I flick my gaze in the man’s direction, taking in his burly appearance. It was difficult to make out his face in the shadows when I first saw him, and the light in the room is dim, but it’s enough. He’s all muscle, his arms the size of my thighs, and his body is just as wide as it is tall. There’s a shadow of stubble covering his square jaw, and it matches the mop of black hair on his spherical head.
Intense satisfaction warms my cold insides at the sight of the bandage on his hand where I stabbed him.
The other guy is the first one’s opposite in every way. Tall and lanky with sandy-blonde hair that’s in a ponytail at the nape of his neck. “I’m being cautious is all.”
“Caution is for men without balls. Get on with it.”
Keeping one ear tuned to their asinine conversation, I methodically check my body for injuries. The worst is the headache, and I’m grateful for the low lighting as well as the way it gives me the illusion of obscuration, however minuscule. My wrists are pretty bad off, and I worry about the minimal circulation in them and also in my ankles. Even if I was cut free this minute, I’m not sure I could run without falling. I flex my arms and legs just the slightest bit, and there isn’t much give on the bindings.
Knowing I have to wait is torture. However, not knowing what I’m waiting for? That’s almost unbearable. Who are these men, and why am I here? Did they kill Otello, since he was supposed to be guarding me? Those questions are the easy ones to think on and panic over. The harder ones, the ones that make me want to weep, are different. Will I be killed immediately or is there a chance I could make it out of here alive? What will Maximus do when he finds out I’ve been taken?
Does he even care?
My heart squeezes in agony. Of course he doesn’t care. At least not in the way I want him to. He might be upset that his toy was stolen, but if I don’t offer something beyond sex, then why would he? The fact I’m his wife could propel him to take action in order to save face with the rest of the underworld. Knowing Maximus? He probably doesn’t give a shit what anyone thinks of him or my status as his wife.
The idea of my husband not coming for me has my soul leaving me in a rush, like a winter wind bringing with it the chill of emptiness.
But given the opportunity, I’ll do whatever I can to escape, because even though Maximus doesn’t want me, I still value myself and my life. My time with him, however brief, taught me a lot about myself I wasn’t aware of. I’m strong. Not in the physical sense, but my mental capacity for resilience is incredible. No matter what misfortune has come my way, I’ve had the fortitude to get through it. My time in Paris revealed how knowledgeable I am and my capacity to learn, which will ensure I can support myself with the skills I possess. And lastly, I’m not completely broken, since I am able to love. I was very close with Maximus, and the fact I was able to generate those feelings for him leaves me stunned. I didn’t think I had it inside me to be vulnerable to the point I was willing to consider emotional attachment.
And that’s the thing about love: you can’t deliberate it, suppress it, or control it.
Love is the most illogical emotion but absolutely the most meaningful.
The opening of the office door startles me. In walks a clean-shaven man wearing a dress shirt and pants. His pale-blue eyes remind me of tiny buttons, hard and flat, but when they land on me, I drop my gaze to the cell phone in his hand.
“Wake her up,” he says.
I lift my head, not wanting to give any one of them a reason to touch me.
The bulky male pushes away from the chair and comes over to me, swallowing up my tiny frame with his large shadow. “What do you need her to do, boss?”
The newcomer holds out the phone and dips his chin in its direction.
“Someone wants to speak to you,” the brute says to me in English, “but make it quick or I’ll cut out your tongue. Do you understand?”
I nod, and he puts the cell phone on speaker, placing it near my mouth.
“Emilia?”
At the sound of Maximus’s voice, I nearly break down. He wants to make sure I’m alive, so that has to mean something. “I’m here.” The words come out cracked, and I clear my throat in preparation to speak again.
“Are you hurt?” he asks.
The boss cuts in before I can answer. He’s not close to the phone, but his voice carries to me. “This is taking too long, Silvestri. You have one final question to gain confirmation, and then we’ll return to the real business at hand.”
“Very well,” Maximus says. “Emilia, I need you to say something out of the ordinary and make sure it’s nothing they could’ve forced you to say so I know it’s not a generic recording and actually you.”
I wrack my brain for something in desperation, and memories flood my mind until I’m drowning in them. There’s nothing we’ve done in France that couldn’t have been reported back to these people, and our time back in Chicago was filled with sex, which isn’t original at all.
“Time’s up, Silvestri. I can’t help it your wife is incompetent.”
I suck in a breath and let it loose on a scream, hoping I’m not too late. “Ragazza solare!”
“You have two hours,” the boss says.
And the line goes dead.
* * *
