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Hearing his voice floods me with bittersweet relief and sorrow. I modulate my voice to sound small and afraid, allowing it to waver slightly. Roberto nods approvingly at my performance. I force authentic desperation into my next words.
"I'm scared, Antonio. I'm..." I hang my head, shoulders curling in defeat. Acting the part suddenly feels too real, all my defiant courage leaking away.
Before Antonio can respond, my dad's ragged voice suddenly rings out.
"There are three men inside our apartment with us." He leans forward against his bonds, dried blood cracking on his weathered face. "Roberto and two men. Another two in the hallway. A black Mercedes with New York plates parked in the lot belongs to Ferraros."
Roberto arches one brow, turning the full force of his simmering temper on my father. Curling his hand into a fist, he punches William hard in the stomach. My dad emits a groan of pure agony, the breath knocked out of him as he slumps limply against the restraints.
"Quiet, old man," Roberto snarls. "Don't make me gag you again." Then he turns back to me, thin lips twisted in a cruel smirk. "Your dad just signed his death warrant."
I can't help the anguished sob that tears from my throat at his callous words. The phone clatters to the floor as Roberto grabs a fistful of my hair and yanks me up so we're eye to eye.
"But you, my dear Clara. You still have a chance to save yourself." His tone drips with mockery and contempt. "Tell Antonio to come alone to Pier 39 by 10pm tonight. And to bring the two million in cash and the shipment of weapons from the last arms deal."
"And if he doesn't?" I whisper, hating the way my voice shakes.
Roberto's smile turns feral, a predator scenting blood. "Then I'll put a bullet in your father's brain right in front of you. After that, my men will deliver you back to Antonio piece by piece." His grip on my hair tightens painfully. "So tell your lover to hurry if he wants to see you alive again."
The threat hangs rancid between us. Dad sags against the ropes, what little fight left bleaching from his face. Roberto picks up the phone again, Antonio's panicked voice coming through the tinny speakers, desperately calling my name.
He holds the phone to my ear and I dutifully repeat, "Pier 39, 10pm tonight. Bring the money and guns from the recent deal."
Even to my own ears, my voice sounds lifeless, defeated. Antonio's enraged bellow is cut off as Roberto ends the call with a smirk. He's enjoying this sick game. Emotion clogs my throat and I blink back useless tears.
A sudden commotion outside shatters the tense silence. The rumble of roaring motorcycle engines, hurried footsteps and angry shouts in Italian. The two Ferraro guards by the door exchange ominous glances, gripping their guns tighter. One cracks the door open, conferring briefly in hushed whispers with someone outside.
He swiftly crosses back to Roberto's side, face pale beneath his scruff. "Boss, we've got trouble. It's the Riccis!"
Roberto's face blanches, his air of cold command abruptly cracking. "What? How did they get here so fast?"
"I don't know, but we're outnumbered. More of them are surrounding the building as we speak." The guard is barely suppressing panic now.
"The Riccis are here." Roberto mutters the words like a curse, almost to himself. Then stronger, "Fortify the stairwells. Hold them off." He barks orders in rapid Italian, sending most of his men streaming from the room.
With the guards distracted, I test the ropes securing my wrists again. The coarse fibers bite cruelly into already torn skin, but I don't care. Twisting my hands, I feel the knots give ever so slightly. Hope flares within me. If I can just get enough give to slip a hand loose...
Oblivious to my struggles, Roberto grabs a timer off the scarred kitchen counter. With a sneer, he sets it for 20 minutes and places it where we can clearly see the countdown. Each echoing tick seems to mock our helplessness.
He pins his two remaining guards with a venomous glare. "If our men don't regain control, kill the prisoners before this runs out. Leave no living witnesses for the Riccis."
One last chilling look at me, then Roberto strides from the room, black coattails flaring dramatically behind him. The door slams shut like the lid of a coffin sealing our fate.
I meet Dad's defeated gaze across the small space separating us. Blood streaks his face and despair darkens his eyes, but I refuse to accept defeat. Escape seems impossible, but I will tear at these ropes until my fingers bleed before I let Roberto take our lives.
"I'm so sorry, Clara." William's ragged whisper reaches me over the ominous ticking. "I never meant to drag you into this goddamn mess." Regret thickens his voice, bleak as a winter wind.
"We're getting out of this alive, Dad. Don't you dare give up hope." I try to inject my voice with a conviction I don't truly feel.
From outside the room, staccato pops of gunfire shatter the tense silence, followed by shouts and screams. The guards shift uneasily, gripping their guns and dividing their attention between us and the barricaded door.
Seizing the distraction, I frantically twist and pull at the ropes binding my wrists. The rough fibers tear at my raw skin, sending hot spikes of pain lancing up my arms, but I barely feel it. All my focus narrows to those knots. After an eternity, I feel them finally loosen enough to work a hand free.
Triumph surges through me, drowned out by stark terror as one of the guards shouts. "The Riccis breached the stairwell. More are coming." Gripping his pistol, he looks back at us with naked fear. "I'm going to help hold the hallway. You watch them."
He bolts from the room before his partner can respond. We're down to one guard now. My pulse kicks into overdrive.
As soon as the door shuts behind him, I launch myself into reckless motion. In one smooth move, I slip my hands free, whirl and kick out as hard as I can. My foot connects solidly with the back of the remaining guard's knee and he buckles with a grunt of surprise and pain.
