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Her lips curl up in a snarl, and she shifts in her chains, her knees aching, no doubt. “And why would I return, hmm? Why would I return to the people who sold me in the first place?”
I wish I could say I’m surprised by her words, but it would be a lie. Human beings stopped surprising me a long time ago. In fact, it was the day my mother was taken from me and returned beaten and bloody that I gave up hope on humanity––until Greta.
“Interesting. Still, why stay? Why not run?” Honestly, I don’t give a shit, but the more I rile her up, the more likely she’ll let something valuable slip.
But the tip of her chin and the cock of her brow reveal she’s on to my game. She spits on my shoe before saying, “Fuck you, Calvano. You won’t get what you want from me. I will never tell you where he is. So do your worst,cazzo.”
With a heavy sigh, I button my suit jacket before nodding to one of my men to bring out my tools. “Very well, Rossi. If you want to protect that piece of shit, then so be it. We will do this the hard way.” I give her a wicked grin. “My favorite way.”
Typically, I try to avoid torturing women, but I’ll make an exception for this one. Not only did she help keep Greta prisoner, but she is protecting the man we are confident isVipera—a man that commissions the kidnapping, sale, and enslavement of women and children. So, if torturing the man’s location out of her is the only way, then it’s a line I’m willingto cross.
I pull the six-inch shearing scissors from the leather case holding my favorite filleting tools, and I’m about to remove her index finger when my phone rings in three quick, consecutive chimes, signaling that it’s Greta calling. She knew where I was going tonight, so she’d only call if it’simportant.
“Saved by the bell––literally. Although…” I hand the shears to my man and gesture with a nod to continue, then walk to the far corner of the warehouse to take Greta’s call. “Is everything alright,mia perla?” I ask in way ofgreeting.
“Emil, I think you need to come home,” she answers, and the hairs on the back of my neck lift at the trepidation inher voice.
My heartbeat screams in my ears, and my blood races like a formula one race car. I calmly stride out of the warehouse doors when I want to sprint like a man on fire. Because that’s what it feels like as I imagine what could unsettlemia perla.
I swing open the door to my Maserati Super Sport, and the second the door is shut, I fire up the engine and stomp on the gas. I dock my phone to let the Bluetooth take over. “Talk to me, Greta. Where are you? Are you in a safelocation?”
“Emil, calm down. I’m fine,” she assures me, and my shoulders instantly relax. My heart goes from racing to a steady jog, but my foot never lifts from the accelerator.
Running a shaky hand through my hair, I exhale a stuttered breath. “Then what the fuck, Greta? You scared the shit out of me. Are you tryingto kill––”
“Emil!” she shouts over my rant. “While I’m safe, it’s still crucial that you get home. I found something in the documents you gave me to look through. Something that you need to see foryourself.”
I want to ask what the fuck the “something” is, but if she says I need to see it, I believe her. “Fine. I’ll be there in tenminutes.”
“See you soon,” she ripostes, then disconnects, leaving me piqued and no less worried.
I arrive at the villa seven minutes later and open my car door before I even put it into park. I jog up the few steps to the front door and call out for her.“Greta?”
“Up here!” she shouts back from the direction of her room, and for a split second, I’m pissed she’s in her room rather than mine. Mentally shaking myself, I focus on why I raced home like a bat out of hell.
Her door is open when I get close, and I enter before shutting and locking the door. When I turn to address her, I’m struck dumb at the vision of her in teal silk lounge pants, bright yellow fuzzy socks, and a tight black ribbed tank top. If it were anyone else, the cozy outfit would never catch my attention. But on Greta? Fuck, it’s like the Pied Piper calling to my cock. Her nipples are tight and straining against the thick fabric of her tank top, her ass firm and high in the silk with just the slightest glimpse of panty lines. My girl despises thongs almost as much as she hates sky-high heels.
“Really, Emil?” Greta’s accusatory tone brings my wandering eyes to her deep blues, and I can only shrug at being caught eye-fucking her.
I adjust my erection in my slacks, then approach her when she picks up a piece of paper and extends it for me to take. “What is it?”
“Take it,” she saysin answer.
I take the paper and sit in the desk chair already pulled out from her time searching through the documents. Greta sits across from me on the bed, a leg tucked under her plump ass, and watches me, and from the apprehension on her face, I know I’m not going to like what I see.
Biting the bullet, I study the document in my hand, immediately recognizing it as someone’s birth certificate. Upon further reading, I see it’s Stefan Vasile’s birth certificate, but it isn’t thecazzo’sname that has my vision static at the edges and my heart hacking at my chest bone. Rather, it’s the name listed under “Mother’s maiden name.”
Gillie MalinaDe Santis
My mother’s name…
21
Greta
Emil races through the small town at breakneck speed. It’s nearly two in the morning, and the streets are still bustling with people. The sounds of merriment and drunken hoots breach the bulletproof glass while Emil swerves around pedestrians and lays on his horn when drunkards stray into the street. All I can do is hold on for dear life.
“So, what’s the plan?” I ask and palm the dashboard when he takes a sharp left, fishtails, then pulls the sports car back into place like a pro, and I find myself turned on by the skill with which he handles the gorgeous car.
