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I’ve heard of Stockholm syndrome. Who hasn’t? But that’s not what this is. IhateGregorio Agosti with a passion. The fact that my body desires him, regardless of his behavior, disgusts me.
I don’t want to desire a monster.
I fall back against the pillows, thinking about every moment since his goons snatched me off the street.
Could he be telling the truth? If I assume for a moment he is, and I really am the missing Carlotti heir, does it matter? Will it make his behavior any more excusable, or change what I want out of this situation?
Hell no.
I want to go home to my own life, and have nothing to do with this crazy environment full of organized crime and mob muscle men who think they can rule their own little world with an iron fist and threats of violence and death.
It seems as if I don’t have any choice but to go along with his plan. For now. But Rio doesn’t know me as well as he thinks.
I may or may not have started life as Bianca Carlotti, but I damn sure don’t plan to sit around and accept the role he wants me to play.
He can’t watch me twenty-four seven, and the moment he slips up, I’m out of here. Straight to the Feds. He may light up my unwilling body with his damn annoying sexual charisma, but I don’t care. I will see the monster jailed for whatever I can get him on.
And I will laugh when they take him away in handcuffs.
* * *
They comefor me at ten the following morning. I barely slept, except for a few hours near dawn. I’ve been up, showered, and dressed since eight, and when the housekeeper brought in a tray of breakfast soon after, I made sure to eat the lot. I need to keep up my strength if I want to get out of this alive.
He said I’d be taken to his family estate just outside the city. For some reason, I expect to see Rio in the black limousine when I’m escorted downstairs by two of his men, but there is no one inside, barring the driver up front behind tinted glass.
At first, my heart leaps when I realize I may have a chance to slip away at a traffic light stop, but then the two goons follow me in and take a seat opposite.
They stare at me with matching blank gazes, and I wonder how much he pays them and what kind of dirty work they do for him. Escorting me to Rio’s family home must seem like a step down from…whatever it is Mafia muscle does on a daily basis.
“Thanks, guys. It’s nice to rideinsidethe vehicle this time instead of in the trunk,” I quip at one point, but there is no response, so I sink back against the leather seat and stare out the dark-tinted window.
The ride west and then south takes less than an hour. A check of the road signage indicates that we are somewhere near Dover when we finally turn off the road and pull up in front of the entrance to what I can only describe as some kind of compound. There’s a high wall heading off in each direction, and the black wrought-iron gates are tall and firmly shut.
That is, until the driver speaks into an intercom system, and the gates slide open to allow us entry.
When I stare out of the rear window once we pass inside, the gates have already closed. The walls hid a beautiful garden with a faint tropical feel. How do they keep it like this in the colder months? So green and lush and full of color? Maybe he’s so rich they simply rip everything out and start again each season?
The upside is that every window in the grand home just up ahead must look out onto pure beauty. The downside? How the heck am I going to escape from this place?
The driveway curves up and around to a grand portico entrance. We glide to a halt in front of huge double doors that instantly open to reveal someone standing ready to greet us. Yet another housekeeper? She is flanked by two men in suits who look like what they must be. Hired muscle for security purposes.
Great.
One of my goons opens the door and climbs out of the limo, gesturing me to follow.
When I’m outside, I take a moment to straighten my dress and look around. I can’t see anything except high walls in the distance beyond the garden. Eventually, I bring my gaze back to the woman waiting at the top of the short flight of steps.
“Come inside, Bianca. Your suite is ready for you. Gregorio will be back in time to join you for dinner, so you’ll have the afternoon to acquaint yourself with your new home.”
A headache presses in at my temples, and I work my jaw to stop from grinding my teeth together.
I cannot believe that this time yesterday, I was at my job at the shelter, bathing and de-fleaing one of the new feline arrivals and wondering if Dave would finally get up the nerve to ask me out on a date.
Dave. And Shelley. A sick feeling settles into my gut. Rio said they would be okay, but can I believe him?
I climb the front steps and enter the house without answering the woman, who in all honesty doesn’t seem to expect a response. Perhaps he kidnaps women and brings them home on a regular basis?
Deep down, I know he doesn’t. I’m not sure how I know, but I do.
