Page 1 of Captive in His Castle
Chapter One
Approximately six miles from the small village of Positano on the Amalfi Coast is the even smaller village of Accardiano. Like Positano, it overlooks the Mediterranean and, from a distance, looks to be cut into towering cliffs. Unlike Positano, it’s rarely frequented by mortals because Accardiano is a playground exclusively for the fabulously rich. Of course, mere mortals are free to take a wander along its harbour filled with multi-million-pound yachts or tread its sandy coastline, but the quadruple cost of a normal coffee or ice cream usually has the desired effect of stopping those mortals from wandering up its steep, narrow streets lined with colourful boutiques and cafes. That and the man-mountains, all clad in black and all not-so-discreetly armed, who like to glower menacingly at anyone who walks within twenty feet of their particular client or their client’s yacht. Or whose face doesn’t fit.
That particular Monday, there were a few more wanderers than normal chancing their luck and their bank accounts for a nose at how the other half lived. A significantnumber of those wanderers were paparazzi. All were staking out the most likely places in Accardiano to spot members of the Martinelli wedding party arriving in the village that day to start the pre-wedding celebrations. Unfortunately, the closest these star spotters were likely to get to the glamorous and powerful guests was as they were whisked past them in their chauffeured cars. If those star spotters wanted to get any closer, they needed to check in at The Bianchi, the seven-star hotel the entire wedding party were staying at for the duration. No reservation meant no admittance onto its grounds, and as Niccolo Martinelli had booked the entire hotel for the wedding party, there was more chance of a holiday to the moon than booking a suite there, so the wanderers might as well trundle back to Positano.
One person who didn’t need to trundle back anywhere, at least not yet, was Dante Coscarelli, best friends with Niccolo since their infant school days and one of Niccolo’s six groomsmen.
Dante had arrived at The Bianchi only an hour earlier and was enjoying early-afternoon cocktails by the main pool with the groom and two of the other groomsmen: Niccolo’s brother Gennaro and his cousin Leonardo, the latter of whom also happened to own The Bianchi.
It had taken four months of planning for Dante to carve out seven whole days (he’d allocated the day after the wedding, too, on account of the expected hangover) from his schedule. The last time he’d taken this many days off in one go, he’d still been in university.
“Let me get this straight,” he said, his words aimed at Niccolo. “You want me to steal away your ex-lover’s sister and keep her hidden until after the wedding?”
Niccolo, features taut with stress only those closest to him would recognise, didn’t blink. “Exactly that. Callie can’t be allowed anywhere near Accardiano. It’s not safe for her or forme or for any of us.”
“You are certain she is coming here?”
“Her flight to Naples took off twenty minutes ago. I’ve had confirmation that she’s on it.”
“Don’t you think it’s a bit extreme, though?” Gennaro asked doubtfully. “She can’t get into the grounds. There is zero chance of the Espositos crossing her path.”
Niccolo grimaced. “She’s a loose cannon. You’ve seen Georgia’s message. If Callie talks to the press, then God knows what will happen, and I can only thank God she didn’t think of going to the British press first. Siena knows about Georgia – hell, her damned father knows about her. Neither of them cares, but if Callie spills my affair with Georgia to the world in the run-up to the wedding, then it will humiliate them, and you know how Lorenzo will react to that.”
Indeed, they all did. Lorenzo Esposito was bigger, uglier and harder than the man-mountains they all employed as personal security, and his only daughter was his princess. If he got so much as a whiff that someone was trying to wreck his precious princess’s wedding, that someone had better have their last will and testament written.
“Have you met the sister?” Dante asked.
“Once.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“And what was she like? Did she seem stable?” To Dante’s mind, only the unstable would even consider trying to stop Niccolo Martinelli’s wedding to Siena Esposito.
“I was in her company for perhaps five minutes. I didn’t detect any red flags.” Niccolo gave a tight shrug. “Georgia and I were finished months ago. She always knew the score, and yet for reasons known only to herself, her sister is hell-bent on stopping my wedding and turning my reputation into dirt, and is completely blind to the danger she’s putting us all in. You’rethe only one who can stop her – it has to be you, Dante. Of the three of you, you’re the only one who can get away with disappearing for the night.”
That was a fact. Dante and Niccolo might be the closest of the group, but Gennaro and Leonardo were Niccolo’s blood. Sure, Leonardo could lock Callie Thomas away in his on-site apartment, but she’d be on the hotel’s grounds and all the more dangerous for it.
“Plus, you have a castle to keep her in where escape is impossible,” Gennaro pointed out for the second time. “Meet her from the plane, take her to your castle, lock her away and get back here in the morning. If anyone asks, we can say you were called away on a business emergency.”
Dantedidhave a castle, one that was heavily guarded and far from the nearest town. It was also five hundred kilometres away from Accardiano.
“Okay,” he agreed. “I’ll do it.”
Niccolo exhaled a long breath of relief. “Thank you, my friend.”
“I will need a picture of her.” Dante was no expert on kidnapping women, but he assumed it was best to have a fixed image of what the one he was targeting actually looked like.
“I don’t have one, but she’s on social media.”
A few moments later, Dante had Callie Thomas’s profile on the screen of his phone. Her settings were private, but her profile photo was a clear headshot. An intriguing face, he noted. Large pale blue eyes set slightly too far apart and a long, thin nose. Long, honey blonde hair. Yes, an easy face to spot in a crowd.
He pushed his chair back. “I need to make the arrangements.” And notify his parents and sister, who were settling into their suites, that he would be disappearing for the night. They trusted him enough not to ask questions and would play along with the business emergency line.
Niccolo rose to his feet and embraced him. “I am in your debt.”
Dante grinned and kissed both his cheeks. “Trust me, it’s a debt Iwillbe calling in.”
