Page 52 of Savage Prince

Please don’t let her be dead. I send the prayer up to the heavens, hopingDiowill hear. Not that I’ve put much stock in religion, butNonnawas a fervent believer.

A sharp blast detonates, then the rumble of collapsing concrete rolls through the still afternoon. My head whips in the direction of the villa, and I can’t help my heart from sinking. What fell? A tower, a terrazzo? I shouldn’t give one shit about Antonio’s beautiful home, but I do. It’s just a travesty for an architectural masterpiece like that to be destroyed. It has nothing to do with the memories housed within those walls. Or that painting in the foyer.

I glance at my watch, staring at the face as the minutes wind down on the timer. He promised he’d be back. I rise to my tiptoes to see over the dense foliage along the shore. Come on… Two minutes left. I start to mentally prepare for the possibility of escape. If he’s not back, I have to go. I’d be insane not to.

How is this even a moral dilemma?

I should absolutely, one hundred percent be attempting to run away from my kidnapper. And still, I’m rooted to the spot, eyeing the thick shrubbery he disappeared through likemylife depends on it.

The buzzer goes off, the sharp sound sending my heart leaping up my throat. “Son of a bitch,” I grit out, my hand on my chest to settle the wild thumping.

Fuck this. I don’t owe Antonio anything. He’s lucky I waited this long. I stagger toward the edge of the boat and climb up, steading myself on the canopy. It’s a good thing he beached the vessel before he left, or I’d be swimming out of here. Instead, I just have to jump a few feet onto the shore. Which with my sprained ankle isn’t ideal, but still doable.

But what if he comes back, doesn’t find me and goes for Bella instead?

I hover on the ledge, fingers curled around the mahogany siding.

Shit. What do I do?

A gunshot explodes in the distance, and I duck before dropping to the floor. For the hundredth time, I curse the loss of my Dolce. Fucking Antonio. If I had my gun right now, I would not be crouching here defenseless.

More shots pepper the silence, then the rumble of an engine draws my attention around the bend. Peering over the gleaming wood siding, I catch a glimpse of a boat speeding away from the direction of the villa. The roar of the engine grows closer, and I mutter a curse, dropping my stomach to the floor and wedging myself in the tiny space between the bench seat and the stern. Shit. I need a weapon.

Whipping open a cabinet beneath the steering wheel, I rifle through its paltry contents. Life jacket, rope, fire extinguisher, first-aid kit… It’s too late for the fire extinguisher, but the first aid kit could have something. The steady rumble grows closer, and my pulse escalates in time with the sound. Unlatching the container, my heart soars at the sight of a little Swiss Army knife nestled within the bandages and alcohol swabs.

I flick it open and find the small blade sharp at least. Throwing a few supplies in my purse, just in case the worst happens, I eye the tiny space built into the stern. I might fit inside it… I don’t dare risk another peek over the side of the boat. Drawing in a breath, I crawl into the dark space, just barely getting my legs in and use my foot to close the cabinet door. A pungent, moist odor fills my lungs, and I barely restrain the urge to gag. I bury my nose in Antonio’s sweatshirt, his now familiar musky scent an odd comfort to the rising panic. Forcing mylungs to take small, measured breaths, I strain to listen for the approaching boat.

Muffled voices resound over the engine, and I tense, my fingers curling around the pocketknife. They’re still too garbled to determine how many men are aboard the vessel, but any more than two and I’m screwed. I could catch one with the knife using the element of surprise, the second one would be difficult but not impossible to subdue, but a third or more and there’s no way I’d be able to fight my way out.

The incessant rumble finally falls away, and gentle waves lap at the hull of my boat from the approaching craft. I hold my breath as they draw closer, and their unintelligible mutters grow more distinct.

“La barca è abbandonata, vedi?” A male voice shouts in Italian. “Non c'è nessuno.”

“E la ragazza?”

My heart stops. They’re looking for a girl. Me?

“Deve essere scappata. Forse ci ha visti eliminare Antonio, è entrata in panico ed è fuggita.”

Oh, shit, Antonio. They eliminated him? An unexpected jab of something I refuse to name spears me straight in the ribs. He’s dead? My heartbeat races, kicking at my ribs as I attempt to steady its manic pace. I’m sure it’s so loud they’ll hear and find my hiding spot.

“Il capo non sarà contento.”

The boss? Who’s your boss, dammit!

“Bene, attracchiamo la barca più avanti, vicino al centro della città e possiamo cercarla là.”

“Va bene.”

They’re going to search the center of town for me? They’ve killed off Antonio and now they want me? But for what?

My head spins, a desperate tangle of fear and a twinge of that which will remain unnamed. He can’t be dead… His muskyamber scent still lingers on his clothes.Dio, I should be happy if he was. Though now with these guys hunting me down, it looks like I have a whole new set of problems to worry about.

The engine starts up again and I wait, calmly forcing air in and out of my lungs until the sound completely recedes, and I’m convinced whoever torched the villa is gone. Carefully, I hook my good foot onto the interior handle and push the door open.

A part of me is certain I’m going to meet the barrel of a gun once I squirm my way out of this floating coffin.

But I don’t…

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