Is he somewhere in this building, tied up like me? Or worse?
I swallow down the panic clawing at my throat like a living thing.
I can’t afford to fall apart.
The footsteps grow louder. Closer.
A man emerges from the shadows beyond the harsh circle of light. He’s not holding a weapon, which I find even more terrifying.
His confidence suggests he doesn’t need a gun to hurt me.
What strikes me first is how stupidly handsome he is. Not rugged and dangerous like Kolya, but polished, like a model who just stepped off the runway. Dark hair sweeps back from a face with features so uncannily symmetrical, they seem unreal. High cheekbones. Full lips curving in a smile that might be apologetic if it reached his eyes.
His suit probably costs more than my car. It’s not the best comparison, as a movie ticket costs more than poor Fred. But the outfit is charcoal gray, expertly tailored to broad shoulders and a narrow waist. No tie. Top button undone. A casual show of power.
“Welcome.” His cultured voice contains a hint of an accent that I don’t immediately recognize. “Sorry for the accommodations. We had to move quickly.” He circles behind me.
I tense as a cold blade slides along my skin. My breaths quicken as I brace for pain, but the blade only slices the rope.
Great, he’s armed.
“I’m Salvatore Giovanni Harrison Falcone. You can call me Gio.”
Falcone. The family Kolya mentioned. The ones hunting us, hunting me.
The ropes fall away, and blood rushes back into my hands. I bite my lip to keep from crying out over the stabbing pain. When I rub my wrists, I find the skin raw and weeping in places.
Gio prowls into my line of sight again. Using the knife, he gestures to a small table, where a chair, a sandwich on a paper plate, and a bottle of water sit. “Please.” The knife disappears up his sleeve.
A polite command, dressed up as courtesy.
Instantly, my hackles rise.
I stand on shaky legs, every muscle protesting. The few steps to the table seem like miles. Gio walks beside me with his arm out in case I need it.
I tighten my knees and cross the distance without help. When I reach my goal, I collapse into the chair, not trusting my body to hold me a second longer.
My throat is so dry that swallowing hurts, but I hesitate to grab the water bottle.
“It’s not poisoned.” Gio waves at me. “If I wanted you dead, you would be.”
My hands shake as I reach for the bottle. Moving slowly, I ensure the plastic crackles when I twist the cap to confirm the seal was intact.
The first sip of water is heaven, cool and clean on my parched tongue. I want to gulp but force myself to take small, measured drinks. My stomach churns, threatening to reject even this tiny mercy.
In this light, Gio’s eyes appear almost black.
Calculating. Assessing.
I’ve seen that same expression on Kolya.
He circles the table like a shark, flips his suit coat open with easy grace, and lowers himself into the folding chair across from me. All suave charm.
His posture is casual, one ankle resting on the opposite knee, his hands loosely clasped in his lap. But there’s nothing relaxed about the icy intelligence in his eyes. “So, Chloe, where are the diamonds? Once you tell me, we can drop you off any place you ask. Perhaps even with a finder’s fee.”
If Gio doesn’t know where the diamonds are, I sure as heck won’t tell him.
I hug myself and try to stop shaking. With the cold seeping into my bones, I’m regretting my choice of underwear. “I don’t know anything about your stupid diamonds.”
