Living with him was like walking a tightrope.
I couldn’t predict his next move. He asked if I was afraid of him. What a ridiculous question.
He’d kidnapped me, one of his guys had tried to assault me, and I’d seen him shoot someone. Of course, I was scared. He was so big, he could snap me in half without breaking a sweat.
One moment he was forcing me to do things I didn’t want to, and the next, he was surprisingly gentle.
Like when he carried me from the bath after I’d fallen asleep, or when he applied cream to my leg. Or when he brushed my hair.
When he ran his thumb over my lips and kissed my neck, I knew I shouldn’t have enjoyed it, but I did. My mind was screaming no, but my body had a mind of its own.
It seemed like whenever I did as he asked, he was kind and gentle. But if I hesitated, his mean, angry side would surface.
But I couldn’t understand why all these men were speaking Italian. We were in America, weren’t we?
I was too scared to ask him anything, afraid of setting him off. But I was curious. Like when he said he’d call me kitten. Only Uncle Daniel had ever called me that.
Did he know him? Did he know my dad? Was he planning to hold me for ransom, and if they didn’t pay, would he kill me? Was he going to kill me regardless? He said I was safe, but I didn’t feel it. Not really.
After he finished brushing my hair, he led me out of the room, his hand resting gently on the back of my neck. It was both comforting and terrifying.
Comforting because his touch was soft, terrifying because he had complete control over me. One wrong move and he could snap my neck.
He led me down the stairs. I was grateful for the carpet under my bare feet. The only shoes I had were my sneakers, and I’d left those in the bathroom.
That was another strange thing. The clothes I was wearing were his. They even smelled like him. His cologne, I guessed. Was this my new normal? Wearing his clothes?
I didn’t even have any underwear, which, considering what had happened earlier, made me feel incredibly vulnerable.
When we reached the ground floor, it was as if nothing had happened. There were no men around, at least none that I could see. There was no blood or any sign of the man he’d shot.
We walked through some double doors into the kitchen. There was no carpet, but the terracotta tiles were warm. Heated floors, I guessed.
Several women were bustling about in the kitchen, all dressed in black. An older woman seemed to be in charge.
Was he talking about me?
The woman turned around. She looked a lot like Vincent. She gasped.
I didn’t understand what she said, but her tone suggested she was scolding him.
Vincent just rolled his eyes and laughed.
His mother glanced at me, then back at Vincent and laughed.
“Questo insegnerà loro a diventare nemici del mio ragazzo intelligente. Ti sono sempre piaciuti giovani e carini. Cerca di non romperla troppo in fretta, Vincenzo.”
Vincent chuckled. He moved his hand from my neck to the small of my back and led me out of the kitchen.
As we left and entered the dining room, I heard his mother say something to one of the other women.
I recognized one of the words. It was the same one the men who had tied me up had used.
If Vincent heard it, he didn’t react. I didn’t think it was a compliment, whatever it was.
We didn’t stop in the dining room; instead, we went through another set of doors. I was surprised to find we were on a small terrace with a table and two chairs.
I gasped when I realized we were no longer in the city. In fact, we were nowhere near the city.
“You see, gattina. Even if you were planning to run away”—Vincent smirked—“which I’m sure you were, there’s nowhere for you to go.”
My heart pounded in my chest.
“Wh-where are we,” I stuttered.
Vincent leaned in and brushed his thumb across my cheek.
“This is where I was born, tesoro. We’re in Sicily. This is my family home.” He smirked.
Tears welled up in my eyes as I covered my mouth with my hand.
This couldn’t be happening. The house I was in before his men grabbed me was in a suburb of New York.
I was supposed to be at school. What about my dad? And Uncle Daniel? I shook my head in disbelief.
“No…this can’t be…I have school, and my dad…” I gasped.
Vincent stood up and walked behind me.
He gently placed one hand on my shoulder, the other lightly encircling my throat. There was no pressure, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t terrified.
His whisper brushed my ear, his breath fanning my neck, sending a chill down my spine.
“Your father and your uncle crossed me. No one crosses me, sweetheart, and gets away with it. So now I have you. You’ll be safe as long as you obey me and don’t try to run. Do you understand?”
It was a warning, a threat. The way his hand held my throat. Lightly but with a sense of danger.
I nodded quickly.
“Use your words, sweetheart. I need to hear you say it,” he hissed.
“Y-yes, I understand,” I whispered.
His grip loosened, and his hand stroked my neck, slowly moving up to caress my face.
“Good girl,” he whispered.
I felt his lips press against the top of my head.
He straightened up and returned to his chair just as a young woman brought out a tray of food.
Suddenly, I wasn’t hungry at all.
I was stuck in a foreign country where the only person who seemed to speak my language was my captor. A monster who had no problem killing anyone who got in his way.
The young woman set the plates on the table, along with two cups of coffee and two glasses of orange juice. She then bowed her head to Vincent and left.
I glanced at the food. I hadn’t eaten in days, but the thought of food now made my stomach churn.
Vincent had already started on his plate. It looked like some sort of omelette.
He looked at me and smiled. “Go ahead…eat!” he encouraged.
I picked up the fork and put some of the omelette in my mouth.
Under normal circumstances, I probably would have enjoyed it. Right now, it felt like I was eating cardboard.
I pushed the food around my plate. As I did, Vincent frowned.
“What’s the matter? Don’t you like it? Would you like something else?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I’m not really hungry.”
Vincent rolled his eyes. “Nonsense, you haven’t eaten for almost three days!” He scoffed.
That hit me like a ton of bricks. Three days. They’d drugged me, and I’d been unconscious for that long. Then the realization hit me. Of course I had.
One minute I’d been in New York. Now I was somewhere in Italy. I had no clue where. Geography had never been my strong suit.
Then something inside of me snapped…
I glared at Vincent and slammed my fork down on the plate.
“You expect me to be hungry!” I yelled. “I’ve been drugged, kidnapped, almost raped, threatened, and dragged halfway across the world where I don’t understand a word anyone says. You think I can eat?”
Vincent stood up slowly, matching my glare.
His eyes bore into me coldly.
“You think you’ve been threatened, little girl?” he growled.
I shrank back in the chair.
Then he reached behind him and pulled out a gun.
I should have realized he carried one; after all, I’d already seen him shoot someone. He pointed the barrel at the middle of my forehead.
“This…,” he growled. “This is a threat!”
I stared at him in horror. He was going to shoot me! I gasped as I threw myself back in the chair.
Too late, I realized the chair was tipping backward.
After that, it seemed like everything happened in slow motion. The chair continued falling backward until my head hit the tiled floor below.
I screamed as pain shot through my head, then my vision blurred.
The last thing I saw was the look of shock on Vincent’s face before I blacked out completely.
