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Neither myself nor my sisters.
All I could do was buy them some time.
Hopefully, enough time to be found.
Surely, they were already searching for us, right?
But what had happened to our bodyguards? Were they dead? How else would they—whoever they were—have been able to take all of us?
Why else was nobody coming for us—even hours later?
I kept walking until he grabbed my forearm and pulled me the rest of the way out of the room and closed the screeching door behind me.
I’d sealed my fate.
Now I needed to prevent whatever was waiting for me beyond this from breaking me.
I trudged along, the bruising hand never leaving my arm. “Where are you taking me?”
Leather-jacket-guy didn’t react. Maybe he didn’t speak any English. Did they speak English over here?
I suddenly felt incredibly ignorant.
Maybe if I’d known more about the Italian culture—more than my father’s warning to stay away from those “damn Mafia bastards,” I could’ve prevented us from getting into this situation.
He led me along a circular path upwards. Stoney walls surrounded us, the floor, the walls, the ceiling, we were at a slight incline, and the circle got smaller and smaller, like an upward spiral—just like my terror was spiraling out of control and squeezing my chest.
Was this what they used instead of stairs in Italy? What a waste of space—and what a freaking weird building.
Finally, we came to an open window. A hot breeze skimmed over my skin, and I could see the azure-blue sky beyond a couple of trees.
I shivered.
What a dichotomy to the dark, cold air downstairs.
It was light out.
So, they’d been holding us just a couple of hours, just overnight. It was probably too soon for Fiona’s family to have located us.
Leather-jacket-guy’s fist gripped me harder when we stopped at a huge, ornamental wooden door, guarded by a man whose face and short, bent neck gave him the resemblance of a bull, underscored by his ill-fitting suit, which threatened to burst at the seams any minute and his overpowering scent of sweat and garlic.
“Questo volontario,” Leather-jacket said—and even though I didn’t understand a word of Italian—apart frombuon giorno, andgrazie, even I knew what he’d just said.
I volunteered.
As if.
Bull-neck grinned, and I couldn’t suppress the shiver when he ogled my naked body with beady, dark eyes.
I turned away, focused on getting my breathing under control—and avoiding the stench—and stared at the door. The intricate carvings made it feel oriental—as if out of one of my mother’s sheik novels I’d found in a box in the attic.
At least, I thought they were her books, hoped they’d been hers.
I squeezed my eyes shut when the familiar pain created a knot in my throat.
If I were in a sheik romance right now, behind this door, I would find a harem, including a mosaic-tiled indoor pool and a couple of eunuchs guarding the most beautiful women this planet had ever seen. And a beyond-gorgeous sheik.
The door swung open.
