m going to burn every single bridge I can find.
Roman said they’re going to use me as leverage, and that can only mean that they intend to use me to get to Christian. It’s almost laughable to think that they assume I’m of any value to Christian at all. I guess maybe word has gotten out that I’m arranged to be married to him, but I can’t imagine why Christian would want to spread that so quickly. I also can’t imagine why the Hell’s Devils assume I’m a bargaining chip at all. Won’t they be surprised when they find out Christian won’t give a shit that they have me? Honestly, he’ll probably be grateful the biker gang has relieved him of his burden of doing my brother a favor. No one cares what happens to me except my brother.
“Let me out of here!” I scream as I bang on the door. The voices outside the door go silent. “Let me out, you idiots! Christian Greco doesn’t want me! You’re wasting your time! No one cares that you have me!”
“I think you might be mistaken about that, and about how much you’re going to be able to help us,” Roman’s voice says through the door as I hear a key push into the lock. But when the door opens, it isn’t Roman or any member of the biker gang standing there looking back at me. It’s my own father.
“What?” I mutter in confusion. “But why are you here?”
“Hello, Lara,” he says as he stands in the doorway, flanked by Roman and his gang. “This time, your attempt to fly out of your coop has worked in my favor. Right back in my pocket.” He grins at me, and I find myself wishing now I was back inside of Christian’s apartment, drinking a cup of blackberry tea with his elderly housekeeper. At least there, I was relatively safe. Now I’m a pawn again in my father’s game—a game where it seems I’m always on the losing team.
6
CHRISTIAN
When I return home to find that Lara is missing, I’m livid. “How could you let her get away?” I lay into one of my men. “You were supposed to be watching the building.”
“We were,” he says, not meeting my eyes. “But she must have slipped past us.”
I glare at him and am half-tempted to knock his head from his shoulders for being so incompetent. This is embarrassing. I have the best men on my crew, all highly paid, highly trained, and highly loyal. Watching over a solitary woman shouldn’t have been too much of a task for them. I assume that Lara has snuck out for the sole purpose of trying to escape again, and that means I need to send men to track her down and bring her back.
