Page 95 of Stolen Mafia Vows
Only, when I open the dressing room door and announce, “It’s me, Emily,” there’s no one there.
21
EMILY
A hand clampsaround my mouth from behind as cold metal is pressed against my windpipe.
“Make a fucking sound and I’ll slit your throat.”
Olivia.
The threat doesn’t surprise me; I sensed from the start that Olivia had no intention of keeping me alive. Neither am I shocked that there must be a connecting door between this dressing room and whatever is on the other side. It’s her timing that fills me with a sickly sense of dread.
Was she watching me try on the clothes that Ilya ordered for me? I can imagine her peeking through a slit in the wall, watching me undress, her gaze slithering over my naked body, assessing, judging, comparing. Was she jealous? It was what I wanted, what I set out to do: escalate the friction between them, knowing that she would be the first to explode.
But like an idiot, I assumed that she would take her rage out on Ilya because she needed me to get to Caleb.
My hands automatically try to alleviate the pressure of the knife pressed hard against my neck, and pain slices through the soft flesh of my fingers. I try to let out a groan, but her hand only clamps tighter, her skin in my mouth, and rubbing against my gums. I gag with the taste of her hand lotion, my throat convulsing beneath her grip.
But instead of releasing me, her cheek brushes against mine and she whispers in my ear, “If you vomit on me, it’ll be the last thing you ever do. Think about it, Emily. Do you want Eoghan to find your corpse covered in regurgitated linguini?”
Hot tears sting my eyes, but perversely, her words have the desired effect, and I get the gagging under control.
“Good girl. Now don’t try to be a hero, Emily, and walk backwards, slowly.”
The words ‘good girl’ prompt more tears. All my life I’ve tried to be a good girl, to do what was expected of me, to be the perfect daughter. Then, when I met Eoghan, he gave the words a whole new meaning, one that sent shivers down my spine and made my pussy wet for him. Olivia Dragonetti doesn’t get the right to use them on me.
I move backwards with her, my ass colliding with her hips in an awkward gait that makes me hyper aware of my naked body underneath the floor-length evening gown.
My fingers are slick with blood caused by the knife hindering my breathing. My breaths come in raggedy gasps, dizziness making my brain cells swirl, but still, I extend my arms away from the dress so that I don’t ruin it.
My elbows bang against a door frame as we back out of the dressing room, sending pain spiraling up my arms and to thetop of my skull. Olivia tilts the blade, drawing blood from the tender underside of my jawline.
“One more stunt like that, Emily,” she hisses in my ear, “and I won’t hold back. Do you understand?”
I try to speak but all I produce is a click at the back of my throat.
“Good girl.”
She drags me into what must be a guest room, then spins us around so that I’m in front of her.
“Walk.”
We cross the room until we’re standing in front of a built-in wardrobe. Olivia sidles around me and nudges the door open with her elbow. She shoves me inside, the clothes clinging to my hair and making me feel hot and claustrophobic before the door closes behind us and I’m shut inside with her. Then the back of the wardrobe starts moving, and we emerge into a gloomy stairwell heading down.
I contemplate lurching forward and dragging her with me, but the baby growing inside me quickly dispels the thought. If I don’t antagonize her, Eoghan will find us before she can take me anywhere. He managed to get into the house; he isn’t going to leave without me.
We keep descending, my footsteps clumsy with the angle of my head tilted backwards from the pressure of the knife on my throat. It feels like we’re heading underground, and panic sets in. What if Eoghan doesn’t find us in time? What if he doesn’t realize that there’s another way out? Should I risk her carrying out her threat to slit my throat?
But I can’t. This is no longer just about me. I’m carrying Eoghan’s baby and seeing him upstairs in the dressing room has made the hole in my chest a whole lot wider and deeper.
We stop in front of a heavy fire door, and Olivia shoves me onto my knees. “Don’t even think about yelling for help, Emily.”
I’m too busy trying to fill my lungs with the dank musty air of the stairwell to process the command as she punches a number into a keypad and the lock clicks. She opens the door enough for a rush of cool air to hit my face, closely followed by footsteps and familiar voices.
She closes it again and drags me onto my feet with my hair. “Move!”
I don’t know what she has done with the blade, but she forgets to replace it against my windpipe. Being able to breathe allows us to move faster. We stop at the top of the first set of stairs and again, Olivia peeps through a crack between the door and the frame.
