“What am I going to wear?”
“What you’re wearing now.”
“Then you will have to put up with my stink when I begin to fester.”
She heard his exasperated intake of breath and smiled to herself, a smile that widened when his driver pulled up in front of high, electric gates cut in an arch through a spectacular period building. The gates opened slowly, and then they were driving through them and into a large courtyard with a lit-up fountain centrepiece. She was trying to discern what the statue in the fountain was when they entered a large garage so brightly lit that she blinked to clear her eyes of the glare. Four other cars were already parked in there. None of them was anything like her little Fiat, so she couldn’t guess what they were other than clearly expensive.
The driver opened her door, and as she stepped out, three heavily armed men emerged from a hidden door. Gino and the two lackies he’d kidnapped her with spoke briefly with the new men, all six of them continuously glancing her way. She supposed that was because they were talking about her, or maybe it was because they could feel the death stares she was openly giving them. They deserved her death stares. Even if they hadn’t all conspired to kidnap her, she didn’t doubt they were all conspiring to ensure her family couldn’t rescue her.
After a few minutes of talk, Gino put his eye to a screen by what she guessed was an elevator, then caught her eye and beckoned her with his head.
She made no effort to move.
The elevator door opened.
He beckoned her again.
She folded her arms over her chest.
His handsome features tightened. “Come, Miss Marino.”
“Oh, you want me to come with you?” She bestowed him with her sweetest smile and sprang towards him. “You should have said.”
Francesca had been on the receiving end of filthy looks before, usually from her brother, but never one that made her feel she should drop down dead from it.
Laughing, she zipped past him into the elevator.
His entire body taut with restrained temper, he joined her and stabbed the top of only two buttons.
“It’s hard to believe you’re the same man who kidnapped me with such suave politeness,” she said cheerfully as the doors closed them in. “Have you ever considered anger management?”
He met her stare through the mirrored door. “Have you ever considered sewing your mouth together?”
“It must infuriate you that you can’t do it yourself.”
“Like you wouldn’t believe.”
She grinned. “You’re very big, aren’t you?” She’d been aware of his size from the first glance, but only now, viewing them side-by-side, did she appreciate just how great the discrepancy between them was. Francesca had inherited her mother’s shortness, whereas Gino had to be at least as tall as her male Esposito cousins. She didn’t even reach his shoulder.
“And you’re small enough for me to stuff in a box,” he growled.
The elevator stopped. The door opened into a small room where two more heavily armed men were waiting for them. On the table were thermos flasks and plastic boxes she guessed were filled with food. There was also a large open laptop, the screen filled with images of the building’s perimeter.
After exchanging a few words with the men, her kidnapper put his eye to the screen by the steel door. It swung open. He extended an arm. “After you,” he said to her.
Too excited to see the interior to bother winding him up again, Francesca skipped through the door and found herself in a gorgeously opulent apartment.
Ignoring the two armed men guarding the interior, she cut through to a large living area. Turning slowly, she took in the French doors, the abundance of high sash windows and spectacular views, the high ceiling and the masculine luxury seeping through it all. “Wow. And they say crime doesn’t pay.”
“My nightclubs are the most exclusive in Europe.”
“No need to be defensive, Mr Vicario. The house I live in is paid for with the proceeds of crime.” Heading through a wide arch, she found herself in a glorious dining room, another arch taking her to a smaller living room.
Strangely, she was very much aware of Gino silently following her through his home in a way she hadn’t been when confined beside him in the cabin of his car. Her senses seemed to have tuned in to his footsteps, his breaths, his very presence, and suddenly she found herself in need of fresh air and turned the handle of the nearest French door. The balcony looked incredibly inviting, but the door wouldn’t open.
“It’s locked,” he intoned.
“Can you unlock it?”
