Terzo smiles, and it doesn't reach his eyes at all. "Then the wedding's off permanently, isn't it?"
He stands and walks back to the others, leaving me to sit with that threat. I let my head drop forward slowly, like I'm defeated and maybe crying.
But I'm not crying. I'm not even close to crying.
I'm thinking. Calculating. Planning my next move.
The Benedettis are desperate—that much is obvious now. They wouldn't risk kidnapping the daughter of a Don unless they were backed into a corner, unless they felt they had no other options.
Desperate men make mistakes. They get sloppy, overconfident, careless.
Terzo's already made several mistakes that I've catalogued carefully. He's told me who they are, which family they represent. He's let me see their faces clearly. He's revealed what they want and why they want it.
Unless they're planning to kill me anyway, in which case none of those mistakes matter.
No. I can't think like that. Can't let fear cloud my judgment.
I test the zip ties again, slowly and carefully, using the blood as lubrication. My wrists are smaller than they probably expected when they grabbed ties from their kit. And they're slick now with blood.
If I can just get the right angle, if I can compress my thumb joint enough...
"Stop moving," Scar barks from across the room, his voice sharp with warning.
I freeze immediately, letting all movement cease. "Sorry," I mumble, keeping my head down. "My hands are going numb. It really hurts."
"Good," Terzo says without sympathy. "Maybe it'll remind you to stay still and cooperate."
I let my shoulders slump, projecting the picture of defeated compliance. But my mind is racing, analyzing everything, looking for weaknesses.
Three men. One door—old and probably loud when it opens. One window, but it's boarded up with what looks like rotting plywood.
Terzo has a gun tucked in his waistband. I saw it when he crouched down, the metal catching what little light filters into this place. The younger one probably has one too. Standard protocol for this kind of operation.
The chair I'm tied to is old and metal, but it's been here for a long time. The legs are uneven. I can feel it when I shift my weight. One of them wobbles noticeably.
The warehouse smells like oil and rust and decay. Industrial district, probably. Far from anything residential.
Even if I screamed at the top of my lungs, no one would hear me. No one would come. I'm on my own here.
Santino's coming. Maybe. If he believes this is real after all my games. If he can find me in time before something goes wrong.
Papa's mobilizing resources. But he doesn't know where I am either, doesn't have any way to track me.
And the Benedettis are getting more nervous by the minute, their confidence eroding.
Terzo keeps checking his watch obsessively. The younger one can't stop pacing back and forth. Even Scar looks tense, his jaw clenched.
They're waiting for something. A call back from their boss. Instructions on what to do next.
Which means I have a window of opportunity. A small one, but it's there.
Before the situation escalates further. Before Terzo decides I'm more trouble alive than dead. Before their boss tells them to "make an example" and send my body back as a message.
I need to get out of here.
Not because I'm some damsel in distress waiting passively for rescue. Not because I believe Santino will burst through that door like a hero in an action movie.
But because I'm Dominic Costa's daughter.
