We reach the aforementioned chateau. Its sprawling walls are painted white, and red terracotta tiles seal the roof. Four other outbuildings include the caretaker's apartment, the guest house, an apartment for temporary workers, and a winery for onsite grape processing. We never use the latter, at least in our Italian vineyards. We’ve converted some of them to stables, and others to shooting ranges. This particular one remains a winery, though it’s abandoned.
I see a curtain flick open in the caretaker’s apartment and a small mustached man in a denim work shirt and suspender pants peeks out. He quickly ducks from view when he recognizes the car. We’ve instructed him to restrict his activities to his apartment for the next week.
Luciano parks and we don our balaclavas once more. Angela still hasn’t stirred beside me.
I get out and open her door, then gently haul her outside and to her feet. She’s mostly dried off by now, though her clothes are still slightly moist. She’s no longer shivering, at least.
“I smell the ocean,” she remarks softly.
I say nothing, though I can’t help but admire her sense of smell, as I don’t notice anything. Maybe that’s because the balaclava hugs my face tighter than the bag over her head…
I gently wrap my hand around her wrist and lead her toward the chateau. I’m wearing gloves, so I don’t contact her bare skin. Probably a good thing, considering what happened earlier when I touched her.
The thing about gloves is they don’t give me as good a grip as I’d like, so when she suddenly jerks her arm away, she slips right from my grasp.
Fuck. Should have squeezed her wrist tighter.
I don’t know why I insist on trying not to hurt her.
She runs from me and raises her bound hands to rip the bag from her head. She glances over her shoulder toward me and Luciano, then takes off in the direction of the sea.
Neither Luciano nor myself make a move to pursue.
Luciano glances at me questioningly. “I’ll get some steaks?”
I nod, and then go to the expansive kennel next to the chateau’s entrance where two big mastiffs roam to and fro behind the chain-link enclosure. The dogs bark and wag their tails in greeting, recognizing my scent even though my face is masked. I pet them, but I can tell they’re hungry.
Luciano returns a moment later from the chateau, where he retrieved two fresh steaks from the fridge. I remove the butcher paper and open up the feed panel to toss the raw meat inside. Lupo and Luna tear into the steaks. They literally goggle up the food, and when they’re done, I open the main door. The dogs race out and start leaping up on me happily, thinking it’s time to play.
I dash from them, around to the far side of the chateau, where a trail leads to the ocean. Between the shrubs I can see Angela racing frantically along the beach, heading toward the neighboring property—which we also own. Her long hair streams behind her in the ocean breeze, like a mare’s tail as it gallops hard into the wind.
I kneel next to Lupo and Luna, then point at Angela.
“Prendila!” I command. Fetch.
Both dogs take off at a run. They race down the trail and dart across the sand, barking wildly.
Angela looks over her shoulder and screams when they jump on her. She falls to the sand and the dogs pin her. I know they won’t hurt her, not on a full stomach. As far as they’re concerned, they’re just playing.
I reach her, and the dogs turn their attention from Angela to me. I whistle, and they come to me. I watch Angela crawl to her feet. She keeps a wary eye on Lupo and Luna.
“Are you ready to do as I ask?” I say, forcing my voice down an octave. “Or should I tell the dogs to play with you more roughly?” I add the lie: “They haven’t eaten…”
Her gaze switches from the dogs to me, and her eyes glint with rage. Good, let her be angry.
“There’s no escape,” I continue. “We own the neighboring villas. You can’t go anywhere.”
She furiously wipes the sand off her designer jeans and says: “Fine! Let’s go.”
The dogs pause when they hear the anger in her voice, and their ears shoot straight back. But then I pet them again and Lupo and Luna are frolicking happily around me once more. They continue to do so as I grab Angela’s bound wrists by the cable tie and lead her back across the beach toward the chateau.
“For dogs that haven’t eaten, they sure seem pretty happy,” Angela mutters.
I intend to ignore the comment, but can’t help glancing at her and retorting: “That’s because they think you’re dinner.”
The words have the desired effect and she stiffens. Something else stiffens between my legs. Odd, that having such power over her should turn me on so. I suppose it doesn’t help that she no longer has the bag over her head, and her ravishing looks are on full display. She’s almost exactly like I remember her. Except more beautiful, if I’m honest with myself. Her body is much more developed, and most of the baby fat has melted away from her face.
Her dark-brown hair tumbles down to her shoulders in waves, reaching all the way to the small of her back. The ocean breeze flicks the locks to and fro like a pennant. Big green eyes sit below brows so animated they make it impossible for her to hide her emotions. I’ve watched those eyebrows of hers leap when she’s surprised, and cinch together when she’s scared. Her eyes themselves are incapable of concealing emotion, glinting between fear and hatred when she looks at me, and filling with longing when she casts her gaze out to the sea.
