Page 12 of Unhinged Little Angel

I close the space between us in a few long strides, ignoring the gun hanging limply at his side to put myself right in front of him, towering over him, with the front bumper pressed against the backs of his knees leaving nowhere for him to go.

“You fucking drugged me,” I growl again. “Where the hell even are we? What’s the plan here? Did someone put you up to it? Was it the Fitzpatricks?”

“No one put me up to anything.” He swallows, his head tilted so he can meet my eyes and stare me right back down like he’s not the least bit intimidated by me. I suppose he is the one holding the gun right now, but some stupid part of me doesn’t think he’ll use it.

“It’s money then? Are you planning to ransom me back to Lorenzo? Because I guarantee that plan will end with you dead.” Anxiety builds in my chest, and I press my body into Dante’s, needing to feel the solid reassurance that he’s safe. Whatever he’s mixed up in, it doesn’t matter. I’m not going to let Lorenzo or anyone else lay a finger on him.

He squirms against me, his glare undermined by the feel of his hardening cock against my thigh.

“It’s not about money,” he grits out through gritted teeth.

“Help me out then, Angioletto, because I can’t think of another sane reason for you to drug and kidnap one of Lorenzo’s inner circle.” I run my fingers down his forearm towards his hand. “And, while we’re at it, why don’t you give me my gun back?”

Dante jerks like he just remembered he’s holding the pistol at all. His glare melts into a more calm, calculated indifference and he presses the muzzle under my chin. My heart rate doesn’t even spike. If I had a dollar for every time I’ve had a gun pointed at me, I’d be able to retire early. This is the first time my dick has been hard though. Even with the flicker of victory in his eyes, I swear I can feel his body quiver against mine. He might not think he’s a brat, but that’s exactly what this is. This is a temper tantrum, a bid for attention, and maybe a cry for help. But I can’t help him if he doesn’t tell me what the hell he’s gotten himself into.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” he says steadily, his tongue darting out to wet his dry lips as he holds my gaze and keeps the gun notched against my jaw. “You’re going to stop badgering me with questions and we’re going to get back in the car. It’s still about eight hours to where we’re going, so as long as you show me I can trust you, we’ll stop in a few more hours to stretch our legs and get something to eat. If you don’t piss me off, I’ll think about explaining things then.”

I consider pushing back, testing my theory that he won’t pull the trigger, and my more overarching theory that all this snarling and baring of teeth is nothing more than a desperate plea for someone to make him feel safe. But I have to admit, it sounds like a lot more fun to play his hostage for a little while and see where things go.

“Alright, Angioletto, I’ll come quietly.” I fight the twitch of a smile.

Dante slowly lowers his gun, and I take a step back.

“Drink your water,” he commands before getting back into the driver’s seat.

I uncap the water bottle, using the first couple of sips to rinse and spit, then guzzle the rest of it down. It settles heavily into my empty stomach. When I’m finished, I crumple the plastic bottle in my fist and get back in the car.

DANTE

“If you don’t want bigger problems though, you should let me text Alessio to tell him I’ll be unreachable for a couple of days so he can pass that along to Lorenzo,” Salvatore says after buckling his seat belt and fiddling with the air conditioner settings.

I slip the pistol into the holster attached to the sun visor and flip it up so he won’t be able to easily reach over and grab it while I’m driving. The Morettis realizing Salvatore is missing and launching a manhunt for him is a problem that occurredto me around one o’clock this morning, and I’ve been thinking about what to do about it ever since. I shake my head and then shift in my seat to pull his phone out of my pocket.

He reaches to grab it, and I pull it back.

“Unlock it and I’ll text him. I don’t want you giving him a secret SOS code or something.”

“A secret SOS code?” He arches one of his thick but neatly shaped eyebrows at me.

“Yeah, you know, something you would never say to alert people who know you well to the fact that you’ve been kidnapped. Like, ‘I’m out of town for a comic book convention’ when they know you don’t like nerd shit.” I tap the phone so the lock screen appears and wave it in front of him.

He chuckles and eyes me for a second before typing in the code. He has a generic background set and no icons on his home screen aside from the dial button and a texting app. I guess that makes sense. I can’t exactly picture a mafioso sitting around playing Candy Crush. It’s even harder to imagine Salvatore lounging on the couch in one of his expensive suits, mindlessly matching colorful tiles for hours on end.

“Hmm, but you don’t know me well enough to know the things I would never, ever do. You might unintentionally alert Alessio yourself.” He opens his glove compartment and pulls out a pair of sunglasses. They’re probably just as overpriced as everything else he owns. He slips them on before adjusting his seat back to a comfortable reclined position like he doesn’t have a care in the world, like he’s not currently being held at gunpoint.

“I’ll tell him you’re too sick to work, contagious, he shouldn’t come to your apartment, but you’ll see him in a few days.”

Salvatore shakes his head. “He’ll never buy it. I had walking pneumonia and Lorenzo had to have someone sit outside myapartment with a gun to keep me from trying to come to work anyway.”

“Okay, not sick, but you need a vacation. You’ve been working too hard and decided to book yourself a few days at an all-inclusive resort. I can even take a picture of you at a pool with a drink tomorrow to really sell the story.”

He chuckles and shakes his head again. “I haven’t taken a vacation in fifteen years.”

I narrow my eyes at him. He’s being purposefully difficult right now.

“Overpriced suit convention?” I deadpan.

He makes a strangled noise and shoves his sunglasses up so he can look at me properly.

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