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I hesitate, wanting nothing more than to refuse the food, but my common sense tells me I’ll probably need the calories and the strength if I’m going to try and escape again. Maybe next time whoever they send won’t be as big or strong as that guy. Hesitantly, I walk to the bed and climb up, carefully reaching out to grab the bread from the plate. I sniff it, but nothing smells off, so I put it to my mouth and take a small bite. I barely manage to bite back a moan at the taste of it on my tongue. Damn, whoever made this knows what the hell they’re doing. I have never had anything as delicious as this, even ice cold.
I eat a few more bites before I chance trying the spaghetti. I’m not feeling dizzy or sick, so hopefully means that they’re not trying to poison or kill me. Of course, the spaghetti is also just as delicious, and if it was still hot, I’d be stuffing it into my face a hell of a lot faster. Whoever the chef around here is, they can cook like no one’s business. Even better than my father’s chef, Gorgio, who was trained by some of the best back in Italy.
By the time I’m finished, I feel a bit sleepy, though that could be the wine. I don’t normally drink wine, mostly because it goes to my head too fast, but I needed something after all that food. I climb off the bed, pick up the food tray, and set it on the nightstand, before heading into the bathroom to clean up. I manage to find a hair tie and pull my hair back into a thick braid before I head back out into the bedroom.
As soon as I walk out into the bedroom though, I freeze, because I instantly know I’m not alone. I carefully look around the room until I spot him, and a chill moves through me as I stare. He stands beside the bed, a dark and imposing figure from the low light of the room causing shadows to shield most of his face. He’s wearing a long sleeved shirt, with a couple of the top buttons undone, showing off the silver chain around his neck and a glimpse of tattoos beneath. His pants are a pair of dark khakis, and his shoes are black, but are so shiny that in the low light, they’re still reflective.
This man is pure danger, and I know immediately this is my captor.
I don’t move, waiting and watching him. One of the things I learned with my family is to never move first. Never give myself away or to show any fear or weakness. I shouldn’t be grateful for that knowledge, but at this moment, I am. Because this man is a predator far more scary than my father, brothers, uncle, or cousins. This man is a panther, one who is patient, and waiting to strike.
I’m not sure how long we stand there, staring at each other, until finally, he gives a soft chuckle. A sound that moves over me in a way that sends a shiver down my spine. It’s smooth, like a fine wine, but it makes my insides quiver. Who the hell is this man? I don’t have long to wait because his voice, much the same as the chuckle, says, “Don’t worry, Little Mouse, I’m not going to bite. I just want to talk.”
I don’t reply, staying rooted to the spot. I don’t know why, but that voice strikes a cord in my memory. I know him from somewhere, but where? I never speak to anyone other than the older man that sometimes frequents the library, but his voice is soft and raspy, older.
When I don’t move, I hear the man give a soft sigh of annoyance, and I subtly relax my entire body, ready to move at the slightest provocation. Finally, he turns and moves to the door, turning on the light. I blink at the sudden change, but it also lets me see exactly who I’m dealing with, and as soon as he turns back to me, I jolt in shock. Wait, I do know him.
It’s the man I bumped into at the library, and then again outside of it. The man that I knew the moment he looked into my eyes was dangerous and I did not want him to notice me. It looks like he noticed me after all. I stare at him, taking him in.
He’s extremely handsome now that I have a good view of him. His dark hair is mussed, and he has a couple of cuts on his jaw and cheek. Like he’s been in a fight recently. His five o’clock shadow gives him a rough look, but also an air of sophistication, and also highlights the slight downturn of his mouth. He looks like the type of man that likes to brood. I move my eyes down to his hands, which are bandaged and swollen, not that he seems to care.
I’ve seen my father and my brothers with hands much the same after they spent time in the gym or in the back building on the property I never dared enter. Which means this man has just spent some time hurting someone else. The question is, is he planning on doing the same to me?
“I see you recognize me,” the man remarks, stepping away from the door and moving to the sitting area, taking the lone chair and motioning for me to sit down. I don’t move, just watch him. His eyes spark with irritation and he says tightly, “I’m not going to ask you again, Little Mouse. Have a seat or I’ll put you there.” I gauge him and his threat, but something tells me that this man isn’t bluffing. He is used to being obeyed. The question is, how far will he go to make sure that I do? And how far do I want to push him? After a moment’s thought, I move cautiously toward the sitting area, my eyes never leaving him, until I take a seat on the small loveseat the farthest away from him, but conveniently closer to the door. If I need to run, I have a clear path. I keep myself on the edge of the seat, watching him.
“I suppose you’re wondering who I am. And why you’re here.” I don’t reply, just stare at him. “I can answer one of those questions for you,” he replies with a slow smile. One that sends a shiver of worry down my spine, but I keep my face blank. “You’re here because I want you here. So I took you,” he tells me bluntly.
