Juliet
I’m so confused. About everything. The hardest part is that Dante is easy on the eyes, and I want to hate him, but I can’t. I haven’t even seen his mansion in the daytime but if it’s anything like him, it’s spectacular.
I don’t know why there is all this mystery. How is it possible that I am adopted and didn’t know about it? Why didn’t my parents tell me? And who are my real parents that didn’t want me and would give me away?
I mean, WTF? I have no answers and no freedom. I hate this. All I wanted was a more exciting life—well, I got it, all right. I didn’t even need to throw a coin in the Trevi Fountain.
Bending over the beautiful glass basin in the sumptuous washroom, I run the cold water for a second before splashing it on my face and washing off my makeup. It’s been on for hours and I’m tired. My eyes are bloodshot, and I look like I haven’t slept in a week.
I feel bad for using the beautifully embroidered hand towels and find it odd that a bachelor—at least I assume he’s a bachelor—would bother with such a small detail. Maybe he hired a decorator or asked his mother for help. Although he doesn’t look like a man who asks for help, ever.
Being kidnapped is terrifying, but for some reason, having Dante around makes me feel like I’ll come out of this alive. I trusted him, and now I don’t, but if shit goes down, I want him on my side, that’s for sure. And the guy with the beard, the one who rarely speaks and seems to be with Dante all the time, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was trained by some secret service agency, like the Mossad or something. Even though he’s older, he’s in excellent shape, and looks like he can kick some ass.
There’s no use in trying to run away. If these guys want me, they’ll be able to keep me. And who’s to say there aren’t others looking for me? The next band of thugs might not be as accommodating.
I’m angry, and I know I should be a pain in Dante’s ass, but he has this way of intimidating me. He speaks to me like he doesn’t care and yet, when I look in his eyes, I see desire. I’m sure of it. There’s a primal connection that makes my pussy feel a need to be massaged by his hard cock. I can tell by the way he carries himself that he’s not going to disappoint any woman in that department. Ava calls it ‘big dick energy’. I didn’t know what she was talking about until now.
Just the touch of his hand on mine in the basement . . . OMG . . . my stomach was doing flip flops, and it wasn’t for lack of food. I’ve never felt that way around a man before. Maybe that’s why women my age like older men. They have a calm, self-assured energy from having seen more and done more. I’d be intrigued to date a man like that, even though I have little motivation to get back on the dating circuit because of all the games.
I’ve learned to compensate for my lack of a social life by using art to fill the void. And I’m getting a job. OMG, I forgot. Job! Crap, I left applications everywhere with my phone number and anyone who calls me will go straight to voicemail. I’ll never be able to retrieve any messages because my kidnappers threw out or changed the chip, I’m sure.
Crap, crap, and more crap.
The man guarding the bathroom door is massive and doesn’t talk, but I can tell he’s Italian. He taps on the door again, and I open it to find him handing me a sweater. It must belong to Dante because his cologne makes my nose tingle and it reminds me of him. Surprised at his thoughtfulness, I put it on and return to the table, where Secret Service guy and Dante sit drinking wine.
“So, tell me, what is the deal with my birth parents?” I sit as Dante holds the bottle of wine over my glass to see if I want more, and I nod.
He fills my glass and twists the bottle at the end of the pour, so it won’t drip. I’m impressed. That’s a trick I learned when I was waiting tables. As a precaution, he sets the empty wine bottle out of my reach. Smart man, but with all the muscle around here, I’m not that stupid.
“Am I in danger every time I go out on the streets? I mean, have I lived with this threat of violence around me my entire life?” I can’t believe I’m that oblivious but then again, I have zero experience with organized crime, which is what I’m assuming this is.
“I don’t think so. You were hard to find. You’re our enemy’s best-kept secret. So, as long as those in my circle keep their mouths shut, you’re perfectly safe with me. I can’t promise what will happen after your dad finds out.”
“I still don’t understand the point of grabbing me.”
“We’ve tried the proper channels with a meet, and it didn’t go well, which was to be expected. No family is going to give up control of something they acquired at great cost and then share it years later. They’re like toddlers clinging to their favorite toy. It would be good for business and make peace for both sides if they were somewhat more accommodating, though,” he replies as he twists the stem of the wine glass between his fingers.
“Then why aren’t they?”
“Pride, arrogance, machismo, and the need to exert their power just because they can.”
I grimace, this sounds like a game of chicken and I’m the one being held over the pot of boiling water. Typical men.
“So, what’s next?”
“You’re the captive, let me worry about the details.” The piercing cold look in his eyes tells me to stop talking.
I sip my wine and lean back in the chair. Ouch! With the amount of money he’s poured into this place, you’d think he would have more than wood chairs. Maybe he has a penchant for wooden paddles. I mean, really. My butt is falling asleep and soon my legs will be doing the same.
I let the wine coat my tongue and slide down my throat as I’m in no rush to go anywhere. This is when it strikes me just how lame an existence I’ve been living. It’s pathetic to think all it took was a simple note left for Ava and a message to the dean to explain my absence and no one will miss me.
Even Ava, who just blew in a few weeks ago, has new friends to go places with, social plans, and a good-looking boy toy to fuck. She has a life. What do I have? A hot captor is what I have.
Dante’s phone rings. He answers it, listens, then hems and haws before hanging up and putting it in his pocket.
He nods to Mr. Secret Service and the two of them leave the room. I hear low voices but can’t make out the words as the guards move closer to me. They look stylish in their black polos and black dress slacks with military-style boots.
I glance up at them out of the corner of my eye before staring into my half- empty wine glass. Damn, this wine is good. I get the impression he spares no expense when it comes to things like this. No doubt, he’s a man used to getting what he wants.