Page 59 of Tasting Sin

Nellie had walked into the bakery, looking around and shouting for Ava. “Is that a flashing light?” Giaco asked, pointing to the corner of the screen. I nodded.

“What the fuck is that?” I asked, and it looked like Nellie had asked herself the same. That’s when she pulled out her phone—likely to call me. I watched the hefty body come out of the shadow and put the bag over her head, and when she struggled, I gritted my teeth together.

I tried to get a good look at the man when he put his arm around her shoulders and pulled back against her neck, but his face wasn’t clear in the shadow. Then, he turned. He placed his hand over her mouth, and she struggled, forcing him to turn toward the camera enough that I saw his face.

“Son of a bitch,” I cursed, standing and grabbing my phone. “I have to go.”

Giaco leaned in. “You can’t just run out of here like that without a plan. That’s when people get hurt.”

“Nellie has been taken, Giaco.” My chest heaved with painful, shallow breaths.

He put his hands on my shoulders. “I know that, but if you run into this without a clear head, you’re giving whoever that is exactly what they want. An easy target.”

“I know exactly who it is,” I snapped. “I know where she’s at.”

He pointed to the video on the screen. “How do you know? You have a half-shadowed figure at best.” I shook my head, zooming in on the stilled frame. “Son of a bitch,” Giaco repeated when he recognized him too.

“I knew he was Irish,” I said. “I recognized him as soon as I got back. He’s been working over at Nikki’s club too.”

“Marone!” My brother seethed. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“I don’t have time for questions right now. Someone has my girl, and I need to go get her.” I clenched my jaw. “I made her a promise.”

Giaco nodded, turning back to the zoomed-in image on the screen and narrowing his eyes. The vein in his neck that popped when he was angry looked like it could burst. “Take Enzo,” he demanded. “And keep me updated.”

“I will.”

Chapter 39

Nellie

Ihated the little crusty things that lined my eyes and made them difficult to open, but when I reached up to rub my eyes, I couldn’t move my arms. I blinked a few times, forcing them open and trying to look past the fog to see my surroundings. It was dim, but light enough to see a selection of shelves holding various storage items. There was soap and toilet paper, boxes piled high with liquor logos on the sides of them, and on the other side of the room was cleaning supplies.

My arms were wrapped around one of the pillars in the center of the room that supported the weight of the ceiling, and something held me in place. Judging by the sharp tug at the little hairs on my arms, it was duct tape—a lot of it. “It appears she’s waking up.”

I tried to turn my head in the direction of the woman’s voice, but my neck ached. What happened? Where was I? It looked a little bit like the storage room we held stock ingredients in at the bakery, but without the sugar, and there were fewer windows.

I sucked in a deep breath, and when the air burned my nose, throat, and lungs, I coughed. That hurt even worse. It felt like my nose was on fire, and the gasoline that fed the fuel had been running down my throat. Everything hurt, and there was a foul taste on the back of my tongue.

“I think you made a mistake,” I said, still unable to see who was behind me or if there was more than one person. I blinked again.

The woman laughed, joined by a lower chuckle. “Oh, we certainly did no such thing.” Her heels clicked against the cement floor, getting louder with each step. I tried not to shiver when I could smell her perfume. “You’re exactly who we wanted.”

“You don’t understand.” I tugged again at the tape that held my wrists together, wincing when the adhesive stayed strongly stuck to my skin and hair. “I’m protected. Someone will come looking for me.”

She rounded the pole, squatting down in front of me. I didn’t recognize her or her bouncy blonde hair and blue eyes. The woman was beautiful—I would’ve remembered her. When I ruffled my brow, she smirked. “Oh, I know.” She ran the tip of her long fingernail down the side of my cheek, and I held my breath, trying to stay perfectly still but watching her from the corner of my eye. “I know exactly who you are.”

“You’re lying,” I said quietly. I didn’t know this woman. How could she possibly know me?

She smirked. “Chanelle Giordano. You live alone with your cat and own Sugar & Spice, the bakery you almost lost but were able to keep thanks to the gracious buyout of your new secret-keeping boyfriend. You volunteer at Shady Grove nursing home, probably because you don’t have any family left. They all died terribly tragic deaths. A car accident and a suicide. It’s too bad.” She stopped and hummed a sarcastically sympathetic note. I glared at her. “You see, what I can’t figure out, though, is why you’re so clearly in love with the man responsible for your brother’s death.”

I gasped, and the room spun. “Fuck you,” I hissed. “Don’t you dare talk about my brother.”

The sting when the woman’s palm met my face traveled down to my knees, and I cried out. “You’re not in any position to talk to me that way,” she warned, flattening her hand and slapping me again across the other cheek. My head rocked to the other side, and my eyes watered. “You see, Chanelle, we know everything about you. We know more than you do.”

“That’s not possible.” I resisted the urge to close my eyes, but I could feel the pain in my jaw in my teeth. My hips were starting to ache from the cement ground, and my shoulders were begging to be stretched. I closed my eyes anyways.

“Your brother was only seventeen,” she started, and my eyes shot open. I shook my head.

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