I yank against his hold, but it only has his arm tightening around my middle until it’s painful. Like a person possessed by a demon, I struggle to free myself. My body squirms and wrenches. My nails rip at his sleeve and hand.
My breaths are nothing more than burning gasps, my heart fluttering viciously in my chest.
In a single and way too easy move, he slams me down onto the thick plush carpet. The air whooshes from my lungs, followed by a panicked squeak. With a powerful hold, his fingers wrap around my throat, and the icy metal of his gun is pressed to my forehead. His muscled legs straddle me, his upper body locked and ready to attack above me.
Like gusts of destructive winds, horror slams into me.
My hands grip his wrists, a desperate cry torn from my very soul.
“Calm the fuck down,” he snaps harshly, the timbre of his voice deep and menacing, promising nothing but pain and death.
My breaths burst violently from my lips, my wide eyes locking on his unnerving dark and ruthless ones. “L-let me g-go,” I plead, my voice drenched in terror. “P-please.”
He takes a deep breath before repeating, “Calm down. Just do as I say and you’ll get out of this alive.”
Out of what?
My body is wound so tight my muscles are screaming in protest. My voice sounds as vulnerable as I feel. “What’s happening?”
Slowly he tilts his head to the left, his eyes burning on my face. The way he’s staring at me makes my terror increase tenfold.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
His grip around my throat loosens until it feels like a caress, then he says, “I’m going to let you up. Don’t try to run.”
Like hell, I won’t.
Shakily I nod so he’ll get off of me.
Without much effort, the man, who looks like he’s in his mid-twenties, climbs to his feet. The gun is no longer aimed at me when he takes hold of my arm and tugs me to my feet.
My tongue darts out to wet my parched lips, my eyes flicking between the bay window where I’ve spent many nights reading my favorite books and the door.
Just then, another man appears in the doorway. He looks a little older than my captor but just as dangerous and heavily armed.
Shit. It’s hard fighting off one… but two?
With the first wave of shock starting to fade, it registers we’re under attack.
I haven’t lived under a rock. I know what my family does for a living. My grandfather was an associate of the Cosa Nostra. Or at least he was until my Dad died in a car accident, and we moved to Chicago and later to Canada. Six years ago, my entire life changed when I lost my father, and I was forced to say goodbye to Alissa, the only friend I had. Between moving from Chicago to Canada, I never managed to make any real friends, and I’ve lost contact with Alissa.
I’ve always known of the mafia, but I’ve never been directly involved in any of their dealings, so this is downright terrifying.
I don’t know what to do.
Do I listen and hope I get out of this attack alive, or do I fight back and try to escape?
Where are my grandfather and Uncle Ricco?
Surely they’re fighting back? Maybe one of them will come to save me. Or one of the many guards working for our family.
The thought makes hope trickle back into my heart.
“Aww shit,” the man at the door mutters as if I’m the biggest inconvenience of his life. “What the hell are we going to do with her?”
“I’ll handle her,” the man gripping my arm says, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Without any explanation of what the hell is going on, I’m hauled out of my bedroom and dragged down the hallway and stairs. I stumble halfway, the only thing keeping me from falling the merciless hold on my arm.