Page 140 of Empire of Temptation

Luca’s arrest was connected to the GDF and my father, the blackmail over the officer’s murdered daughter. So maybe there was a way to use Flavio and get Luca released.

I had to try.

When we reached the main check point, I collected my belongings. Before the officer turned away, I said, “I would like to speak to Signore Palmieri of the GDF. Can you help me find him?”

He grimaced. “Signorina?—”

“Please. I am not leaving until I meet with Signore Palmieri.” I gestured to the phone on the desk. “Ring him, per favore.”

He stared at me as if I told him Texan olive oil was superior to Italian. “I can’t ring the GDF and have them come here on my command.”

“You can and you will. Tell Palmieri that Valentina Montella is here and I’m not leaving until he meets with me.” I lowered myself down into one of the two plastic chairs in the room. Then I folded my arms and stared straight ahead. I wasn’t going to debate this or be intimidated into leaving. There was a slim chance I could fix this—today—and get Luca released. Nothing else mattered.

The guard muttered to himself in Italian, probably curses, then sighed several times. Just when I thought he might give up, he sat in his chair and picked up the phone, punched some buttons. There was a long conversation and I heard him say my name to someone before hanging up. Another call came in soon after and he talked for several minutes, mostly listening. He gave brief answers, then put down the handset.

We waited.

Nerves raced over my skin and my leg bounced. I picked at my fingernails and thought about Gabi waiting outside for me. We landed an hour ago and came straight here, so I had no idea if his family knew we were in Rome. But I stared at the door, worried that Sergio or another Benetti would rush through the door and try to stop me.

The guard’s line buzzed. He lifted the handset and listened, then I saw his shoulders stiffen. Nodding, he repeated “va bene” a few times before ringing off.

He stood and, keys jangling, came toward me. “Signorina Montella. Follow me.”

I had no idea where we were going, but I was ready to battle. I had to do whatever I could for Luca. We continued into the facility, passing offices and desks. Finally, the guard stopped, opened a door, and gestured for me to go inside.

Four cement walls and an old table greeted me. “I don’t understand,” I said, looking up at him. “Where’s Palmieri?”

“Per favore.” He waved his hand to indicate the room.

Tentatively, I stepped in. I wasn’t so sure about this plan anymore. No one other than Gabi knew I was here and I was at the mercy of these strangers. I swallowed hard. “Is Palmieri coming?”

The guard didn’t answer. He pulled the door shut . . . and I heard the lock engage.

I reached to check, just to be sure. Yep, he’d locked me in. Shit!

Before I let my imagination get away from me, I settled at the table and did some deep breathing. It wasn’t helpful to panic until there was something to panic about. I was a U.S. citizen with rights. They couldn’t leave me here forever and they couldn’t hurt me.

No one knows I’m here. They can do whatever they want.

I pulled out my phone. No service. Great.

After a few deep breaths, I decided to distract myself by looking at the photos I took during my short time with Luca. He hatedphotos, but he let me snap a few. Thank god I hadn’t deleted them when I learned the truth about us.

His handsome face filled the screen, his eyes warm and affectionate, while a secret smile played at the edges of his mouth. The dark scruff made him look sexy and dangerous, and my stomach twisted. Jesus, he was pretty. I hated that he’d lied to me, but there was nothing fake about this photo. The warmth in his eyes, the smile on his lips . . . it was real.

And there were no bruises on his cheek.

It hardened my resolve to get him out of this place. I wasn’t naive—he wasn’t an innocent man. No doubt he deserved to be in prison for some of the things he’d done. But the world was full of awful people who never faced consequences for their actions, men whose money and power sheltered them from repercussions.

Why should one man be made to suffer when millions more didn’t?

It was like income tax. A large number of people got away with hardly paying, while the rest of us gave away so much. How on earth was that fair?

You’re rationalizing because you love him.

I shoved those thoughts aside and scrolled through more photos. The wait dragged on so long that I put my phone down, concerned for my battery. I walked around, examined the room. I didn’t see a camera, but I would bet anything there was one somewhere. I checked the time again.

Finally, the door opened. A man entered, his expression flat and unhappy. “Signorina.” Then he spoke a stream of rapid Italian that sounded angry.

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