“I think so. Think it was staged. Not sure why. We’ll look into that.”
Noooo.
He snorts. “She’s well enough to try to lock the door so I couldn’t get her out.” They all kind of grunt.
God.
He looks mad as hell as he runs his fingers through his hair. “Bring her to the doctor. This has been the longest fucking day of my life, and I’m ready for it to end.”
Why? Why was it such a long day? What else happened?
Why do I care?
This place is beautiful. I don’t really have time to take in all the details, but this is definitely one of those high-end deals in Boston that cost several million dollars, I would swear to it. I’ve heard real estate here is extremely expensive due to the historic location, and this place is definitely one of those beautiful expensive places.
So that’s a plus.
No! I can’t be thinking of actually staying here, no matter if the guy’s hot and rich and this is a nice place. Nothing is ever as it seems. Nothing. I, of all people, ought to know that. I have lived my entire life in a house of cards.
It’s when I’m sitting on the couch, being looked over by someone with a stethoscope, that I realize the truth, though. There is no easy getting out of this. There’s nowhere for me to go. If I try to escape now, these guys would maybe hurt me and Elise is screwed.
But I also realize, with a bit of surprise, these aren’t really the mafia guys I’ve seen on YouTube. These guys are… definitely scary. Definitely dangerous. They all have scars, and tattoos, and those eyes… those blue-gray eyes that look cold and deadly.
But they’re hot. The guy that brought me in here has a scruffy beard, dark brown-black hair, and eyes that look into your very soul. He stands right next to me during my inspection and grunts about medication as the doctor gives me some pain relievers and bandages up my wounds.
For someone who just crashed in a plane, I’m not really injured. I look like I was in a fender bender. Given the fact that the pilot and the flight attendant both escaped unscathed as well, I would think that maybe their plan actually worked. At least the part about crashing without killing us.
The part about me getting away? Not so much.
“Good. Take her upstairs, where she can get dressed. Keep it simple. I don’t care what she looks like. She can wear fucking pajamas for all I care.”
“Pajamas? Hey, maybe I don’t want to get married in pajamas.”
Uh, I don’t want to get married at all. It’s a pretty lame attempt at stalling.
He only stares at me like he has plans, and I’m not sure I’ll like said plans.
My stomach churns because it’s definitely him. It has to be.
I need to delay this. I need to get out of here. “I’d like to wait until tomorrow, please. Let’s delay this just a few hours and then… well then your night is over like you wanted.”
I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. Because all of a sudden there’s like ten pairs of very stern mob eyes on me.
God.
“No, I don’t think so.”
“You don’t think so?”
“No. You tried to stage a plane crash. You tried to escape.”
Uh, barely. But my heart thunders, because I know that the slapdash plans we made won’t work, that they’re either on to me or fully prepared to track me down and that if I don’t go through with this, Elise is dead.
But I’ve been through shit. I’ve clawed my way through, fought unspeakable odds. I never backed down, not once, and I won’t start now.
He can put a ring on my finger and go through this farce of a marriage, but he doesn’t have my legal name or my consent. I’ll muddle through this. For now. I have to.
“And we’ll deal with you trying to escape later. But we’re making sure this happens, now. If you need a few minutes to get yourself together I’ll grant that. Then you get your ass down here.” Is that a threat in his tone? He shoots me a hostile glare, and anything I thought about playing nice and maybe enjoying living in the lap of luxury quickly evaporates.
That’s him. That’s my future husband. He’s furious, and fully prepared for me to try to escape, which means I’m definitely not getting out of here.
Shit.
CHAPTER 5
“Nothing that is so, is so.” ~ Twelfth Night, Shakespeare
Orlando
Romeo looks at me sharply when Elise goes upstairs with staff. He keeps his voice low for privacy.
“She tried to get away?” His tone sounds as if he takes it as a personal affront against The Family, and for some reason that raises my hackles.
I shake my head. “Do not call Regazzo.”
“I’m within my rights to do that, brother. You know that. He said he’d send her, and we have two expectations. First, that she come willingly without a fight. Second, that she’s untouched.”