The locked door in front of me opens, and a shadowy figure throws a plastic bottle at me. Because I’m so numb with fear and cold, I don’t react fast enough, and it hits me on the cheek. Pain explodes across my face, but the figure doesn’t say a word.
As I scramble to grab the bottle, the door closes, plunging me into darkness once again. I’m so thirsty that I break the bottle seal and gulp the contents down in seconds. It’s tepid and tastes of minerals, but it’s not unpleasant.
When nobody else comes, I wrap the blanket around me and try to rest while praying someone comes to save me. It’s a forlorn hope.
For all I know, Angelo has grown tired of me and he’s the reason I’m stuck in this room below Castle Dracula. It’s not likewe’ve enjoyed a happy marriage so far, and divorce is expensive these days.
Maybe he decided it was cheaper to stage a kidnapping and get rid of me that way. Less messy and no chance of an inconvenient body floating in on the evening tide.
But the more I think about it, the more that story makes no sense. Carlo hinted that someone unknown had paid him off.
All this must link to the strange deposits in the accounts. I know Kane had hired a tech expert to trace the transactions, so does Angelo think an enemy is trying to frame him for fraud or money laundering?
Perhaps this shadowy individual is behind my kidnapping?
The best-case scenario here is that I’m being ransomed in return for a cash payment. Angelo is rich, so it’s possible a deranged idiot could have kidnapped me in the hope he’d get paid to send me back.
At least if this is a kidnapping plot, I’m unlikely to be hurt.
Unless the kidnapper wants to send physical evidence, such as a finger.
My stomach heaves at the idea of someone chopping my fingers off. Only the knowledge I’d have to use the bucket stops me from vomiting.
Be brave, Chiara.
Coco and Felix need me.
Will Angelo look after them?
He’d better, or I’ll torment him from the afterlife if anything bad happens to me.
My thoughts drift as the hours tick by and the room grows colder.
Does Luka know I’m missing?
Does he care?
Tears drip down my cheeks in icy rivulets, but I wipe them away with the sleeve of my shirt. There’s no point in crying. It won’t get me out of here.
Fear turns to anger.
This is all Angelo’s fault!
If he’d left me alone in my shitty job down in Texas, I’d be fine. Broke and overworked, sure, but safe. And safe, broke, and overworked is a fucking lot better than kidnapped by a deranged nutcase and locked in a cold, damp room awaiting some godawful fate.
I resolve to tell Angelo exactly what I think of him when he rescues me.
And he better fucking rescue me or I’ll find a way out, hunt him down, and kill the bastard myself.
It’s pitch dark when a man next unlocks my door, slamming it against the stone wall. Despite the cold, I’m dozing, and the sudden jarring noise makes me scream. He laughs.
“You won’t last long, bunny,” he sneers. At least I think that’s what he says. The thick accent means the words are difficult to interpret.
“I’m hungry.” After being given only one small bottle of water, I’m starving as well as dehydrated.
“I’ll notify management,” the man snaps with an eye roll. “Now move.” When I refuse, he reaches down and grabs my wrist. My self-preservation instinct kicks in and I lash out, my one remaining sneaker catching his arm. He grunts but otherwise doesn’t react.
“Let me go!” I struggle hard, but it’s useless. The man is massive. A wall of thick muscle beneath his jacket.
