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I strain against the rough ropes binding my wrists behind the back of this rickety wooden chair, the coarse fibers scraping my skin raw. The sting is a minor irritation compared to the roiling fear churning in my gut. Across from me, Dad is likewise trapped, bound to an identical chair by ropes that carve cruel divots into his flesh. Blood streaks his ashen face from the fresh gash on his forehead, the dark crimson liquid meandering lazily down his temple. His hazel eyes are clouded with pain and bone-deep fear that I'm sure mirrors my own.
The two hulking men standing guard over us burst into the bedroom and dragged us back out here just as I started to nod off. They'd tied us to these chairs in silence, ignoring my muffled screams and cries for help around the gag cinched uncomfortably between my teeth.
The dusty floorboards creak as a figure emerges through the front door of our modest apartment. Even cloaked in shadows, his commanding presence dominates the cramped space. Roberto Ferraro, immaculate in a tailored black suit, strides into the kitchen as though he owns it. To him, everything in this city belongs to the Ferraro family. The dim lighting only seems to enhance the subtle menace lurking beneath his polished exterior.
He circles us slowly, black Italian leather shoes soundless on the worn floors. I feel his pitiless gaze rake over me from head to toe before settling on my face with a wicked smirk. Revulsion and defiance war within me under that invasive inspection.
"What a shame, beautiful Clara." Roberto's voice is deceptively soft as he kneels before me. The scent of his expensive cologne invades my senses - bergamot, fine Italian leather and something darker I can't quite name. It reeks of old money and feels like a trap closing around me.
With a touch that belies his cruelty, he gently removes the gag from my mouth. I suppress a shudder at the feel of his fingers lightly tracing my jawline.
"You could've had everything if you had just played along." His voice drips with mock regret.
I wet my lips, gathering my tattered courage. My voice comes out rough. "Why? Why us?"
Roberto clicks his tongue, the sound sending a chill skittering down my spine. As he languidly circles us, each measured step ratchets up the dread knotting in my stomach. I want to demand answers, to rage and fight, but the bonds hold me fast.
"You really don't know, do you?" His voice rings with malicious delight. The fine hairs on my arms prickle at his tone.
"My father, Marco Ferraro, and Antonio's father, Vittorio Ricci, were once the closest of friends. Thick as thieves, those two were, childhood chums turned business partners as they built their mafia empires side by side."
He stops abruptly behind my father, grabbing a fistful of his graying hair and cruelly yanking his head back. My father grunts in pain, eyes watering. The sight makes fury rise hot and acidic in my throat.
"But then Vittorio got greedy." Roberto hisses the words in Dad's ear. "He embezzled money from my father, nearly bankrupting the Ferraro family name in the process."
Releasing Dad with a rough shove, Roberto resumes his predatory pacing. His expensive shoes click menacingly on the tile. "That betrayal shattered their bond and pitted our families against each other for decades after. A blood feud handed down to Antonio and I."
He kneels before me again, gripping my chin in an iron vise. I force myself not to flinch at his vise-like hold or the madness smoldering in the depths of his ebony eyes. This close, I can see the muscle in his jaw ticking with barely contained rage.
"Then he insults my family further, encroaching on MY territory with the Brooklyn Waterfront Deal. So now I will take something that is his."
His gaze locks onto mine, electric and unyielding. "I was all set to snatch your father's high-stakes art connections right from under Antonio's nose. It would've been a coup, especially since those deals ran straight through his precious turf. But then he played his hand. He claimed you, and it was obvious—you weren't just another deal."
I can feel the tension build, each word dripping with an allure that's as dangerous as it is captivating. "You were supposed to be my secret weapon, turning his empire against him, your betrayal the poetic justice for the blood feud between our families. But now," his eyes narrow, a seductive grin pulling at his lips, "your twisted loyalty makes you an even more irresistible prize. I toyed with the idea of sending you back to him, lifeless and cold, but I've thought of punishments far worse than death that'll shatter him."
Molten fury surges through me, scouring away my fear. Gathering every ounce of strength and saliva I possess, I wrench my face from his grasp and spit directly in his eye.
Roberto reels back, more from shock than force. Chest heaving, I stare him down with every shred of defiance I own. Let him do his worst. I will not bend or break for the likes of him.
"Antonio will find me." My voice holds more conviction than I truly feel. But I cling to the fragile hope that they can somehow save us.
With the speed and ferocity of a viper strike, Roberto backhands me hard across the face. Pain detonates across my cheek, the force snapping my head violently to the side. For a moment the world fragments, bursting into a kaleidoscope of whirling stars and shadows.
I sway drunkenly in the chair, ears ringing and bile rising in my throat. The coppery taste of blood coats my tongue, and I realize I must have bitten my cheek. When my vision finally clears, hatred for this monster courses through me, hot as magma.
Roberto sneers down at me as I blink sweat from my eyes. "That fire! It'll be a pity when it's finally snuffed out."
I lift my chin and level my most withering glare at him. If looks could kill, Roberto Ferraro would be a smoking hole in the ground. One corner of his mouth quirks upward, something akin to grudging respect kindling briefly in his fathomless eyes before being swallowed again by malice.
From his suit pocket, he produces my smartphone and taps the screen a few times. Antonio's handsome face smiles up at me from the contact photo Roberto selects, my traitorous heart lurching at the sight. How I wish I was looking at that beloved face in person instead of bound by this monster.
"Let's give Antonio a little push, shall we?" Roberto's smile is pure poison as he holds out the device.
"Beg him. Plead with your dear Antonio to come save your pathetic life. Pretend to be hurt, scared, desperate for him to rescue you." His fingers curl under my chin again, grip infinitely colder and crueler than before. "But remember, if you try anything more, things will go very poorly for dear William here."
The icy threat hangs heavy between us, a dark promise. Hands trembling with impotent rage, I accept the phone Roberto presses into my bound hands. Antonio picks up on the second ring, rich voice laden with concern.
"Clara? Where are you?"
