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Rubbing my arms, I gaze at the locked door. Guards are stationed outside, Stefano's men. I'm ostensibly protected, yet I know I'm also captive. But why? What do they want from me?
With no answers forthcoming, sleep remains elusive. The truth lingers at the edge of consciousness, a viper waiting to strike. I'm in over my head, trapped in a world of drugs, money, and power. A world that already took my father from me.
Fear coils in my belly as realization dawns. I'm at the mercy of forces beyond my control. Forces that may demand a price I'm unwilling to pay. The tequila empire, this mafia syndicate, they now own me, body and soul. I'm in too deep, with no way out.
Rubbing my temples, I pace the room. My mind races in circles, panic rising in my chest. I need to get word to Juan, ask him more questions. But how?
Then I remember. The burner phone.
Clara slipped it into my bag as I reached the airport, a secret method to help me. I never used it, fearing they were monitoring communications. But now, it may be my only hope.
I retrieve the phone from my bag, turning it over in my hands. Such a small thing, yet it could mean freedom. Still, using it puts me at risk. Juan might mention I spoke to him to someone within the mafia. Stefano or his men might discover it, angering the Capo. I don't know what he's capable of, but harming me to keep me under control is not out of the question.
Do I dare? Summoning my courage, I power on the phone, hands shaking. As it boots up, indecision wars within me. To call or not to call, that is the question. A question that could determine my fate.
Rubbing my neck, anxiety swells inside me. I yearn to hear Juan's voice, to tell him where I am. But can I chance angering the Capo?
I stare at the phone, wavering, the moment stretching out. Finally, I switch it off and return it to my bag. I'll use it just when needed. When it's a matter of life and death. Maybe right now, the change is just too much for me.
As much as it pains me, contacting Juan is too risky. Not yet. Not until I have a better sense of what's happening and how much danger I'm actually in.
Exhaustion washes over me as I down a miniature bottle of tequila from the minibar. The alcohol burns my throat, dulling the ache in my heart. At least for now, for tonight, I can find sleep in alcohol.
Closing my eyes, I give in to the tequila's embrace, hoping for a few hours of oblivion before dawn breaks over the city and this nightmare begins anew.
The next morning, a knock at my door startles me awake. For a disorienting moment, I can't remember where I am. Then it all comes flooding back: the mafia, my captivity, the unanswered questions swirling in my mind.
I drag myself from bed as the knock sounds again, more insistent this time. At the door, I find Stefano holding a tray of food. "Good morning, Bella. I brought you breakfast."
His charming smile does little to mask the threat underlying his courtesy. I'm under no illusions this is anything other than a power play, a reminder of how completely under the Capo's control I remain.
Stefano brushes past me into the room, settling the tray on a table.
"Call me Isabella," are the only words I say to him. "Bella is for my friends."
He turns to me, the warmth now gone. "The Capo requests your presence at dinner this evening."
With that, he turns on his heel and strides out, closing the door behind him.
I'm left staring at the lavish spread of food, nausea churning in my stomach. The last thing I want is to spend an evening forced to make pleasantries with my captor. But refusing isn't an option. I have no choice but to play along, biding my time until an opportunity for escape presents itself. If it ever does.
The rest of the day drags on, hours of boredom and uncertainty punctuated by moments of stark terror at my predicament. More than once, I consider using the burner phone, consequences be damned. But each time, I talk myself out of it.
As much as I hate this waiting game, rash actions will only make my situation worse. Patience has never been my strong suit, but now more than ever, it's a virtue I must cultivate if I'm to survive.
By evening, I'm a bundle of frayed nerves. Part of me hopes the Capo has forgotten about dinner, but I know that's wishful thinking. Mafia bosses don't forget. At the stroke of seven, a knock sounds at my door. Here we go again.
I open the door to find Stefano, impeccably dressed.
"The Capo is waiting," is all he says, offering his arm.
Taking a deep breath, I ignore his arm and walk out, ahead of him. He follows, with a sigh. Best to get this over with.
Stefano escorts me downstairs to an opulent dining room. But to my surprise, we're the only ones there. Just the Capo, wine glass in hand, gazing into the fireplace.
He turns at our entrance, face creasing into a smile that never reaches his eyes. The doors close behind us with an ominous thud.
We're alone. God help me.
