I set my phone down, getting up off the couch. I moved through the suite, heading to the area where I swore I heard something. Into the hall, toward the front of the suite, I froze when I saw the front door hanging open an inch or so.
What in the world? I didn’t hear the sounds of someone trying to break in; what I’d heard must’ve been the door open, but I didn’t see anyone. I went to the door, poked my head out in the hall and looked both ways.
There was no one. Huh. Weird. Did Luca not shut the door fully when he left, or had someone gotten inside?
I closed the door, flipping both the smaller lock in the door handle and also the deadbolt. When Luca came home, he’d have to call to get in. But I wasn’t thinking much of Luca or Rocco; I was too busy with going to grab my gun from my room to protect myself with, in case someone was here.
My legs took me around the suite the same way I came, and the only time I stopped was to peer around corners and check the rooms and hall before going further. I didn’t see anyone, but that didn’t mean anything; they could’ve gone around the other way, toward the kitchen area. I hurried to my room, grabbed the ivory gun from the nightstand, and checked to make sure it was loaded.
Gun in my hand, I left my room, holding it close to my chest as I swept through the suite, ready to put a bullet or two into whoever had come in. When I rounded the corner into the kitchen, I held out the gun, pointing it at… no one. Not a single soul other than me was in the kitchen, and my brows creased.
What the fuck was going on here? Was I reading too much into it? I heard not another sound in the suite, and I was starting to wonder if Luca had just not closed the door entirely. Maybe it wasn’t half as bad as I was thinking—
As I thought that, I heard the sound of a glass shattering, back where I’d been sitting, listening to my phone. I moved quickly and quietly, hurrying around the suite to the living area, finding my glass on the floor, water everywhere. Again, no person. It was just me.
Someone was playing with me, and whoever it was had to know the layout of the suite.
I didn’t get a chance to turn around. Without a sound, another person appeared behind me, one of their arms laying across my chest and pinning both arms down to my sides. The person put a hand to my face, holding a cloth over my nose and mouth. Whoever it was was definitely a man.
I struggled as much as I could, cursing myself for letting someone get the better of me. Whoever it was behind me was strong, though, so I couldn’t do much. I saw another person come out of the hall, cracking his knuckles, a big guy, wearing all black. A guy whose face I vaguely recognized.
If I breathed in, I knew I’d pass out. I didn’t need to be told the cloth had chloroform on it to know it, which meant these guys were going to take me to a secondary location, and with the position I was in with the first guy, I knew there was next to nothing I could do about it.
Fucking sucked.
Eventually I couldn’t hold my breath anymore, and I breathed in an unwelcome sweet scent. My body’s muscles loosened, the gun dropping to the floor. My eyes rolled back, my eyelids fluttering shut. Everything went black. The last thing I felt was the prick of something in my neck.
A pounding headache was what greeted me when I regained consciousness. My skull felt like it was going to explode. My eyes struggled to open, and when I tried to move my head, it fell back. The muscles on my body weren’t working properly yet, and through the pain rattling around in my head, I fought to fully come to.
It wasn’t just chloroform. They had to have given me something else, injected me with something to keep me knocked out.
It took a while, but I was able to lick my lips. God, they were dry. I could barely lift my head and keep it upright, and my eyelids were the last thing to cooperate in my attempt at regaining full control of my body.
It was just as I’d guessed before: I wasn’t in the Moretti suite anymore. I wasn’t anywhere I recognized. A small, dingy room, no windows. Metal walls, concrete floor. A single door in front of me, about fifteen feet away. A light hung over me, its yellow bulb dim, creating an eerie atmosphere.
My legs weren’t quite working yet, so I didn’t try to get up. Everything was still a little fuzzy, which told me I wasn’t well enough to try to escape. Plus, I didn’t have my gun or anything I could use to defend myself, so I was at an even bigger disadvantage.
My eyes turned downward to the floor, spotting bloodstains. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what this room was normally used for: torture.
A sound echoed in the room, and it took me a few moments to realize the sound had come from me. A groan that revealed just how tired I was, a groan that said how much my head pounded. I wasn’t at a hundred percent. I wasn’t even at fifty percent. To say I felt like shit wouldn’t quite describe it.
The door before me swung open, the hinges old and rusted, creaking all the while, a terrible sound that made me wince. Not a good sound to hear when your brain was throbbing. I looked up at the person who’d entered, and if I was doing any better, I would’ve gotten to my feet and met his glare with one of my own.
My father stood there, looking quite smug about this whole thing. His lips wore a smile—and not the usual tight smile, either. A real, genuine smile that sickened me to my core, devilish and evil, the kind of smile that would haunt my dreams. He wore an all-black suit, not a single splash of color on his frame.
Alas, I felt like shit, so all I could do was sit there. I wasn’t restrained to the chair I was in, which told me this man didn’t see me as a threat.
And why would he? He’d never seen me as a threat my whole life.
“Daddy,” I whispered.
He stood in front of me, his dark eyes studying me. “You don’t seem surprised to see me here, Giselle.”
“I’m not.” My voice sounded dry, and I struggled to keep my stare focused on him. I wanted to sleep for a day. Or two. “I knew you were up to no good. I knew it. I just can’t believe you’d do this to your own daughter in order to get what you want.”
He smirked. “You still don’t get it, do you? And here I thought you were smarter than that.”
I didn’t say anything at that, for I was starting to think I was missing a piece of this picture. What was it? What didn’t I get? Other than the fact that my father was a severely fucked-up individual that would throw his only daughter under the bus with no remorse whatsoever and replace me shortly after with a new baby boy and a young, pretty wife. Because I got that.