by Kari Bovee
“I’m ruined. Marciano is furious.”
He looked so gray and gaunt that Grace swallowed her own anxiety and walked over to him. She knelt down at his knee. “You’re exhausted, Flo. Let’s go back to the hotel. Let’s worry about this tomorrow.”
“I’ll have nothing. He’ll take the theater from me. He’s out to get me, Grace. Has been for years, and finally, he has a leg up. That’s it. I’m finished.”
Grace grabbed her fur stole and some items from her dressing table and threw them into a bag. “Come on. We’re going home.”
“But the press, the reporters . . .”
“We’ll slip out the back door. We can deal with them tomorrow, too.” She grabbed him by the arm, amazed at the bony feel of it beneath his shirt, and helped him to his feet. He leaned against her as they rushed toward a back door to an alleyway. When they burst through the door, Marciano stood on the other side and stepped forward into the light.
“Well, look what we have here, Flo and his golden girl,” Marciano said, his words punctuated with malice. “She was the only thing in that show worth watching—and the only thing worth salvaging. You’re done, Ziegfeld. Finished. And since you can’t give me the hit show you promised, I’m here to take what’s mine.” He snapped his fingers at his henchmen and pointed to Grace.
Two hulking figures grabbed Grace by her arms and jerked her away from Flo. She squirmed and kicked, flailing her arms and legs as much as she could. Even Flo, in his weakened state, attempted to jump on them, but he was stopped by a man who’d been waiting in the shadows. Grace winced as he pummeled Flo.
“Stop!” she screamed. “He’s not well. Don’t hurt him. Please don’t hurt him.”
The two men dragged her toward a parked automobile a few hundred feet away. She looked over her shoulder to see the thug walk away from Flo, and him slumped to the ground, unconscious.
“Flo!” she shrieked.
Her two kidnappers pushed down her head, shoved her into the car, and quickly slid in, one on each side of her. Cramped and squeezed between the two fearsome strangers, Grace continued to struggle, but they held her arms and legs fast. One even shoved a rag so far into her mouth, Grace gagged.
“Stop your whining,” he commanded.
Wild eyed with fear and rage, she watched as Marciano thumped into the passenger’s side of the front seat and another man slid into the driver’s seat. The beefy mobster turned and smiled lasciviously at Grace as the car sped away. After a few minutes, Marciano, having never taken his eyes from Grace, instructed one of the men to blindfold her.
Completely helpless, she tried to move her head back and forth to thwart their efforts, but it was useless. Rough fingers tied Marciano’s silk scarf around her head and over her eyes, and pulled it tight. Too tight. Her head was in a vise, but she couldn’t say anything because of the rag stuffed in her mouth.
This must be what it feels like to drown.
Consumed with fear and surrounded by evil, Grace tried to control the violent shaking of her limbs and the whimper that came out of her body unbidden. She prayed she wouldn’t be harmed. She thought about Flo and hoped that someone would help him.
And where was Chet? What had happened to his plan?
The car jerked to a stop. Hands grabbed her and slipped around her waist, hauling her out of the car. They thrust hands under her arms and lifted her off her feet. She imagined being put in a small, dark cell. The thought worsened her panic, and again, she struggled and flailed against the bondage of both men’s hands. Something clanged shut, and then the ground moved upward, throwing off her equilibrium. It must have been an elevator. She could smell woolly carpet and the musky odor of wood. They stepped out, and the footing became soft. They led her away from the elevator, walking for what felt like miles. She heard someone messing with the lock of a door, and then she was shoved forward.
She fell to the ground and listened. A click told her that they had locked the door. She sensed she was alone, so she pulled the rag from her mouth and coughed. Then she ripped the silk scarf from her head and stood on unsteady legs. She blinked, her eyes adjusting to the dimly lit room, oppressively masculine with ornate, dark wood fixtures, and floor-to-ceiling wood paneling throughout. A huge canopy bed dominated the room. Other furnishings included a rolltop desk, a bureau, a wardrobe, and end tables on either side of the bed.
Grace jumped when the door unlatched. Marciano entered and quickly shut the door behind him, snapping a bolt to lock it. A tremor started in Grace, and she fought for self-control. She backed up to put distance between them, and he moved forward until she stopped short, her heels against the footboard of the massive bed.
Marciano chuckled, his eyes roaming over her face, her hair, and down to her breasts. She instinctively wrapped her arms around herself. He came close, so close she could smell garlic and alcohol on his breath, tinged with the sickeningly sweet odor of tobacco.
“If you cooperate, you won’t get hurt,” he whispered into her ear.
Grace pulled away, but he caught her by the wrist.
“Shy one, aren’t you?”
She cringed and shrunk away from him.
“You’ll get to like me once you get to know me. We have plenty of time.” Greasy hair hung over his eyes and clung to his perspiring forehead.
Grace fought the gagging sensation rising in her throat. When she turned away from him and covered her face with her free hand, Marciano stiffened and tightened the grip on her wrist.
