Page 34 of Dangerous Deception

I look through the door at Adelina, who sits on the bed under the covers with her hair in a towel and her arms wrapped tightly around her body.

How the fuck do I tell her about her friend?

Knowing that the other kidnapper is at the estate reignites the rampant anger in my gut, so I carry the glass through to Adelina. “Here you go, sweetheart. The doctor left some medication for you, to help you get some rest. I think that might be a good idea.”

Giving her space and privacy feels like the right next step, and I want to get my hands on that bastard down in the cellar, but as I step away from the bed, Adelina bolts out of the bed to grab my hand in both of hers.

“Wait!” she croaks, and hearing her voice makes me jump slightly after so much silence.

Concern immediately sweeps over me like a hot gust of air. “What is it? What do you need?”

“Stay with me, please,” she whimpers, looking up at me with gigantic, sad eyes. “I don’t w–want to be alone. Not in the dark. Please don’t leave me. Please.”

She blinks, and tears glimmer in her eyes once more.

There’s only one answer here, and my heart squeezes painfully in my chest.

“Of course,” I say, sliding back onto the bed and taking her in my arms when she huddles into me. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

14

ADELINA

Yesterday wasn’t real.

It can’t have been real.

It had to be some kind of nightmare that I got stuck in, because if it was real, then it means I was really kidnapped. I was really assaulted.

I don’t want that to be true.

When I close my eyes, my eyelids burn, but I have no more tears left to shed. I cried them all out in Raffaele’s arms yesterday morning when he held me in bed and rocked me to sleep. I cried them all out when I woke up a couple of hours later to throw up and drag myself back into the shower to wash off the phantom sensations clinging to my skin.

I still feel him.

Geoff.

His hands on my body. His weight on my hips. His warm blood on my skin.

I still feel him, and the only thing that got rid of that sensation was Raffaele’s arms around me.

But he can’t hold me all the time.

A plate clinks before me, and I slowly open my eyes to find Raffaele standing over me with a glass of orange juice in one hand. His homemade omelet sits on the plate in front of me, complete with a couple of cherry tomatoes and some chicken.

“Adelina,” he says softly. “You need to eat something. Please.”

My stomach tightens at the thought. I can taste acid on the back of my tongue and the urge to vomit rises once more. It must have been clear on my face because Raffaele sits down next to me.

“You’ll feel sicker if you don’t eat something. Doesn’t need to be all of it. Just something. Please?”

Never in my life did I think I would hear Raffaele Varricchio say the word please.

“Will you stay with me?” I ask, wincing as my throat pulls tight at the words. I’ve cried so much that everything inside me feels raw.

“Yes,” Raffaele replies, setting the orange juice down in front of me. “As long as you will eat.”

That sounds like a fair trade. Despite my lack of appetite, his presence is calming, and I ache for that more than I desire not to eat. So he wins.

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