I gently pulled away and stared up into his big green eyes. “It was really, really nice meeting you, Horse.”
He brushed the hair from the side of my face. “You, too, Princess Leah. May the force be with you.”
I laughed and then shook my head. He was a nice guy. Strangely warped by his criminal family, but nice.
He pulled a card from his pocket and handed it to me. “Call me if you’re ever in Rome again.”
“Will do. Goodnight.”
I slipped into the hotel lobby and made my way up to my sad little everything-brown-to-hide-the-grime room. I stripped off my clothes and headed straight for a hot shower. I didn’t know where I’d be going in the morning—there was no point going to see my father and asking for his help any longer—but I wanted to find a quiet town filled with nice people where I could forget I’d ever met Paolo.
As soon as I was done washing off the stench of cigar and sleazeball, I would start researching places to go. Maybe a small town in Florida or somewhere north in Canada. The only thing that mattered was finding a place to cry where no one could see me do it. I felt so ashamed about having loved someone who’d throw me away like that.
I shut off the shower and stepped out, wrapping a sad little hotel towel—about two-thirds the size of a regular bath towel—partially around my midriff. What was with this hotel? Were they trying to save money by buying child-size stuff?
I heard a faint rustle in the other room and froze. Oh shit. I’d left the bathroom door slightly ajar, so I leaned forward a bit to see if anything or anyone was visible. There was nothing but the view of the brown bedspread. I looked around the bathroom for a weapon, but…
Towel rod!
I stared at the thing for a brief moment, knowing I wouldn’t have much time to rip it from the wall and come out swinging. And I’d have to use my foot as leverage to pry it away, but that meant I’d have to give up my goddamned towel.
I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth. Either way, the towel would not be helping me. But…frigging hell. Fighting someone nude was so crazy.
Maybe it will give you an advantage. They won’t be expecting it.
I released my towel and gripped the towel rod with two hands. One, two, three! I pulled as hard as I could, jerking the thing right out of the plaster. I turned and dashed for the door, yanking it open with one hand while holding the improvised club in the other.
The moment I emerged from the bathroom, I got the surprise.
“Paolo? What are you doing here?” I growled.
His dark eyes swept my body from head to toe. “We need to talk.”
“Like hell we do!” I rushed at him and swung.
CHAPTER TEN
“You hit hard for a girl,” he growled, sitting on the bed and holding his hand to his head.
Now dressed in jeans and a tee and leaning against the small vanity next to the TV, I crossed my arms and glared. I wanted to give him another lump. “Maybe you shouldn’t sneak into girls’ hotel rooms.”
Who’s he calling a girl, anyway?
“I wanted to be sure you were alone.” He looked up at me with those cold, dark eyes, his muscular shoulders sagging a bit underneath his black suit.
“What for?”
“My father recognized you. That’s why I’m here.”
Oh shit! “Giuseppe knows who I really am?”
He nodded.
My heart began beating so hard I thought it might crack a rib. “So what’s he going to do?”
“Not him. Me.”
I jerked my head back a bit and frowned. I didn’t follow.
“You are one foolish girl.” He rose from the bed and took a step toward me.
I held out my hands. “Whoa. Excuse me? Before you go lobbing insult grenades, don’t you think you’re missing some stuff here? Like why you left me at the altar? Why you’re pretending to be Felix?”
He chuckled acerbically. “You’re insane, you know that?”
“Wait. Don’t tell me. You’re still pretending.” I shook my head at him. “You must think I’m an idiot.”
“Yes, among other things, but we don’t have time to go into all that.” He reached for my elbow. “Time to go.”
I jerked back my arm. “Asshole, I’m not going anywhere with you. And I don’t need your goddamned help to run.”
“You’re not running, Dakota.”
That was silly. What were we going to do? Fight them with a towel rod? “You don’t expect me to sit here and wait for your dad to come and chop off my head?”
“No.” He stood squarely in front of the door. “I’m here to take you to him.”
Huh? “Why would you do that?”
“How many times must I say it? I’m not Paolo. And I am not here to save you.”
Oh shit. Maybe you are insane. Maybe he isn’t Paolo. Either way, the guy was not on my side and not to be trusted.
I lunged for the towel rod on the floor.
“No you don’t!” He anticipated my move and grabbed my arm, triggering me to scream. But—dammit!—he knew that was coming, too, and slapped his hand over my mouth so quickly that my cry for help sounded like a sad little squeak as we spun around and fell back on the bed with him on top.
“Shut up and listen, Dakota,” he growled in my ear.
Hell no! I twisted my body and tried to wriggle free, but Mr. Wonderful, who was built like a lean, mean predatory animal, had really bulked up.
“Stop fighting,” he snarled in a low voice. “Accept you won’t win.”
Oh, I would win. Just not like this.
I relaxed my body and stared at him expectantly.
His chest pushed against mine as he took several vigorous breaths. “Good. Now listen carefully. I don’t want any screaming.” He removed his hand from my mouth, and his eyes drifted down to my lips, lingering for several moments.
“Don’t even think about it,” I snapped.