“I don’t like rejection, Miss Michelle. No woman in her right mind refuses me. I suppose you just need some time to get over that lover boy, Chet Riker.”
At the mention of his name, Grace wilted inside. Her heart felt as if something was squeezing it, draining it of its life blood.
“Why are you doing this?”
“Why?” Marciano ran a cold finger down her cheek. “Because I enjoy seeing Ziegfeld fail. He’s had it all—money, women, success, everything a man could want. So naturally, it gives me great pleasure to take what’s his and make it mine.”
“What are you going to do with me?”
His facial features hardened, his eyes grew even colder. “Nothing . . . yet.” He cupped his hand under her chin and gripped it. “You just make yourself at home,” he said, laughing.
When he released her, Grace scrambled away from him to the other side of the bed. Marciano shook a finger at her. “I don’t like rejection.”
Grace raised her chin in defiance. The day she gave in to Joe Marciano would be the day she took her own life.
Grace sat in a chair by the window in the plush surroundings of Marciano’s lair and looked out at the bustling nighttime chaos of New York City, wondering what Marciano had in store for her. She’d become a hostage in the war between Flo and the mobster, and the thought sickened her.
The door burst open, startling her, and she looked up to see Felicity Jones standing in the doorway with a tray of food, a hardened expression in her doe-like blue eyes. Before Grace said a word, the woman sauntered in the room and shut the door behind her with her foot, sending a loud bang echoing in the room. She wore a strapless, dark green velvet dress, the bodice cinched in tight, clearly covering a corset that pushed her breasts up and out. The garment hugged her hips down to her knees and then flared out at the legs. Heavy powder and painted lips covered the natural beauty that Grace knew existed underneath.
“I’m Felicity,” she said, walking toward Grace, surveying Grace head to toe.
“Yes, I know.”
“Joe says he wants you to be his new girl.” Felicity placed the tray on the desk and folded her arms over her tightly corseted waist.
Grace raised her chin. “That will never happen.”
“Not if I have my way.” Felicity moved closer to Grace, now towering over her. Grace never noticed the woman’s height before. She stood as tall as most men. Grace tried not to shrink beside Felicity’s imposing stature and granite expression. Now that Felicity was closer, Grace
could see bruises under her eye and across her jawline, which had been expertly covered with makeup.
“He doesn’t like rejection.” Felicity said.
“He’ll have to kill me first.” Grace met the woman’s steely gaze.
“You’ve got spunk.” Felicity’s eyes remained stony like two brilliant sapphires. “Joe likes that.”
Grace didn’t like the implication. “And who are you to Marciano?”
“I’m the ‘old girl,’ I suppose . . . again.” Her eyes bore into Grace.
They stood in silence for a few seconds, staring at each other. Then Felicity’s posture relaxed. She toyed with the sparkling necklace at her throat. “I used to work for Flo—like you, like your sister.”
“My sister? Did you know my sister?”
Felicity smirked. “Yes. Unfortunately.”
“How’d you—”
Felicity’s blue eyes flashed. “I’m not here to chitchat. Just to bring you food. Eat it if you want; don’t if you don’t.”
Grace’s gaze traveled to the food tray. Her stomach growled with hunger, but she couldn’t make herself get up and go over to her meal. Not with Felicity staring at her.
“Thank you.”
Felicity walked over to the desk and pulled out the chair. She came over near the window, near Grace, plunked the chair down, and sat as gracefully as a queen with billowing skirts. Grace swallowed. What did this woman want with her?
“Is there something else?” Grace asked, not sure she wanted to hear the answer.
“Just some information. For your own good.” Felicity played with the tendrils of ebony hair that hung to her shoulders. “It may come as a surprise to you, but Joe would never take you by force—unless he’s drunk.”
Grace blinked. “He kidnapped me from the theater. He had his buddies shove a rag down my throat, blindfold me, and bring me here. Seems to me he took me by force—and he didn’t seem drunk.”
One corner of Felicity’s mouth turned up. “That’s not what I meant. Don’t get me wrong. He intends to keep you here until he gets what he wants. He’s determined.”
Grace took in the information, her every instinct telling her to get up and run, but she knew a guard probably lurked outside her door.
“He needs to feel that you want him.”
“But how could I possibly—”
“Oh, darling. You’ll want him, I can assure you. In time, you will.”
Grace could barely believe what she was hearing. “Do you?”
A corner of Felicity’s mouth turned up, her eyes narrowing at Grace, then she winced as if in pain. Grace’s eyes lit on the bruises on Felicity’s jaw again and then rose to meet the woman’s stare.
“Was he drunk when he did that to you?” Grace asked, pointing.
Felicity stood up fast, her eyes blazing and hand raised. Grace thought the woman was going to strike her.
“Mind your own business,” she growled. “I’m warning you, just like I warned that tart of a sister of yours.”
Grace straightened her spine, leaned toward Felicity. “How well did you know my sister?”
“Again, none of your business. You need to do as I say or Marciano will chew you up and spit you out like yesterday’s stale bread.” Felicity’s gaze lingered, and then she turned her back to Grace to walk out of the room.
