"Viviana Bonacci." I don't make it a question.
The blood drains from her face, and she takes a step backward. "I think you have me confused with someone else."
"No confusion, princess." I reach for her wrist before she can run. "We're leaving."
Chapter 3: Viviana
"Like hell we are."
The words tumble out of my mouth before I can stop them, pure panic making me bold and stupid at the same time. I spin away from him, trying to push through the crowd, but his hand shoots out and catches my wrist.
His grip is like a steel trap. I might as well be a toddler trying to break free from an adult.
"Let go of me!" I yank against his hold, but he's already moving, pulling me through the dancing bodies as if I weigh nothing. "Help! Someone help me!"
My screams get swallowed by the bass and the crush of people. A few heads turn our way, but in the dim lighting and chaos, it probably looks like some drama between a couple. Maybe a boyfriend dragging his drunk girlfriend outside. Nobody moves to help.
The music pounds in my ears as I dig my heels into the floor, trying to slow him down, but it's useless. He's twice my size and clearly doesn't give a shit about making a scene.
"Stop fighting me," he says, his voice low and rough near my ear. "You're going to hurt yourself."
"Good!" I swing my free hand at his face, but he catches that wrist too without even looking. "Let me go! I don't know what you want, but—"
"I want you alive," he interrupts, still pushing through the crowd. "And if you keep fighting me, that will be more difficult to guarantee."
"I don't believe you!" My voice cracks with panic. "You're lying!"
We're almost at the back door now. I can see the neon exit sign getting closer, and my heart is hammering so hard I think it might explode. This is really happening. I'm about to be kidnapped, probably killed, and it's my own stupid fault for ditching my protection.
"Tony!" I scream, looking wildly around for my bodyguard's familiar bulk. Maybe he followed me. Maybe he figured out where I went. "TONY! HELP ME!"
The stranger's grip tightens on both my wrists. "Your boy Tony's not coming."
Something about the way he says it, flat, matter-of-fact, terrifies me. "What do you mean? What did you do to him?"
"I didn't do anything to him." He pushes through the club's back door, dragging me into the cool night air. "But someone else did."
"No." The word comes out as barely a whisper. Tony's been my bodyguard since I was fifteen. He taught me how to throw a punch, how to spot trouble, how to get out of a car quickly if things went wrong. He's like a big brother who happens to carry a gun.
"No, no, no." I shake my head frantically. "You're lying. Tony's fine. He's probably looking for me right now."
The bass fades behind us, swallowed by the dark. I stumble on my heels as he pulls me around the corner and slams me against the brick wall.
“Let go of me!” I shove at him, fists flying, but it’s useless. His body’s a wall of muscle, his hand a vice around my wrist.
“Do you know how fucking stupid you are?” His tone is low and furious. “Dancing in that club like no one knows who you are?”
“I was having fun!”
“You don’t get to have fun. Not when your last name is Bonacci and your family’s bleeding out three blocks away.”
That makes me freeze. “What?”
“Your bodyguard is dead. You were next.”
I blink, stunned. But only for a second. Then I’m shoving him again. “You think I’m going to believe that? You’re some psycho who’s been staring at me all night—”
Before I can finish, he slams his hand against the wall beside my head and leans in close. So, close I can smell the smoke on his jacket. The whiskey on his breath. The heat rolling off him in waves.
