“… join me for dinner with the Messinas tomorrow night. We’re meeting them at seven.”
I just barely caught the tail end of what Father said. “Elio’s in Ireland? What’s the occasion?”
Father sighed as if put out by the question. He probably mentioned it while I was lost in thought. “He’s coming in for the auction this weekend. It was a last-minute decision.”
“I was going to head back to Dublin in the morning,” I reminded him gently. “Finals are next week, and I have projects due, so I have some group–”
Father’s fist slammed heavily on the table, rattling the dishes and startling me enough to jump a little. He was never this expressive. And he never cared if I was around for mob business before. “I don’t give a flying fuck what you have going on. You’re coming to dinner.” His tone left no room for argument, practically snarling by the last word, as he stared with those eyes that were identical to mine. His were lifeless and cold, hard as the emeralds they resembled. They looked at me like I was nothing more than a nuisance he had to deal with and not a daughter sharing half his DNA.
I tried not to let the nervous lump in my throat sound too loud as I swallowed it down. “Of course. I’ll be ready to go by six-thirty.”
There were more made men than I was expecting at dinner. It felt a bit excessive to have six men guarding the door to the private room in the back of Bruno’s, Father’s favorite Italian restaurant, to honor our guests. It was also strange how Elio was impeccably dressed, with a burgundy suit and matching tie in a flattering cut that accentuated his broad shoulders. His wavy blond hair was slicked back in his usual style, shellacked enough to double as a helmet. I expected his sons to be here as well, hoping they would be a bit of a buffer against his leering stares and suggestive comments. Father gave the impression that the family would be here, so why was it just Elio and a ton of guards?
I chose a simple black sheath and strappy sandals, assuming this was a business dinner between allied bosses. Father hadn’t mentioned dressing up for anything special, but it certainly felt like I missed the memo. “Good evening, Mr. Messina,” I leaned in to accept the typical light kisses he pecked on either cheek, gripping my elbows as I placed my hands on his biceps. “Lovely to see you again. I hope your flight was agreeable.”
Elio didn’t let go as soon as I expected. His beefy hands, adorned with several heavy rings, gripped my arms even tighter. “Perfectly agreeable,” the answer blew across my ear where he lingered. Chills racked my spine that had nothing to do with the room’s temperature. “You look radiant as always, Lorelai. Good enough… to eat.”
As gently as I could manage, I pulled my arms out of his grasp and turned my head just a little to meet his calculating gaze. He’s always been a fucking creep. It was no secret he had plans to marry our families together. Only one of his sons, Lucio, was available; the other was just married off to anotherItalian mob daughter from the Caruso family. Lyria and Lucio were close, despite him being three years older than us. He was getting his modeling career started, but had a passion for music that rivaled my sister’s. Lyria probably wouldn’t mind marrying him, really.
Compared to her, I was ‘antisocial’, according to my father. And I had zero qualms with that.
“Thank you,” I forced myself to smile at him. “How’s the family?”
“They’re fine. Lucio was traveling for work, or he would have joined us.”
I found that incredibly hard to believe. From what Lyria told me in private, Lucio hated his father. Maybe that was the only thing we had in common. I hated Elio with the fire of a thousand suns. He looped his arm around my elbow and escorted me to the table set for three with an elaborate bouquet of roses in the center.
I stopped by the chair he led me to and pulled out. “Is there a special occasion?” One brow began to creep higher onto my forehead.
“Not particularly. I brought these for you to enjoy.”
Elio’s voice was probably meant to be smooth, but it felt slimy and opportunistic to my ears. All of a sudden, my skin where his hand wrapped around mine crawled at the contact. Every instinct was screaming at me to get the fuck out of here. Whatever discussion was about to happen was one I wanted no part of. Not with these romantic gestures from a man over fifty years my senior, who was giving me this predatory smile.
Trying to distract myself from the mounting paranoia making my pulse speed up, I took a healthy swallow of the champagne already served beside the empty dinner setting. The taste made my nose wrinkle. There was some kind of bitter aftertaste right at the back of my tongue. I wasn’t much of adrinker in general, so I had little opinion on the qualities of champagnes, but this was one of the worst ones I’d ever tasted.
Elio lifted his own glass in a small toast and took his own drink of it. “Not to your liking?” The question was innocent enough. Paired with that intense stare, however, made it insinuate something else I couldn’t quite grasp. “I picked it myself.”
It took everything I had not to come back with some retort on the correlation to a shitty tasting champagne and anything to do with him. “Maybe it’s a little dry for my liking,” I offered.
Father rested both elbows on the table and steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “Let’s talk business. Lorelai will be getting more... involved in the sales, so I’d like for her to be included in discussions between us.”
“Of course.” Elio smiled, showing more teeth than necessary. “Let’s chat.”
My eyes struggled to open. It felt like they had been sewn shut with how heavy they were. A throbbing pain split my head and scrambled my thoughts, beating in time with my pounding heart. “Ugh,” I moaned and tried to move whatever part of my body would respond. Something cold pressed against my skin where I was curled up on my side. A lot of skin was exposed to the cold.
Where the fuck were my clothes?
Head lolling to the side, I finally managed to flop onto my back with a hardthudas my shoulder slammed against the floor. My legs were bent, but when I tried to straighten them, I kicked a hard wall with my bare feet. The dull pain jostled my consciousness, bringing me closer to functional as I managedto squint my eyes open. The realization hit me too soon of exactly where I had ended up.
I was in a fucking metal box. The same kind Father used to store his ‘merchandise’ for auctions that were strong enough to hold shifters. Holes were drilled into the top, letting small beams of light no wider than my pointer finger pierce the dark. There would be a padlock on the outside, keeping the lid shut. My blood chilled, even as my heart began to race and pump adrenaline through my veins like gasoline for the fire of my rage that followed. I thrashed hard against the walls that felt like they were closing in.
“Get me the fuck outta here!” I screamed my head off. “Let me out, you bastards! I’m Lorelai McGregor!”
My box muffled the chuckle of a man nearby. “We know who you are, bitch,” he answered. “Who do you think put you in that box, hmm?”
I couldn’t breathe, and my muscles froze in shock. My eyes refused to blink as I stared up at the small holes until they burned and watered from the dryness. “No…” The denial squeezed past the tightness in my chest. “No, no, nonononono!”
The box rocked a little when I began slamming my shoulders against either side with all my strength. It was too heavy to topple over. Nails scrabbled against the smooth metal, barely able to catch on the welded seams. Still, I tried flipping over onto my hands and knees to ram my back against the lid in a fruitless attempt to bust out. Theclank, clankof the lock hitting the side was the only indication I’d done anything at all, and even that only proved how soundly I was trapped in here.
