“Any chance I can change my clothes?” I ask sweetly.
This tight dress felt good when I put it on yesterday but it’s two days old now and I’m getting ripe. The breeze blowing through the open doors feels nice, but I need more humane treatment, like a hot shower, and clean clothes.
“Working on it,” is all he says, unmoved by my pleading. He just stands there, poised to pounce like a killer tabby cat if I so much as move a muscle.
“Well how about taking off my shoes?”
He lets out a haughty laugh. “Are you kidding me? I know better than to go within five feet of you.”
Damn.
Sal returns, “Your car will be here soon.”
That’s good news. I’m relieved it won’t be towed somewhere.
“Don’t worry about the Calabrese’s or my brothers. They think I’m in Sicily,” I offer, letting Sal know my clan won’t be following my car here with guns blazing.
He doesn’t need to know just how unimportant I am to my brothers. I’m sure I could be gone for quite some time without them bothering to look.
My brothers are the closest thing to human cloning I’ve ever seen. They both turned out just like Dad in looks too.
Sal puts his phone down and starts going through the items they took off me after the attack. Holding my knife up to the light, he asks, “Specially designed?”
“Of course.”
He looks at me as if I have more to add and he waits me out, hoping I will let something slip.
“What?” I ask as he continues to stare at me.
“I have some clothes upstairs that will probably fit you for now,” he offers, surprising me. I wasn’t expecting those words to come out of his mouth.
“Great, because formal stuff is fun to wear, but the thrill is gone after the first twenty-four hours, y’know,” I joke, but I’m not laughing.
A chuckle escapes his full lips as a low masculine laugh greets my ears. I find it sexy, and then he toss the knife back on the countertop.
“A burner phone?” His question sounds more like a foregone conclusion. I am a professional after all.
I shrug my shoulders.
“You surprise me, Francesca.” His eyes are a dark blue today and filled with desire.
Is it a desire for my mad skills? Or for me? Or both?
The wetness between my legs is hard to ignore. “Clothes?”
“Oh, yes, you can’t leave the room, your wrists will remain tied, and Matteo will watch you and help accordingly."
“Great,” I murmur.
“You can’t blame me. Let’s not forget you came into our territory and attempted an un-sanctioned hit on me. You’re lucky you’re not at the bottom of a lake right now.”
I can’t argue. My dad would not have thought twice about killing a woman, which is probably why the human trafficking came to him so easily.
He gives Matteo a nod, and I’m taken upstairs with the gun in my back. To make a play would be stupid. I need to earn their trust and maybe Sal will help me.
They don’t know that I’m finished trying to stick a knife in Sal or Dante or anyone else involved with the killing of my father.
I’m moving on to my next mission, finding and freeing those girls. My brothers set Sal up to look like he took the girls, and they have no idea about it. My family has no way of knowing I’m here . . . in the enemy’s house. Getting a different story.