I don’t react to his statement, but my mind is already working to try and figure out what he means. He took me because he wanted me. Why? You can’t just take a person. Is he looking to ransom me? Does he know who I am? All these questions and more are swirling in my mind but I doubt he’ll answer them even if I was inclined to ask.
As my mind is working through all these thoughts, he smirks and says, “It’s your own fault, you know. You bumped into me twice, that day at the library, looking so small and scared. But, you see, then I couldn’t figure out who you were. There is no record of you. Not at your apartment, no photos, nothing. It was weeks of research, of following you around, to see what could be dug up. Imagine my surprise when I found nothing. Nothing. You definitely had my attention. And here you are. But you see, while you were sleeping, I was able to do some digging.” I stiffen at that, but don’t reply. “Ah, you already know where I’m going with this then.” He pauses, and a slow, smug smile pulls across his lips, giving him a sinister look. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. De Luca.”
I don’t react to the use of my last name, but something sinks inside me and my blood turns to ice. My father was right. Someone leaked who I am, and my location, and now, this man, whoever the hell he is, has gotten all the confirmation he needs. I’m in a very dangerous position, and this man has me completely at his mercy. I don’t confirm that he has my last name correct. I just watch him.
The less I say, the better.
Of course, he’s not satisfied with my silence and says, “I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me your first name then?” Again, silence from me. After a moment he shrugs, but I can see the impatience in his eyes. “Fine, have it your way, but I’ll figure it out eventually. And until I decide what I’m going to do with you, you’ll remain here. Someone will bring you food a few times a day.” Then he stands, and I slowly stand as well, quickly stepping around the arm of the couch and back toward the wall, my eyes never leaving his.
His eyes roam over me again, before coming back up to mine. He takes a step forward, and I take one back repeating this action, until my back hits the wall and I realize I've gone too far. Shit. I brace, but he keeps enough distance to let me run if I need to. But I know it’s a ruse. This man will catch me no matter where I run. Because this isn’t some fat old man that’s looking to get revenge on my father. No, this man is something far more dangerous. He’s an unknown kind of predator, and one that I don’t even know his name, or what he wants with me. Sure, he wants my name, but clearly he’s already figuring out who I am, so there has to be something else.
Finally, after a few more tense moments of silence, he says, “As long as you behave yourself, no one will hurt you while you’re here. But try my patience one too many times…” He lets that threat trail off and hang between us. If he expects me to be afraid he’s about to learn differently. I have lived with men that would beat me for fun, so more violence won’t surprise me. “But I suppose based on the state in how you came in, you’re used to that,” he continues, staring at me. He steps back and heads for the door, but stops when he reaches it. “Oh, and if you’re going to try and escape again, we’ll be having a totally different conversation.” Again, there is the threat, but I don’t rise to the bait. “We’ll talk again soon, Ms. De Luca,” he tells me, opening the door.
Despite knowing better, and despite every warning flashing bright red in my mind, I ask softly, “Who are you?” And as soon as the words leave my mouth I want to yank them back. I silently curse myself, but my curiosity gets the better of me. I want to know who this man is, and maybe it will give me a clue on a way out of here. Or at least who I’m up against.
He turns his head and his gaze holds mine for a moment. There are so many things going through his gaze right now, that I can’t catch them all, but in them is a small bit of triumph that makes me want to scream at him. Angry that he’s managed to get something out of me. Still, better to know your enemies than to let them surprise you later. Finally, after a moment he says, “You’ll find that out when you tell me your name.” Then he’s gone, the door clicking shut behind him, and I hear the snick of the lock when he turns the key on the other side.
The room is deathly silent as I continue to stare at the door. Apparently this man isn’t the only one keeping secrets, and it only makes me more determined to get out of here. While I was sleepy before, I’m wide awake now, and I need to get back to work. If I can’t find a book to tell me how I can find a way out of here, or at least give me an idea on a way, then maybe I can find something that will tell me who he is and where I am. Something that can give me some kind of leverage.
Because I’m not going to go down without a fight. He called me a little mouse, but he’s wrong. I might be small and scared, but I’m not going to hide away. I’m going to get out of here, and then I’m going to figure out what to do next. The idea of going back to my family doesn’t sit well, because nothing good awaits me there.
Still, trading one prison for another is not an option I want to choose. But I know one thing. If I get out of here, I’m not going back to my family ever again. And if I have to die to make sure that happens, then that’s something I’ll face when the time comes.
I head back up to the upper library, determination in every step. I need to get to work.
CHAPTER9
Nico
“She was up all fucking night,”I grumble as I stare at the camera on my phone. I forced myself to go back to my room and set my phone down, despite wanting to stay up and watch her for as long as I could stand before I passed out. Now though, it’s a new day, and this stubborn woman has been up all night, trying to find some book that will help her escape. I can see the exhaustion on her face, and the way her head droops forward as she tries to stay awake. I have half a mind to go put her in the bed, but I ignore it. After all, if she wants to sleep on the floor, then what do I care?
