"You just what?"
"I left all my stuff in Edinburgh."
He shakes his head. "No you didn't. I had it packed and put on the plane before I picked you up."
The audacity floors me. "If I'd gone home and found everything gone, I'd have thought I'd been robbed."
"For six pairs of granny pants and an Egon Schiele t-shirt?" Adriano scoffs. "Are Scottish thieves so desperate?"
I don't bother telling him that my mom bought the t-shirt for me when we visited the Leopold Museum in Vienna and I don't want to discuss the sorry state of my underwear with him.
Dressing sexily was the last thing on my mind as I moved from one place to the next, waiting for the clammy hand of death to land on my shoulder. Of course, the hand isn't clammy, nor is it on my shoulder. It's wrapped firmly around my upper arm and starting to make me think I'll be left with a bruise.
"What is this place?" I ask as we move toward a wide staircase.
"My home."
"Why am I here?"
He doesn't answer. He just takes me upstairs and marches me to the end of a long corridor. The house doesn't feel lived in. It's like a model home with carefully curated artwork on the walls. I doubt Adriano picked out any of it. I wonder if he even likes it.
From what I've seen of him so far he doesn't strike me as the sort of man who craves a sterile environment. Someone who chooses a cinnamon bun surely prefers more comfort. Who knows? Perhaps his private spaces are filled with soft furnishings and pictures of cute little animals. I doubt it, though.
The room he shows me into is large but sparsely furnished with just a metal-framed king-sized bed and a nightstand that looks like it was a filing cabinet in a past life. The walls, floor and curtains are all white. I'm guessing Adriano doesn't plan to kill me in here. Blood would be impossible to wash out of this carpet.
He turns me so my back is to him and a moment later I'm freed from the harsh metal cuffs. I bring my arms forward slowly, ignoring the ache in my shoulders.
"If you try anything," Adriano warns. "I will chain you to the bed until you learn to behave."
A beat passes before I realize he's expecting a response. "Understood."
He looks at me for a moment as if trying to decide if I mean it. I do. The last thing I want is to incur punishment from this man. The gleam in his eye tells me he'd relish a challenge.
"You can go out onto the balcony, but the grounds are patrolled and any escape attempt will be detected before you can make it across the lawn."
"I won't try to escape," I say wearily. Why would I, at this stage? If I'd intended to run I'd have done it in Edinburgh where I had a fighting chance of getting away.
As silence stretches between us, my stomach chooses the moment to growl loudly. I haven't eaten since breakfast and that was just a banana and a slice of toast. Adriano studies my face for a moment, then turns and leaves without another word.
A strange whirring sound tells me an electronic lock engaged when he closed the door. It seems my prison cell is spacious and high tech.
Now that he's gone, I take the opportunity to look around. There's a door on the other side of the room that leads into a closet. Beyond that is another door, through which I find a marble-floored bathroom with an egg-shaped tub. It’s very fancy. I wonder if I'll get the chance to use it. Are prisoners given bathing privileges at Casa Adriano?
In the far corner, there's a shower area with a rainfall attachment overhead. I turn and stare at the empty shelves and rails in the closet and imagine them filled with clothes. It would take more money than I'll make in a lifetime.
When I'm done fantasizing about silk gowns and designer shoes, I head back out into the bedroom. There's a black object on the ceiling above the bed and it takes me a moment to realize it's a projector for watching television. I look in the drawers of the nightstand but don't find a controller for it.
There is, however, a bottle of lube, some handcuffs of a more playful variety than the ones I had on in the car, and enough condoms to protect everyone at a Roman emperor's orgy.
Closing down thoughts about why those items are in the room I've been placed in, I shut the drawer and go to the door leading onto the terrace. It slides open easily and I step outside. The evening air is cool and there's a delicate milky scent in the air that tells me there are fig trees nearby.
I lean on the railing and look down. It's quite a drop, with nothing to break my fall. Movement in the corner of my eye draws my attention to the right and I see a man who's openlycarrying a gun that looks like it belongs on the frontlines of a war, not at a country house.
Suddenly being out here isn't so attractive. I back away into the bedroom and close the door. I go to sit on the bed. A few minutes pass before the whirring sound alerts me to the door opening.
Adriano comes in. He has a black garbage bag in one hand and a plate with some food on it in the other. There's a bottle of water tucked under his arm. He walks over and drops the bag at my feet.
"Your things. Put them away. I don't like clutter."
