"In a few hours, you'll be free to go back to your old life," he says finally.
"After being kidnapped from my own wedding?" I stand and walk to the window. "I think we both know I'll never be free, Renato. The question is who owns me next."
"Lorenzo will pay what he owes. His family's reputation depends on it."
"Will he? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like he already made his choice when he stepped aside and let your men take me." I turn back to face him. "He’s a fucking coward. But you know what? I almost hope he does pay."
"Why?"
"Because then I'll know exactly what I'm worth to him. Six million euros." I smile at the thought. "That's quite a compliment, don't you think? To be valued so highly?"
"You're not like anyone I've ever met," he says finally.
"I certainly hope not. Where would be the fun in that?"
The word 'fun' makes his eyebrows raise slightly. As if the idea of me finding any part of this situation entertaining is incomprehensible.
"You find this situation amusing?"
"I find it illuminating in many ways." I lean forward slightly. "For the first time in my life, I'm having a conversation with a man who sees me as an opponent. You have power over me physically, yes. But intellectually? Strategically?" I tilt my head. "I think we're very well matched."
Something dangerous flickers in his dark eyes. "You're playing a game."
"We're both playing a game. The question is whether we're playing by the same rules."
Before he can respond, his phone buzzes. He glances at it, and I see his expression shift to something more businesslike.
"Duty calls?" I ask.
"Something like that." He stands, checking his watch. "Your freedom should be confirmed within the next few hours."
"How exciting. I hope I’m not expected to go through with another one of those dreadful weddings to make it official." I remain seated, looking up at him with what I hope appears to be mild interest rather than the intense calculation it actually is. "Will you miss me when I’m gone?"
The question catches him off guard. "Miss you?"
"Meeting you has been interesting. You’ll miss me when I’m gone. Perhaps we'll meet again sometime, under different circumstances."
"Perhaps."
But I can hear the doubt in his voice. Men like him don't socialize with women like me. After today, I'll return to my world of charity galas and society pages, and he'll return to his world of underworld business deals and violence.
Unless Lorenzo doesn't pay.
He walks to the door. "Goodbye, Renato," I say. "It's truly been educational."
I listen to his footsteps as he leaves, the lock clicking shut behind him. Then I return to the bed and wait.
Because I have a feeling this conversation isn't over.
And despite everything—the kidnapping, the fear, the uncertainty—I can’t shake the feeling he’s coming back.
Chapter 8: Renato
The call comes at 11:47 AM, thirteen minutes before my deadline.
I'm in my study reviewing investment portfolios, planning how to reinvest the six million euros that should be hitting my accounts within the hour. The Rossi money will fund three new shipping operations and a real estate acquisition in Monaco. Clean, profitable, professional.
"Renato Vitiello,” I answer.