His eyes darted back up to meet mine. “I wasn’t.”
“Why are you pretending to be Felix?”
“I am Felix, and if you’d like me to prove it, I can.” He raised his fist and was about to pummel me.
Whatthehell? I extended my one free arm to block him, and it was then that I caught a glimpse of a tattoo—the head of a striking cobra—on the underside of his wrist.
“No! I believe you!” It wasn’t that Paolo couldn’t get a tattoo, but this one looked old and faded.
He smirked and lowered his fist. “I’m glad we understand each other. Let’s go.” He yanked me to my feet and handed me my purse from the vanity.
“Where are you taking me?” I asked, panting and completely on the verge of losing it. This situation was too goddamned weird.
He shoved me out the door. “I told you; to my father.” He dragged me down the dimly lit hall with its dark-stained carpet, the air smelling of stale cigarettes. Meanwhile, this dizzying riddle had finally tapped me out. I no longer gave a crap who he was; I just wanted to get the hell away. Far, far away.
“And before you think of running,” he added, expecting my noncompliance, “know you won’t get very far without a passport or money.” He jerked opened the door to the gritty, nasty, dark stairwell and pulled me behind him. I quickly began to think of options. There was only one: running for it the moment we hit the street.
“You took them from my purse?” I asked.
“What do you think?”
The door flung open and we poured into the narrow, dark alleyway to the side of the hotel, filled with trash cans and stacked wooden pallets.
I was about to make my move when Paolo—Felix—ugh! Whoever!—froze in his tracks. “Cazzo.”
“Cazzo. What’s that?” It couldn’t be good.
“Fuck,” he said quietly, staring down the alley to the main street.
My eyes followed the direction of his gaze. Three nasty-looking guys exited an old, green 1970s-style sedan, and one of them shoved a gun into his coat pocket. At least that’s what it looked like.
“Felix” shoved me hard against the wall and covered my mouth. “Don’t move,” he whispered.
Cazzo. I didn’t know what to think. I mean, here the guy was simultaneously threatening to punch me and planned to take me to his father, but then he was behaving like he wanted to protect me.
The men quickly disappeared out of sight as they headed to the front of the hotel, and we made our way toward the street that ran behind it.
“Who were those guys?” I asked, while Mr. “Whoever” dragged me by the hand toward a black BMW with tinted windows parked on the corner in front of a liquor store.
“Friends of my father. But unlike me, they’ll have their fun with that body of yours before handing you over.”
Uh, okay. So I was with the gentleman-gangster who intended to deliver me in a civilized and nice way to the most notorious mobster alive. Lucky me.
I jerked my hand from his and ran, knowing that freedom was only a few minutes away. That’s right. I had my ass covered: two different lockers in two different train stations in two different parts of town, both with cash, credit cards, and passports. Within fifteen minutes, I’d be either Casey Amini or Sarah Connolly.
“Dakota!” he screamed, but I didn’t bother to stop or look back. Whatever he had to say didn’t interest me.
I turned the next corner, saw a white station-wagon-like taxi waiting, and jumped in. “Stazione ferroviaria! Per favore!” Yes, I’d memorized that phrase along with…“Don’t touch my ass,” “A terrorist is trying to kill me,” and “No, I’m not a hooker.”
The driver glanced over his shoulder and slowly reached for the key.
OhmyGod! Take your sweet time! I reached over and hit the lock on the door. Paolix pounded on the window, and I made a snap decision to play the helpless woman role.
I placed my hand over my eyes. “Per favore! Per favore!” I fake-sobbed my words.
The man, about in his sixties and rotund, looked like he couldn’t care less and lived these sorts of moments on a daily basis.
Nice compassion there, buddy. Really nice.
“Stazione ferroviaria! Per favore,” I commanded.
He started the engine, and as my pursuer faded into the distance, I knew he wouldn’t be far behind. His car was less than a block away. Still, I prayed I’d get lucky.
I looked over my shoulder and saw only a few random taxis and delivery trucks on the road. Dear Lord, I promise to never do anything like this again. Just let me get out of Rome alive. I had no clue why I was praying; I mean, I wasn’t a super-religious person.
Yeah, well, when in Rome.
Two blocks from my destination, the driver made an unexpected right turn down a dark, one-way street.
“Hey! Where are you going?” I poked the driver’s shoulder hard. Of course, I had no idea if he spoke English, but he had to understand I was questioning him.
The man pointed at something ahead, cool and calm. I wondered if there was some alternate entrance for taxis into the station.
My adrenaline pumping hard, I glanced over my shoulder again, but this time, I saw the BMW. Shit. Shit. Shit.
Then the driver pulled over.
“Cazzo,” I said. It had been a trap. Mr. Whoever had anticipated I’d run. Hell, he probably had several taxis planted all around the neighborhood just waiting for me.
Mr. Whoever pulled me from the back of the taxi, and the moment I screamed he placed a moist rag over my mouth. The fumes immediately burned into my lungs, and that was the last thing I remembered.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Sometimes life hands you lemons, and you say, “Oh wow. This sucks.” And if you’re one of those optimistic sorts of people, you’ll get out the sugar and a large pitcher filled with ice.
