Page 31 of Bianchi

The lightness and teasing in his tone confuse me, and I sit back, a groove forming in my brows. This isn’t right. He shouldn’t be feeding me like we have an intimate relationship. He’s holding me prisoner. I’d be a fool to forget the danger that follows this man. Especially when in the short time I’ve been around Romeo Bianchi, I’ve witnessed more death and destruction than I have in my entire twenty-eight years of existence.

The teasing has gone, replaced with a seriousness that appears to be born of concern when he asks again, “Why have you not been eating, bellissima?”

Everything fades away and I’m transported back to the restaurant with blood and broken glass surrounding me. Screams fill the air, but this time, they aren’t mine, and I know that this isn’t a nightmare. This is my new reality. Unless I do something about it.

Shaking my head, I force myself back into the moment. Praying he’ll accept my non-answer, I murmur, “I wasn’t hungry.”

His eyes narrow, and I dig my nails into the palm of my hand to keep from squirming. Romeo shakes his head before moving his attention back to the bowl in his hand. My shoulders drop, tension releasing from my body as I watch him skim the spoon over the top of the soup. We fall into an easy routine as he brings spoonful after spoonful to my lips, ignoring my protests when I tell him I can feed myself.

It doesn’t take long before the bowl is empty and the others return. Their conversation is coded, but it doesn’t stop me from observing their dynamic from under my lashes.

What happens now?

I need to find a way out of here. As much as I can try to convince myself that bending to Romeo’s will is the right thing to do if I want to live, the truth is; I don’t know him.

Straightening in my seat, I wrap the hem of my T-shirt around my finger, ignoring the churning in my gut. So what if they kill me trying to escape? At least I’ll have gone out partly on my own terms. Finding a way out of here has to be my priority. What do I know about these men and where I am?

One. They are the mafia. That much is clear.

Two. The place is guarded like a fortress and miles from civilization.

Three. The chances of being shot trying to escape are extremely high.

Four. They want my father and will use me to exact their revenge, even if it means I get killed in the process.

Five. When I am of no use to them, they will follow through on their threats to end my life.

My focus is pulled to Romeo when he leans back in his chair and speaks to Daniele in Italian. I study the features of his handsome face and the way his mouth moves as he talks. I need to be careful.

If I let him, Romeo will get under my skin until he’s a part of my very existence. It doesn’t take a genius to work out that it would be the worst possible thing that could happen.

Especially when he’s going to kill me.

Chapter 18

Romeo

The door to Massimo’s office hasn’t even closed before he turns to me, a question in the raise of his one smug brow. If he wasn’t family, that eyebrow would have seen a bullet between his eyes long before now. As it is, I’m starting to think he gets too much leeway.

Ignoring him, I cross the room, helping myself to a drink from the trolley. Pouring a finger of scotch into a glass, I hold up the canister, offering a drink to the others. As expected, they all decline.

We all know that I’m buying myself some time before the inevitable questioning around what happened at dinner starts. There’s a heaviness in the air as I pick up the crystal glass and walk to the couch at the back of the room. Massimo falls into the seat behind his desk, huffing as he shakes his head. Leonardo stands beside it.

My nonno taught me that silence is golden in an interrogation. Human beings have a natural inclination to fill the awkwardness that comes with the quiet. Massimo is no exception to this rule, and I’d put my money on him speaking first. I sip my drink, looking over the rim at them both.

Massimo leans back in his chair, his chin resting on his fist. The open body language makes him appear calm, but I give it three more seconds.

One.

Two.

Three.

“Nobody else is going to say it, so I will. What the hell was that about, Rome?”

He’s family.

The statement is a chant on repeat in my mind, reminding me not to kill him right now.

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