Page 1 of Brutal Captivity

one

“You’re not supposed to be here.”- Callisto

Early Tuesday Morning….

Myfootstepspaddownthe floating stairway, the Brazilian Cherry wood cool under my toes as I grip the glass railing in the dark. I try to swallow, but my mouth is too dry to produce saliva. I walk into the kitchen, grabbing a glass from the cabinet next to the refrigerator. I glance at the clock on the oven. It’s the middle of the night.

I rub my eyes. I never wake up in the middle of the night. I wonder what woke me. I shrug, pushing away the thought, and open the built-in refrigerator. I glare at the French labels on the water. If my father hadn't dragged me back to the States by my trust fund the second I finished my degree, I'd be drinking this in Tuscany right now. The lights flicker. I freeze. That’s never happened before, but maybe it is nothing. I bought this house a few months ago.

I look around the dimly lit kitchen, trying to determine if something is off or if it’s my imagination. The Baccarat crystal vase sits in the middle of the kitchen island, an arrangement of fresh flowers perfectly placed inside. The Brazilian cherry wood cabinets are all shut tightly, as I had left them. I look over at the security system on the wall. It’s blinking. Blinking. I have never seen it blink before.

“Che significa?” I mutter in Italian. What does that mean? I walk closer to it, leaving the refrigerator open for the extra light. As I approach the device, it stops blinking. I stare at a blank screen, trying to make sense of it.

With a ringed finger, I reach for the screen and touch it, attempting to wake it up. It stays dark, nothing happening. I tap it again.

Nothing.

My fingers trace the sides, searching for a button. I find one on the bottom and press it a couple of times.

Nothing.

I hold it down for fifteen seconds.

Nothing.

The hairs on the nape of my neck stand to attention. With a shaking hand, I reach into the pocket of my robe, but I left my cell phone upstairs.

I turn from the security system, intending to go back upstairs and call my head of security, but I smell something. It’s the complete opposite of what my house normally smells like, but I know the smell well. I sniff the air, the distinct smell of cigarette smoke lingering. While they love their cigarettes in Italy, I never picked up the habit. It bothers my asthma too much, so no one is allowed to smoke inside the house.

I follow the smell, determined to fire whatever security guard is breaking my rule. The smell leads to my garage. I stare at the door, trying to decide if I should take a look or run upstairs for my phone. I take a deep breath and reach for the handle with a shaking hand. I quietly open it, wanting to catch the person red-handed.

I peek my head into the garage. The smell of cigarettes is stronger here, cutting through the sterile, climate-controlled air. My cars are all sitting where I had left them, untouched, but there is a chill in the air. I can’t see the entire garage from my location, so I take another deep breath and force myself to step through the threshold.

My feet freeze on the cold floor, but I take one slow step after another, until the entirety of the garage comes into view. A cold wind nips at my neck. I pull my robe tighter around my body, stepping closer to my rose gold Mercedes. I look to the left, finally figuring out where the winter breeze comes from. The garage door is open. I know I didn’t leave that open. I turn around and run back into the house, shutting the door firmly behind me.

I take a couple of deep breaths to calm my racing heart. I’m sure it’s nothing. One of the security guards probably opened it because they wanted to smoke but didn’t want to be out in the harsh wind. I need to go upstairs, get my phone, and call Gregory, my head of security. The fifty-year-old man may be a little gruff and rough around the edges, but he seems protective of me. More so than my own father. I shake that thought from my head and turn around on my heel, intending to go toward the stairs.

As I pass the kitchen, the tightly shut refrigerator door catches my eye. I didn’t shut it. I left it open for light. I am definitely not alone. I tell myself not to panic, that it’s probably one of my security men checking on the property since the security system is acting strange. I freeze at the sound of footsteps behind me. I wipe my clammy hands on my robe, trying to stop the tremor threatening to overtake my entire body.

I take a deep breath, preparing myself. I slowly turn around as the footsteps draw closer. I jump as a tall figure, still hidden in shadows, emerges from the direction of my leisure room. I open my mouth to scream but nothing comes out. My whole body is frozen in place. The figure puts up his hands, placating.

“It’s me, boss. Nico.” My personal assistant steps into the light, holding his hands up in front of him like he would approach a wild animal. I let out a breath and clutch my chest, bending at the waist as I heave in more breath.

“Nico.Mi hai spaventato,” I finally manage to get out as I straighten my spine. He looks as frightened as me, his brown eyes wide. His dark hair, almost the same shade as mine, is messy because he just woke up. He lives on the property, in my guest house, so that he can be here anytime I need him. I’m thankful for that at this exact moment.

“You know I don’t speak Italian, boss,” Nico says, a look of worry creasing his features. Nico knows me well enough to know I only speak Italian when I’m upset, exhausted, or under the influence.

“I know. I’m sorry. I just said that you scared me.” My thundering heart is now slowing down to a somewhat normal speed. I swallow dryly, wishing I had poured a glass of my sparkling water after all.

“I apologize, sir. I woke up to a loud banging sound coming from the house. I thought maybe you had fallen or something, so I rushed over to investigate. I noticed the refrigerator was open and panicked,” he explains, gesturing toward the refrigerator.

“Yeah. I left it open for some extra light. I smelled smoke and went to the garage. I saw the garage door was open. I don’t know what’s going on, but something feels off, Nico,” I say, glancing around, getting the feeling we aren’t alone. I look over at the security system. It is still blank. It hasn’t rebooted. Goosebumps erupt on my arms and my stomach does a somersault. I feel ill.

“I messaged Greg after I saw the fridge.” Nico holds up his phone.

“Did he respond?" I ask anxiously.

“Oh. I forgot to look. I got distracted when I saw you.” Nico unlocks his phone and taps the screen. His brows crease in confusion. He looks back up at me, alarm written all over his face. “It says it’s unread.”