Page 78 of Thief of my Heart

“Lea, no!” Nonna hissed.

“And have her running to the cops? Ricky, they must think you’re real dumb,” Paul chided, causing the other two men with him to chuckle too.

The man at the table—apparently known as Ricky—didn’t seem to find it funny.

“She won’t tell anyone,” I tried again, completely lying through my teeth. “She barely speaks English anyway, and since we were blindfolded, she has no idea where we are, so?—”

“Shut up!” shouted Ricky, slamming his hand on the table with a hard slap that echoed through the room. “Christ, do you ever fuckin’ shut up?”

This time I actually did.

For a second, anyway.

“I don’t think you need to?—”

“Paul, gag this bitch,” Ricky interrupted. “I don’t want to hear her no more.”

Seconds later, a musty cloth was looped around my mouth and secured behind my head while the gorillas with Ricky tied my hands together. They did the same thing with Nonna and then stood back to admire their work.

“Finally,” Ricky said as he sat back down at the table. “I couldn’t hear myself think over her yammering. I need a little peace and fuckin’ quiet.”

It didn’t last long.

“Where is she, goddammit? Where the fuck is she?”

The voice was muffled but loud behind the thick door into the apartment. I screamed around the gag. Nonna’s eyes blinked wide with recognition. I tried to yell his name again, though it was almost completely silenced around my gag.

Seconds later, the door shook upon impact several times. Then it splintered around the lock as it burst open, and Michael hurtled into the room.

“Lea!” he roared.

With a fierce battle cry, he lunged forward, his fist connecting with Paul’s jaw with a satisfying crack. The other two men rushed at him, but he was quick and agile, dodging their attacks and countering with powerful blows. His movements were swift and calculated, as if he had been trained for this very moment. The room erupted into chaos, punches and grunts filling the air.

“Michael! Behind you!” I screamed into the gag, my voice barely intelligible.

One of the men managed to land a punch to Michael’s side, causing him to stumble. But he quickly regained his footing, retaliating with a vicious uppercut that sent his attacker crashing to the ground.

The room fell into a brief silence. Ricky seemed frozen as he watched the scene unfold as knowing fear replaced the man’s snotty arrogance.

It was then I noticed exactly where his line of sight led: to a gun lying innocuously on a shelf on the other side of the room.

I wriggled my bound hands, desperately trying to loosen the tight knots. Nonna caught on to my efforts and began squirming beside me, her hands trembling as she worked against her restraints.

Michael fought even harder, his punches becoming more precise and forceful. Blow after blow, he unleashed his fury upon the remaining man until there was nothing left but a crumpled heap of bodies on the floor.

Breathing heavily, Michael turned to us. “Lea, baby. Mrs. Zola,” he said urgently, as he rushed over to untie us. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

“We’re fine,” I managed once my gag was removed. “But Michael—the gun!”

He followed my gaze across the room. Then both he and Ricky made a mad dash for the weapon, knocking over chairs, tripping over bodies, and generally causing havoc wherever they went.

“Who?” demanded Nonna. “Who got it?”

“That would be me, signora.”

Ricky’s voice slid down my back like a finger of ice.

“No,” I whispered as I found him pointing the gun directly at Michael.

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