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“I can’t believe you locked me up in a literal cage,” I say, changing the subject.
“Trust me, Serenity. This was not my first choice.” He sounds sorry, but it doesn’t matter. He did this. And he can’t take it back.
“Trust you? Yeah, I’ll get right on that.”
Dante cocks his head to the side and then asks, “How else do you expect the head of the mafia to deal with losing 150 thousand dollars?”
“I don’t know. File an insurance claim,” I quip.
“You think you’re funny, do you?”
“I’m hilarious.” I give him a fake smile as I lie across the bed. I’d never admit to his face how comfortable it is. Or how I moaned the first time I laid on it. It’s so much better than that sorry excuse for a mattress I lay in every night at my shitty apartment.
Dante leans back in his chair, one arm over the corner. He looks me up and down, and even though I’m fully clothed, I still feel so exposed. It’s like he can see right into my soul.
“Okay. If you think you’re so funny, let’s play a game.”
I move onto my side and prop my head up on my fist.
“What game?”
He smirks at me.
“Truth or dare.”
I don’t know where he’s going with this game, but maybe playing with the man will help me get out of here somehow.
“Fine. I’ll go first.” I sit up and watch his eyebrow shoot up. “Truth or dare?” I ask him.
He thinks for a moment, never breaking eye contact, which he seems to love to do.
“Truth.”
Now it’s my turn to be shocked. I assumed this was a man who’d never tell the truth. Not willingly, anyway.
“What do you want from me?” I ask for the truth. “I don’t have 150 thousand dollars.”
He looks down at his wrists and pulls at his cuffs before he answers.
“In my business, you don’t lose 150 thousand dollars by someone and let it go. There needs to be a cost. And at some point, the actual money is no longer important. Getting something out of it, something that sends a message becomes important. That would be you.” He clicks his tongue and drums a finger on the arm of the chair. “The money's gone, and so is your father, so by the power of transference, you’ve become worth 150 thousand dollars. And I plan to collect in every way I can.”
My heart races as he stares at me with those feral eyes. He looks like a predator.
And I am his prey.
His lips curl as he says, “My turn.” And I almost forget what game we’re playing.
I sit up and cross my legs, feeling the fight drain from me and the tipsiness of the alcohol getting to me.
“Truth or dare?” he asks.
“Truth,” I say.
“What are you most afraid of?” he asks.
At first, I thought this was an easy answer. Clowns. Heights. Escalators. But then, I really start thinking about it.
What am I afraid ofmost?
