Sal chuckles and I notice he’s gotten more comfortable, having removed his tie, jacket and even unbuttoned his shirt. There is something manly and primitive about his hairy chest that pops out of the open shirt.
“You’re not capable, you botched it,” he taunts.
“You got lucky,” I argue.
“Luck, you say? We’ll see who’s lucky. You made an un-sanctioned hit against another family and there are consequences for your actions.” He leans in close and the earthy scent of bergamot wafts under my nose, causing me to become excited.
I feel wetness between my thighs and a tingling sensation. My nipples betray me and turn rock hard under the skintight bodice, immediately giving away my state of arousal.
His gaze cuts through me before moving down my body, caressing me with a hint of sexual desire. His blueish eyes are almost grey and remind me of the sky before a winter storm. They draw me in, but I can’t get past the icy wall between us.
Danger is omnipresent with two of them and only me.
I am so screwed. No one knows where I am.
The Conti men use women for sex and babies, and I assume the Michelis do the same.
I want to wither under Sal’s intense stare, but instead I return his stare with mine and don’t flinch. That would be defeat. I know he and the goatee guy over there can kill me with no retribution. My blood is boiling even in the dark and dank cellar. It’s cooler down here and the warmth spreading through my body doesn’t appear to be from my anger.
I’m supposed to be handling him, but he’s got all the control. There’s nothing I hate more than a man having control over me. I tug at the restraints around my wrists but it’s a mistake as the zip ties cut into my tender flesh and blood drips down my arms.
“Don’t hurt yourself, we have plenty of time for that later,” he mocks me before turning away.
“Your family thinks they are so untouchable,” I spit out the words as anger takes over my emotions. But I know my family won’t fight this battle, there’s nothing in it for them. I’m invisible and of no use to them. Or so they think.
Sal would be correct in identifying me as a loner. I am. Maybe he is too.
He paces and turns on his heels, throwing out an arm. “So, you just think you can murder me at the most public event of the year and get away with it?”
“I almost did.”
“Almost, but now you are my hostage and in the aftermath of your father’s death, you are persona non grata, without friends and family so to speak,” he says as his eyebrows furrow in thought.
They will find out soon enough. A call might be made, an insider will be contacted. Backdoors exist everywhere to accomplish missions many assume are impossible.
“We need to give her water,” the man with goatee states while retrieving a bottle of water. He makes sure he cracks the seal in front of me, so I know it hasn’t been tampered with, and to build trust.
Sal takes the bottle from him and holds it to my lips. Lifting my head as much as possible, I guzzle the refreshing liquid so fast some spills on my chest, but it’s a relief. There is no air flow down here and if there was ever a place to have an encounter with being claustrophobic—this would be it.
I can’t help but notice scratches on Sal’s hands and know I am responsible for them.
I lick the water off my lips, but I can’t reach the droplets on my chin.
As if he reads my mind, Sal leans over me and uses his slender fingers taking his time to wipe away the moisture for me. His hands are warm, soft, more like a businessman than a thug.
He pulls his fingers away quickly, as if he’s been shocked and I try not to take offense.
I should have killed him. My problem is that as much as I enjoy fighting, there is a big difference between training to kill and actually killing someone.
I know now that I can’t kill. If I could, I would have hunted red deer over the years with my father. Wild boars are edible nasty creatures and overpopulating Europe so hunting them was easy for me and I didn’t have guilt afterwards. It also gave me an opportunity to fit in with the men and earn praise from my dad.
Figures my only bonding experience with my dad was a hunting trip to kill something. I realize now that killing a person takes more of my father’s darkness than I can muster.
Sal puts the water bottle on a small table next to the bed and resumes his pacing.
“What time is it?” I ask.
“You have somewhere to be?”