He leads me through the villa with the easy confidence of a man showing off his domain. The halls are wide and elegant, linedwith expensive art and antique furniture. Everything speaks of wealth, taste, and power.
"The main floor," he explains as we walk. "My offices, the library, formal entertaining spaces. You won't be given access to it."
"Because I'm not a guest."
"Exactly. You’re valuable cargo with a limited stay."
We pass a large salon with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the lake. The view is even more spectacular from here, the mountains reflected in the darkening water.
"The view is breathtaking," I murmur despite myself.
"I thought you'd appreciate it. The view from your room is nice, but this is the real showcase." He pauses by the windows. "The villa was built in 1847 by a Milanese textile baron. He wanted a retreat where he could display his wealth without interference from business rivals."
"And now it's your retreat for displaying your power over kidnapped women."
"Now it's my retreat for conducting delicate business without interference from authorities." He turns to face me. "There's a difference."
"Is there? And what might that be?"
"Intent. The textile baron wanted to show off. I want to be left alone."
We continue the tour through a library lined with leather-bound books, a wine cellar filled with rare, expensive bottles, and finally to the dining room.
"Impressive," I admit, taking in the crystal chandelier and mahogany table set for two.
"I believe in quality." He pulls out my chair with old-world courtesy. "In all things."
The dinner that follows is surreal. We have a civilized conversation over expensive food while my captor explains the finer points of his business philosophy. The scallops are perfectly prepared, and Renato is surprisingly knowledgeable about art and literature.
"You seem surprised," he observes, cutting into his beef.
"I am. You're not what I expected."
"What did you expect?"
"A thug. Someone crude and violent."
"Violence is a tool, not a personality trait. I prefer more sophisticated approaches when they work. And when they don’t, violence is always a solid second choice."
"You mean kidnapping women from their weddings?"
"More like leveraging psychological pressure to achieve business objectives." He takes a sip of wine. "Speaking of which, your families should be receiving my terms about now."
My stomach tightens. "What terms?"
"Payment schedules. Account information. Consequences for non-compliance." His dark eyes study my face. "Standard procedure. Nothing to be concerned about."
"And if they don't comply?"
"As I’ve told you before, then we explore alternative arrangements."
I set down my fork. "Stop speaking in euphemisms. Tell me the truth. What alternative arrangements are you talking about?"
"The kind that ensure I don't lose money on this investment." He signals to someone I can't see, and moments later a server appears with a cloth-covered cart.
"I have something special for you to enjoy as dessert," he announces, pulling away the white cloth.
Oh my God. My wedding cake made of several stacked tiers of pristine white fondant with pink sugar flowers, slightly damaged from transport, but still recognizable. The bride and groom figures on top lean at drunken angles.
