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But as I stand there, alone in the eerie silence of the mansion, it's hard not to feel like a caged animal—trapped, powerless, and at the mercy of a dangerous man whose intentions remain a mystery.
"Constantino Maldonado," I growl, clenching my fists. "When I get out of here, you're going to wish you never laid eyes on me."
Racing back to my room, I snatch my phone from the bedside table and dial his number. It rings a few times before going to voicemail. I grit my teeth, anger bubbling up inside me.
"Of course," I mutter under my breath. "Can't even have the decency to answer his damn phone."
I debate whether or not to leave a scathing message but decide against it. That bastard will get an earful when he returns, no doubt about it.
As I pace the room, I consider texting Isabella and asking her to come rescue me. But then again, she'd probably just use this as proof that I'm in way over my head and gloat for months. No thank you—I don't need that kind of satisfaction on her part.
"Okay," I say to myself, acceptance settling in. "He'll be back soon enough. Just need to find something to occupy myself until then."
With that plan in mind, I venture out of the bedroom and make my way to the kitchen. Maybe there's something there I can use to pry open one of these goddamn doors or windows.
The kitchen is huge and immaculate, with stainless steel appliances and gleaming countertops. I feel like I've stepped into a high-end cooking show set, where everything is perfect and spotless.
"Right, knives," I remind myself, scanning the room for anything that might be helpful.
I rummage through drawer after drawer, eventually finding a block of sleek knives tucked away in a corner. Pulling one out, I test its weight in my hand, a dark satisfaction creeping in at the thought of using it to escape.
"Sorry, Constantino," I whisper, smirking. "Looks like your little rabbit isn't staying put after all."
And with that, I march back to the front door, armed with my makeshift tool and a fierce determination to break free. No one—especially not Constantino Maldonado—is going to keep me locked up and scared.
Chapter Twenty-One
The TV blares in the background, flickering across my face as I sit with my morning coffee. The news anchor drones on about some bullshit medical reason for my father's death, but I know better. It's like a ton of bricks slamming into my chest. He's dead. My old man might've been a pain in the ass, but he was still my father.
"Jesus Christ," I mutter under my breath, taking another swig of my coffee.
I walk back into my room to check on Evelyn. Her blonde hair is splayed out on the pillow, her blue eyes hidden behind her closed eyelids. She's still asleep, unaware of the chaos brewing around us. I don't want to wake her, not now. The last thing I need is another person to worry about keeping safe. And let's be real; the woman's got a taste for bar-hopping and trouble-making.
So, I do what any logical mob boss would do – I lock her inside the mansion before leaving to take care of business. Theplace is practically a fortress, easy to lock from the inside out or the outside in. I've got cameras set up everywhere, keeping an eye on things. It's for her own good, really. She'll thank me later... or try to kill me. It's a toss-up.
I head back to my apartment to plan my next move. I text Seb on the way and tell him to meet me there. As I walk in the door I get an alert that she's up. I pull up the cameras to see what she's up to. As expected, it doesn't take her long to start trying to break free.
But all she manages to do is knick some pretty expensive shit and ruin even more expensive knives. I can't help but smirk at her determination, though. That fire she's got, it's one of the reasons I'm so drawn to her.
"Fuck," I whisper, watching her pace in the foyer, her rage palpable even through the camera feed.
But I can't go back to the mansion tonight. Not with everything that's happening. It's too dangerous, and we're safer apart – for now, at least. I'll deal with the fallout later.
"Sorry, little rabbit," I mutter, closing the camera feed on my phone. "But you'll have to wait just a bit longer."
The war with the Irish is escalating, and my father's death proves just how much our family power has waned. We can't even keep someone safe in prison these days. And that, more than anything, tells me it's time for a change. It's time for me to step up and take control of this whole goddamn mess.
A knock on the door jolts me out of my thoughts. I approach it cautiously, keeping to the wall and pressing my eye against the peephole to catch a glimpse of who's there. If they managed to kill my father, if they got wind of where I'm living, it'd be pretty easy for them to shoot me through the door. And I haven't exactly made myself scarce these last few days.
I breathe a sigh of relief when I see Seb on the other side. Opening the door, I motion for him to come in quickly. "What have you got for me?" I ask, not bothering with pleasantries.
"I've been talking to one of the prison guards," he begins, his voice low and urgent. "I had to bribe the fucker, but he spilled the details."
"Spit it out already," I say, my patience thinning.
"Johnny was definitely hit from the inside," Seb confirms, his eyes filled with anger and frustration. "They drugged him, made it look like a medical issue. But it was the Irish, no doubt about it."
My blood boils at the thought – my father taken out through such cowardice. The war with the Irish has brought out the worst in everyone, and loyalty is becoming a rare commodity. "Did you get any names?" I ask, clenching my fists.
