Page 23 of Passion and Revenge

There had been something in his tone that warned me to be careful. Something dark and ominous that had made me shiver.

“I’m the opposite. I think it’s because I’ve spent my life sitting at the edge of my seat, waiting for things to happen to me. And I never want to have to wait anymore.”

“There’s a difference between wanting to grab life by the horns and wanting to sit back and let some things simmer before you...savor them.”

My breath had caught in my throat. “Oh?”

He took a step forward. “History is full of evidence of older things being superior. Time gives far more satisfactory results.”

“In a nutshell, you’re saying you like older women?”

He had chuckled, and I wished for the ground to open up and swallow me. Why did I say that? Where was my brain-to-mouth filter when I needed it?

“You sound disappointed, Sienna.”

“I’m not.” I scoffed. “It was just an observation. I don’t care.”

His grey eyes shone with amusement even as his face had remained stoic. “If you insist, Miss Marino.”

Then, in the blink of an eye, his expression had changed. “I believe we’re done here,” he said, checking his watch. “Thank you for your help, Sienna. I’ll compensate you for your time.”

“That’s not?—”

“I insist. I’ll have my assistant reach out for your details,” he cut in. “Do you need a ride home?”

It was a clear dismissal, so I replied, “No, thank you. I’ll call an Uber.”

I kept enough distance between us as we left, my thoughts racing. Why did he always suddenly clam up when it was just starting to get good? I couldn’t even blame anybody’s interruption for the way things came to a halt.

As we stood at the curb, where a chauffeured SUV was waiting for him, I turned to him with my hand held out and said, “Some other time, Mr.?”

“Just Vincent,” he replied, taking my smaller hand in his. A sudden shock of electricity shot up my arm at the contact.

“Still Vincent, no last name?” I teased.

He chuckled, but it sounded forced. “I have an urgent meeting to get to. Goodbye, Sienna.”

I watched with a frown as he climbed into the back of the tinted black Benz and zoomed off. I was so distracted by the suspicion in my mind that I didn’t hear the footsteps behind me.

When I finally noticed them, it was too late. I was not sure how many men there were, but one rough, burly hand covered my mouth, and the next thing I knew, I was lifted off the ground and thrown into a van.

At first, I thought it was all a joke. But there was no laughter. Inside the van, four huge, masked men dressed in black awaited me. I tried to scream, but they pinned me down, tied my arms behind my back, bound my feet together, and blindfolded me.

Suddenly, everything went dark. Before I knew it, a strong, chemical-smelling cloth covered my nose, plunging me into silence.

I snap out of my trip down memory road with a gasp. My eyes fly wide open, and I look around the room.

I’m not drunk. I was drugged and kidnapped. But how was I drugged? The last thing I remember consuming was the wine with Vincent. Does that mean he—no, it couldn’t be. I saw him drive off.

But I lost consciousness. I was sure of it, or else I’d remember how I got here.

I turn to the mirrored glass wall on one side of the room and run to it, running my palms over the smooth surface in search of some type of door mechanism.

My panicked gaze runs around the room again, confirming the absence of a door in the room.

“Let me out of here!” I begin to bang on the glass. “You’ve made a mistake. I’m not supposed to be here.”

Oh God. This can’t be happening to me. I haven’t done anything to anyone. I was just a nobody painter with a mundane life.

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