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Four days later, Asia awoke to find Marta carrying a breakfast tray into her room.
“Good morning, Marta. Is Mr. Amorosi awake yet?”
“He left this note for you, Miss. He was called away on business. I’m surprised the helicopter didn’t wake you.”
“He’s gone?” She frowned, taking the folded note off the tray and biting her lip.
My love—
I’m sorry to have to leave without saying goodbye, but you were sleeping so soundly, and I didn’t want to wake you. You need your rest to heal. I have urgent business in the Bahamas. I should be back in a day or two. I’m sure Marta will take good care of you until I return.
I’ve left Rocco as well to make sure you are safe.
I’ll return before you know it.
—yours always, Nico
She folded the paper. “I suppose those pills the doctor prescribed really knocked me out. I’m sorry I didn’t hear him leave.”
“He will return soon, no?”
“Yes, a day or two.”
“Eat. I’ll be back for the tray and to help you dress soon.”
“Thank you, Marta. You spoil me so. I’m sure I can manage.”
“It’s my job, Miss.”
“Of course.” Asia watched her leave, then immediately wished she’d remembered to ask if there was a phone. She sipped the juice and wondered at its unusual taste. She nibbled at the food, but soon felt tired again and leaned back, closing her eyes.
It was late afternoon when Asia awoke again. The breakfast tray was gone, and the shutters had been drawn against the setting sun. “Marta?” she called, and her voice felt like cotton balls were in her throat. She was lightheaded as she swung her legs over the side of the bed and attempted to stand, wincing at the pain in her ankle. She wobbled and sank back to the bed. What was the matter with her? It was like she’d taken some drug.
Her mouth dropped open. The juice. The funny tasting juice.
Why would Marta do that to her? Had Nico ordered it?
She attempted to stand again, determined to leave the room. Holding on to furniture, she was able to make it to the door. Her head began to clear. The hall outside her room was empty, and she didn’t hear a sound. Making her way down the hall across the cool tiled floor, she found the living area. Again, no one was there.
Longing to explore the estate, she eyed another hall that led off to a wing on the opposite side of the house. She made her way quietly, peering in open doors, finding a study, a few guest rooms, a bathroom. She turned a corner and heard a distant sound, like a woman crying out, perhaps fighting someone.
She crept along to the door at the end of the hall. It was open a crack, and she peered inside. A woman thrashed in a man’s hold while another man whom she recognized as Rocco, Nico’s man from the penthouse in Miami. He’d accompanied them on the jet.
Rocco injected a syringe into the girl’s arm as she struggled. The moment he pushed on the plunger, the fight went out of her, and she went limp. They put her on the bed.
“That should hold her for now.”
“Yes, sir,” the man Asia had assumed was the groundskeeper replied.
“Go about your duties,” Rocco said.
“Yes, sir, Mr. T.”
They headed toward the door, and Asia jumped behind a large potted palm, pressing against the wall. The two men exited the room, Rocco stopping to lock the door with a key in a dead bolt.
Asia’s eyes widened. They were locking the girl inside—like a prisoner.
A moment later, someone grabbed her from behind. She struggled, but the man easily overpowered her. She felt a prick in her arm, and everything went black.
