Startled, I bolted up in my bed, not knowing why. The moment passed and I began to settle back into my mattress, but then, I heard it. A noise. The walls of this place had always been paper thin, and I almost dismissed the sound as a tree limb brushing up against the roof.
But then the hair on the back of my neck stood straight on end, telling me something felt wrong.
Through the darkness, I sought the red numerals of my alarm clock, seeing that it was nearly three in the morning. I heard the noise again, and this time, I was sure it came from inside. I reached for my phone, only to find it completely dead.
Dammit, I’d forgotten to plug it in before drifting off. Doing video sucked so much of the battery life from the stupid thing. Now, I couldn’t even call out.
I’d just decided to get the baseball bat out of my closet—I wasn’t sure if Tara was home or not and had to keep her safe—when my bedroom door slammed back on its hinges. I caught a glimpse of two dark figures entering my room but was only able to get out the briefest of shrieks before they wrapped a cloth over my nose and mouth.
And then, my vision became spotty before everything went black.
I woke with a headache in a cavernous room I didn’t recognize. A single naked light bulb hung overhead, placing me in the spotlight while leaving everything else in shadow. Someone had tied my body into an upright position on a wooden chair, the restraints on my wrists and ankles painfully tight.
Not good. So not good.
Still feeling kind of woozy, I attempted to lift my head, but it felt as if someone had stuffed my skull with wet sand, puffing it up to twice its normal size. I felt the sticky grip of tape over my mouth, something heavy and industrial. Though I couldn’t identify anyone, I could tell I wasn’t alone, which scared the shit out of me.
But one thing I’d learned from my upbringing was to never let ‘em see you sweat.
I waited, trying to ignore my racing heart and rising panic. A man came closer, planting himself in front of me in the small circle of light. I blinked so I could bring him into focus.
His frame was thin as a rail but formidable. Dressed in what I assumed must be an extremely expensive black suit, he struck me as someone who’d once been full of strength and vigor, but now seemed less imposing. At least physically. But in his beringed right hand, he held a gun, and that was imposing as hell.
At the moment, he pointed it at the floor. Not that that gave me much relief. The weapon could’ve been an extension of his body based on how naturally it fit into his palm. He looked as if he’d been wielding firearms his whole life.
I glanced fleetingly into his face and recognition dawned. Angelo Varasso. The mustached man I’d made fun of. The billionaire businessman. Sitting trapped in this dubious situation, I started to suspect that he might be more than a billionaire businessman. With an easy movement, he cocked the gun, but he kept his dark eyes on me.
“Alessandro,” he said, and though his voice was rough with advancing age, there was a steely quality to it.
Another younger man approached, he wore glasses and held out an iPad. At a low volume, it played the video I’d uploaded last night. Apparently, Mustache Man didn’t have much of a sense of humor.
“You have besmirched the Varasso name and my personal integrity,” Angelo spoke, his voice low and angry. “Why?” The man with the iPad suddenly tore the tape from my face. “Speak.”
Although I felt petrified, him ordering me around like a dog pissed me off. I was bound and defenseless and knew my only method of escape would be to talk my way out of this. Whatever this was. Stand tall. Stand strong. I summoned my most sarcastic, obnoxious tone. “It’s called an impersonation.”
Mustache Man’s eyes widened as if he couldn’t believe what I’d just said. Or maybe it was how I’d said it. He raised the barrel of his weapon, and I realized I’d gambled and lost. I’d grown up in some of the most deplorable conditions possible, clawing through nine levels of hell in order to survive, and now I was going to die because I’d dared to post some lame-ass video.
Pretty ironic if you asked me.
I clenched the fists
secured behind my back to keep myself from reacting to my terror. I refused to leave this earth as a pathetic, whimpering victim. I couldn’t let them break me. I didn’t want to give them the satisfaction. For the most fleeting of moments I thought of my sister. Thank God Tara hadn’t been home.
I prayed that she’d remain out of harm’s way.
Someone else spoke from off to the side, not Mustache Man and not the other one, Alessandro, either. This man had a richer voice, deep and resonant. If I hadn’t been on the brink of death, I might’ve appreciated how beautiful it sounded. Almost musical.
“You would do well to watch how you address my father. Angelo Varasso is an important man and is not to be disrespected.” His tone was as grave as mine had been flippant.
“It was a joke. Ever heard of those?” I knew it was moronic to talk back under these conditions, yet I couldn’t seem to help myself. Evidently, being an inch from getting my face shot off made me mouthier than usual.
As if he couldn’t bear such an insult, Angelo’s hand tensed and I knew it was all over for me. But someone reached out, pushing the older man’s hand upwards so that the bullet he fired missed. I’d cinched my eyes shut against the onslaught, but now I opened them, seeing this other man for the first time.
He was tall, an inch or two taller than his father, with thick black hair that curled slightly around his ears. Like the other men, he wore an impeccably pressed suit, but unlike Angelo with his many rings, this man wore only a single thin chain around his neck. I stared into the face of the man who’d saved me—at least for this particular minute—and felt awed by him.
He had elegant yet intensely masculine features. A long straight nose, a square jaw covered with stubble on the verge of becoming a beard, thick brows, and full lips. His eyes captured my attention the most, though. They were penetrating and charcoal black. It was like looking into the face of some dark fallen angel.
Emotion swirled behind those eyes of his, the most obvious of which was surprise.