"What if I scream?" she asks quietly. "What if I try to run?"
"Then I'll stop you." I meet her eyes, and I let her see exactly how serious I am. "And you won't like how I do it."
Riley walks into the room and I shut the door behind her, and I don't bother locking it. She's not going anywhere, and even if she did, she knows what will happen.
I can rest peacefully tonight knowing that in a matter of time, my records will be restored and my accounts will be back on track. And I'll have Riley Maddox to thank for that.
And if she can't do it, I'll find someone who will.
Lombardi is out of the way now.
All that's left is to repair the damage.
5
RILEY
After a half hour of pacing and wondering how on earth I could escape this situation, I was too exhausted to stay awake and fight it. I shucked my jacket and shoes and curled into a ball on this lumpy bed to crash out and dreamed of waking to find the dead man from my trunk putting me on trial for his murder.
Let me tell you—not a good dream to have.
With the light coming in the window now past dawn, I see the room isn't all bad, and the reason for the lumpy bed is a thick sash strewn across it for decoration. I was so tired, I never even pulled the covers over my body. Now the burgundy bedspread is wrinkled and dips in the center where I slept hard.
The house is quiet, though. I don't hear any noises at all other than the faint whisper of the central air pushing heat into the room. Even outside is quiet too, which doesn't surprise me. As I look out the window, pushing myself up, I see large, thick snowflakes falling and sticking. Traffic is always muted by a blanket of snow over the city.
My head is still cluttered with a lot of "what if" questions. Whoever Rafe is, he seems to have a lot of people working for him, and that often means money and power. He made it clear he's a Ferretti, and anyone who knows anything about the West Side knows the Ferrettis control everything here. But if he was the real man in charge, I'd have heard his name before. I'm sure of it.
My legs drape across the side of the bed and brush my duffel bag, dropped there before I started my pacing last night. My shoes lie beside it, my coat across the corner of the bed. I'm chilled, and my stomach is rumbling. If I can't get out of here, this man is going to have to get me coffee at the very least. I don’t need a splitting headache from lack of caffeine. As it stands, my head is already starting to feel tight.
And I wonder what my family is doing right now. Lila may not have even checked her email yet. They've probably already tried my phone multiple times. I promised Dad I’d check in every hour or so to keep them updated on my progress through the night knowing there'd be snowfall. I'm not sure how Rafe thinks he'll get away with this when I spoke to my family just a few days ago to confirm plans. No way I'd ever shift gears like that so suddenly.
They know it and I know it, so as I slide my feet into my sneakers and put my jacket back on, I stand with a bit more confidence knowing my family is going to look for me. I won’t do anything that will make Rafe think I'm disobeying him, because he'll hurt Lila or any number of my family members. But that doesn't mean Karma can't just work behind the scenes.
When I manage to summon the courage to pick up my duffel bag and walk into the living room, hoping I'm alone and I can just walk out the front door, I see Mr. Rafe Ferretti seated at his deskwith his laptop open and a mug of coffee next to him, steaming its delicious aroma into the air. It simultaneously makes me groan in frustration and my mouth water. He looks up at me as I stalk out and drop my bag by the end of the sectional.
"Good morning, Ms. Maddox. Did you sleep well?" The chair squeaks as he rotates the seat around to face me, and he calmly crosses one leg over the other as he nudges the coffee with one finger an inch closer in my direction.
"Do you think I'd sleep well in this house when I know you'll murder my family if I complain?" I'm snarky and I don't even care. He's the one who's kept me locked up overnight. He can deal with my morning attitude. If he doesn't want me to be moody, he should let me go.
My sneakers slap the floor as I walk over and pick up the coffee. From this angle I can see he has a second mug, half-empty, next to him on the other side of the computer. It appears he's been working here for a little while, though this mug is still steaming. Maybe he expected me to wake up?
"Well, I attempted to make your stay as comfortable as was reasonably possible, given the situation. I hope you were warm enough…"
"Cut the crap, Ferretti," I grunt before taking a long swig of the hot coffee. It's not hot enough to burn, which tells me it's been sitting probably about ten minutes. Just the way I like it, too, which makes me that much more salty with the man. I don't want to enjoy any part of this.
Rafe chuckles and gestures at the sectional as he picks up his coffee and starts to stand. "What crap? I'm trying to be hospitable."
I'm seething already. I never wake up on the wrong side of the bed. But then, I've never woken up being someone else's prisoner before, either. So there's a first time for everything.
"You're putting on some sort of act to make me think you're this nice guy when I see right through it." I follow him, stalking to the end of the couch closest to my bag while Rafe waits for me to settle. Then he sits one cushion away from me, leaving a respectable distance. "Just tell me what the fuck I have to do so I can get it over with and go home."
"Oh, I thought we could chat for a moment first… Get to know one another better." Rafe runs a cool hand through his tousled hair and the hem of his T-shirt rides up, exposing bronze skin and a hint of more ink there on his midriff. My eyes don't miss a thing, and I hate my body for feeling warmer now because of it.
"Do I need to know things about you to do this job?" I steal my eyes away, drinking more of the coffee to keep myself from drooling. He may be a criminal and a sadistic son of a bitch, but he's damn good looking.
"Well, no, but it may help your motivation. And I find it helps a working relationship if you take the time to know who you're working with." The way he relaxes against the back of the sofa, stretching his arm out almost close enough to touch me, has his body lengthened out. One leg drapes over the other casually and his shoulders angle toward me. He looks so at ease, so calm, like we're old friends visiting and not a crime lord and his captive.
"I'm not working for you. You are forcing me to do a job, and then I'm going home." I have less confidence about that fact now than I did twenty minutes ago, but I still say it as firmly as I can.
