Page 235 of Kissing the Villain

“I have plenty of baggage,” she said with sadness in her tone. “I don’t blame him. It was never that serious with us, anyway.”

Her words said one thing, but I got a different impression from Rhiannon. She seemed upset about Arlo not accepting her family and Marcello keeping her a secret. I was dying to hear this story from Marcello’s mouth. He didn’t keep things from me, not even when Luca forced him to stay quiet. So why did he omit Rhiannon from his life, as if she weren’t significant enough to tell me about her?

“You said Marcello would kill you for telling me. Why?”

“Because the night we met, he killed someone to save me.”

My eyes widened at her confession. “Who?”

“A guy who tried to rape me in the bathroom at the party. He was from a Founding family. His parents are still looking for his body. If anyone ever found out, the Salvatores would lose everything.”

“Who did Marcello kill?”

She chewed the inside of her cheek. “I can’t tell you. I already said too much.”

“So that’s how your dad got into business with Arlo? You used the information to help your father.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers and stretched out her long, thin legs. “I know it was a shitty thing to do after Marcello saved me from getting raped. I still regret the decision I made. But he was such a jerk afterward. Marcello would always come around, threatening me not to tell anyone. He scared the shit out of me. I never thought I would grow to like him. Besides, my dad needed something from Arlo. I told my dad about what happened. He used the information to his advantage.”

“Marcello is protective of his family. You are a threat to their legacy.”

“Pretty much,” she groaned.

I glanced around the room in search of water. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. My lips were chapped and cracked from dehydration.

Footsteps pounded the deck above us. I wished someone would bring us water or something to eat. It had been too long since my last meal. How could they sell me if I were dead?

I heard a disturbance outside the room. Several men argued so loudly their deep voices sent a chill down my spine. My anxiety intensified with each second that passed. Fear shook through me, the adrenaline commanding control of my body.

The door swung open, and two men stepped inside. One man carried a food tray, the other dressed in all black with his hands shoved into his pockets. I flattened my back against the wall as they entered the room. The man with the food handed Rhiannon a sandwich wrapped in plastic and a bottle of water.

He held out his hand to me. Confused by his gesture, I stared at him and sat still.

“Get up before I throw you over my shoulder.”

He helped me from the mattress and hooked his arm around my back. I glanced at Rhiannon. She peeled back the plastic wrap and bit into the sandwich, her eyes filled with concern. One man stayed behind, while the other forced me to climb a ladder.

He gripped my shoulder and pushed me forward, moving me down the long hall. Hardwood lined the floors, a perfect cherry color that shone when the recessed lights hit it just right. The walls were bright white and decorated with expensive paintings.

At the end of the long hall, we stopped in front of a wooden door. He knocked, and a man on the other side told him to enter. Dressed in a black suit, crisp white shirt, and blue pinstripe tie, a handsome middle-aged man sat in an oversized armchair. He ran a hand through his short, dark hair and smiled when he gazed upon my body.

He held out his hand, gesturing at the table in front of him, full of seafood and different plates of pasta. My stomach rumbled.

“Have lunch with me,” he said.

The man behind me pulled out the chair and forced me to sit. I stared at the man across the table, sizing him up. Powerful men all had the same air about them. They sat with their shoulders squared, their faces full of determination.

He poured a glass of wine and slid it across the table. “Drink up.”

I sipped from the glass, hoping he wasn’t poisoning me. I was so thirsty I didn’t care. The grapes were divine, pure perfection as they hit my tongue.

“Where are you taking me?”

“Isola del Diavolo,” he said with a creepy grin.

It translates to Devil Island in Italian.

Heart pounding out of my chest, I choked out, “Who are you?”

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