Page 10 of Ruined By Capture

She stands defiant against the wall, amber eyes burning with indignation rather than fear. Most people cower when I get close. Not her.

I take a moment to really study her. The photos in her file didn't do her justice. Melania Lombardi is all curves and fire—chestnut hair falling in waves past her shoulders, plump lips, body lithe as a cornered wildcat. Even in her simple black clothes, she carries herself with the posture of someone who's never had to bow down to anyone.

"Are you hungry?" I ask, my voice deliberately neutral.

She blinks, clearly surprised by the change in topic. Her eyes narrow with suspicion.

"What exactly is there I can eat here?" she asks, her tone carefully controlled.

I allow myself a small smirk. "We don't usually stock princess food in warehouses."

A flash of something—irritation, amusement, I can't tell—crosses her face. "For sure you don't," she says, crossing her arms. "But you might have drugged the food too. Once was enough, thank you."

"If I wanted to drug you again,piccola, I wouldn't need to hide it in food," I say. "You'd already be unconscious."

"Seeing as you’ve magnanimously permitted me to go undrugged, I need my laptop and USB drive," she fires back, eyes flashing. "Now."

My eyebrows rise at her imperious tone. She's either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid. "You need?" I repeat, my voice lowering to a warning tone. "Let me make something clear, Lombardi. You don't make demands here."

She takes a step forward, chin raised. "That USB contains important files. I?—"

"You forget your place," I cut her off, closing the distance between us in two strides. "One more time and you'll find out exactly how unpleasant I can be."

Something flickers in her eyes—not apprehension, but shrewdness. She's measuring me, weighing options. Smart girl. But not smart enough to keep her mouth shut.

"Myplace?" she challenges. "And where exactly is that in your little operation?"

I don't answer. Instead I turn and stride to the door, pausing only to look back at her. "Get comfortable in your room, Melania. You'll be here a while."

The lock clicks satisfyingly behind me. I hear her frustrated exhale through the door, followed by what sounds like a shoe hitting the wall. Spirited little thing.

In the kitchen I pull out my phone and dial Damiano's number. He answers on the second ring.

"She's awake," I tell him without preamble, leaning against the counter.

"And?" Damiano's voice is tense. I can hear traffic in the background.

"And she's demanding her belongings. Specifically her laptop and some USB drive."

"Interesting." There's a pause. "How do you think our friends are reacting?"

I know he means Raymond and Antonio. "Threatening everyone who breathes wrong in their direction. Any leads?"

"They're turning the city upside down," Damiano says. "Stone's men are questioning everyone at the church. Antonio's threatening his own staff."

"Timeline?" I inquire.

"Won't be long," Damiano's voice hardens. "I'm making my next move tonight. Time to show those bastards exactly who the fuck the Ferettis are. He's not just in debt to us up to his eyeballs," Damiano says with disgust. "Thestronzowanted to unite with fucking Raymond Stone."

"He chose this." I say.

"Keep her secure," Damiano orders. "I'll be in touch."

The line goes dead and I slip the phone back into my pocket, thinking about the girl locked in the bedroom. What exactly is on that USB and was it what made her risk everything to run?

The warehouse kitchen is bare bones—stainless steel counter, industrial fridge, and not much else. We stocked it with basics when we set it up as a safe house last week. I pull openthe refrigerator, eyeing the limited options. There's some pre-packaged sandwiches, bottled water and energy drinks.

I grab a turkey sandwich and a bottle of water. Not exactly gourmet cuisine but it'll keep her alive. That's all that matters right now.

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