But what the hell do you do when life hands you grenades? Do you say, “Well, at least it wasn’t an A-bomb”?
Sadly, exploding actually sounded kind of fabulous right about then. Tied to a chair in a dark room with my mouth gagged, however?
Not so fabulous.
And I was pretty dang sure from the smell of old cigars and meatballs I was back at good ol’ Rancho Abelli and Granny was in the kitchen sharpening her knives. Maybe human was her secret meatball ingredient.
Still, as I sat there, defeat staring me in the face, I refused to give up hope. There had to be a way out of that room. Alive. With my body parts. Still attached as nature intended.
Maybe “Felix” will take mercy on me. After all, he had fended off his drunk, lecherous Uncle Alberto when I’d been cornered in the bathroom. He’d also prevented me from being taken by those slimy-looking guys from the hotel.
Yeah. So he could deliver you himself and get the Guido points.
A-hole.
After a few hours, I began to accept that panicking would do me no good. I had to stay calm. But when I heard a door open and shut, heavy footsteps approaching just outside the bedroom door, my freak-out factor revved to a full-fledged ten.
This was it.
The door swung open and in stepped Felix, wearing an expensive-looking, dark suit and blood-red tie. His handsome, unshaven face stared at me for one very long, uncomfortable moment with an unreadable expression.
Suddenly, he took a deep breath and released it, as if relinquishing any internal conflict he might feel for what he was about to do.
Well, I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of begging for my life or crying. Not yet, anyway.
He stepped in front of me and looked down, shaking his head. “You just had to come, didn’t you? You just had to do this. I should’ve known you’d make a fucking mess of everything.”
I frowned and mumbled for him to remove my gag. Frankly, it was more gross than uncomfortable—where had it been before being inserted into my mouth? Had Felix blown his cokehead nose in it? Seriously. I didn’t know. But the possibilities made me sick.
Felix leaned down, close enough for me to gaze into his eyes, but not close enough for me to head-butt him. Too bad.
I focused all of my hatred toward those beautiful, dark eyes with flecks of gold, that square jaw, that perfectly straight nose, sculpted cheekbones, and…whatever. I wanted him to see that I loathed every inch of him.
Felix then smiled. “Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so pissed. I think I’ll leave you tied up for a little longer while I explain what’s going to happen next.”
I mumbled, “I gong a ki you.” I’m going to kill you.
Felix blinked. “Yes. You are definitely staying tied to that chair.” He sat on a small bed, the only other thing in the room. He loosened his tie and scratched his scruffy chin. “I’m sure you’re wondering where we are and why I brought you here. But first, before I explain, I’d like to take off that gag. I need you to promise you won’t scream.”
I nodded.
“Are you sure?”
I nodded.
“Okay. Because if you yell, I’ll have to put it back on, and I’m guessing that’s not what you want.”
I shook my head.
He leaned forward and slipped off the gag.
The relief was immediate, but I really wanted to rub my jaw. Sadly, my hands were still tied to the chair.
Felix settled back onto the bed, sitting away from me at a safe distance. “First, I want you to know you’re in my safe house.”
Safe house. His safe house. His…safe house?
“Why do you have a safe house?”
He looked at me. “I always have a safe house, Dakota. You know that.”
Ohmygod. His accent. It was there but his English sounded crisp and clean.
“Paolo?”
“Yes.”
“Is it really you?”
“Yes.”
“The entire time, it’s been you?”
“Yes.”
“But—”
He held up his hand. “I couldn’t tell you the truth. Not even last night when I showed up at your hotel. Not until I knew for sure we wouldn’t run into anyone from my fam
ily.”
I continued staring, trying to reconcile all of the things Paolo had done. What possible reasons could he have for this sadistic charade?
“Can I untie you now?” he asked.
“Yes.” So I can kill you with my bare hands.
“And you promise not to try to hurt me? At least until you’ve heard what I’ve got to say?”
“Yes.” Oh. I have no plans to hurt you; I’m going to kill you…
First, he untied my ankles from the legs of the chair, and then untied my arms. The moment I was free, I catapulted my body and reached for his throat, using my entire weight to knock him to the floor. “You sonofabitch!”
He quickly pulled me off and had me beneath him, straddling my torso, pinning my arms above my head. “Calm down, Dakota!”
“Calm down? You want me to…calm down!” He’d made me fear for my life! He’d abducted me from a taxi. He’d threatened to punch me! And…he’d left me. Stone cold left me.
“Yes. Because I need to get you out of the city, and I don’t have time for this.”
I squirmed and fought him. “Get off of me!” I growled.
“Fine.” He released my arms but remained sitting on top of me. “No more hitting.”
“So it’s okay for you to punch me, but not the other way around? What if I call you a bitch or ask you to suck my dick?”
“I wasn’t going to hit you, and you don’t have a dick.”
I glared at him.
“You have no fucking clue,” he said, “what you’ve gotten yourself mixed up in.”
“Why don’t you try explaining,” I sneered, “starting with…getting the hell off of me!” I roared.