“Why me?” Grace asked Felicity when she reached the door.
She paused, turned, walked back to the window. “Because Flo loves you.”
Grace’s heart ached. She used to believe that Flo loved her, but she doubted everything now.
“He and Joe grew up together,” Felicity explained. “Flo had everything Joe wanted, and Flo never let him forget it. Once Joe became powerful, he wanted to take everything he could from Flo. It started with me.”
“Did he kidnap you, too?”
“No, I liked the idea of a rich, powerful man like Joe Marciano. Besides, Flo was with Billie, and I got in the way.” Felicity moved closer to the window.
The window. An escape. Grace didn’t know exactly how many floors they’d come up in the elevator, but a surge of hope bloomed.
“But, Joe never made good on his promises,” Felicity said, sadness and disappointment in her voice.
Grace stood, wanting to get closer to the window, to peer down and see how many floors lie below. “Why are you still with him?”
“I’m not here to tell you my life story.” Felicity’s lips pursed, her jaw flexed, and the pain returned to her eyes. “I’m here to convince you that it’s in your best interest to please Joe.”
Although complicit in Grace’s capture and understandably not pleased with Grace’s presence in Marciano’s rooms and thoughts, this woman seemed shattered, like a porcelain doll that had been smashed against the floor.
“I know what it’s like to be used,” Grace said, feeling her own pain at the thought.
“You?” Felicity’s voice rose in pitch. “You know what it’s like to be used?” As she came closer to Grace, her perfume surrounded them in a cloud of something floral, maybe jasmine. Her eyes roamed over Grace’s hair, her clothes, and the earrings that dangled from her lobes, and then trained her eyes on Grace’s. She raised her hand and ran her finger tenderly down Grace’s face. “So pretty and innocent. You have no idea what it is to be used.”
Alarmed at the woman’s intimate touch, Grace backed away.
“Oh, now, come on. You aren’t afraid of little ole me, are you?”
Grace met her gaze and raised her chin. She inched backward, closer to the window. When she saw that they were about seven stories high, her heart sank. Plus, the paint on the windowpane was so thick it had run into the cracks, sealing the window shut. Surely there must be a fire escape, if she could ever figure out how to open the window.
“I’d really like to know how you knew my sister. Please . . . Were you friends?”
“Pfft.” Felicity waved her hand dismissively. “Hardly.”
“Did you know her through Flo?”
“Let’s just say we had mutual acquaintances. I couldn’t stand the girl. You seem a little, well, shall we say, less aggressive, but mind your p’s and q’s. I promise you don’t want to get on my bad side.”
“Like my sister did?”
“You got it, sweetheart.”
Grace wondered if Felicity could be added to the list of people she suspected of murdering Sophia, but Felicity wasn’t in California when Sophia died. She clearly didn’t like Sophia, as had many Grace was finding out. Had Felicity had a dalliance with Jack? Or did her dislike of Sophia have to do with Flo?
“I’m not afraid,” Grace said, her voice almost a whisper, dread threatening to swallow her whole. “Of you or Marciano.”
The left side of Felicity’s mouth turned up, and she raised her eyebrows. “You might want to reconsider, honey. Joe thinks he pulls the strings around here, and he does, but I have my ways of dealing with Joe. And if you want to stay safe, you better stay on my good side. Got it?” Felicity walked to the door, opened it, and walked out before Grace could even answer. The lock clicked as it engaged.
She clasped her hands together, trying her hardest not to wring them like a dishtowel. She had to be an actress now, someone who projected confidence and strength, despite the growing realization that she might not find a way to escape. She walked over to the bed and sat down, her heart thumping in her chest. Surely, at some point, Chet would figure out where she was and save her. And Flo? Would he try to get her back, or would he let Marciano take her like a worthless trinket? It was all she had to hope for that the two men who meant the most to her would find a way to save her from this hell.
Chapter Thirty-One
Grace stood at the window, her forehead pressed against the glass to see the view directly below. One story down, in the gray of night, she could see the platform of a fire escape. If she could just get the window open, she could slip out, drop the ten to twelve feet below, and then figure out what to do next. Perhaps t
he window below her was not locked, or she could extend the ladder from the fire escape to the floor below to the next floor.
She ran her hand along the paint-filled seams of the window. She scratched at it with her fingers, and a small paint chip lodged under her fingernail. It would take time. If only she had—
She ran over to the desk, opened the roll top and searched all the nooks and drawers. She shuffled through miscellaneous papers scattered throughout until her fingers found something hard—a letter opener. Now this could be her ticket to freedom.
Behind her, the doorknob clicked. Someone was coming! She quickly closed the drawer just as Marciano’s bulk filled the doorway. She froze, her breath caught in her throat. She gripped the letter opener more tightly.
“Writing a letter?” Marciano slammed the door shut and walked over to her. His steps were unsteady, slow, and the closer he came, the more she could smell the alcohol. His pockmarked face looked oily, and the sneer on his face made him even more grotesque. Grace’s stomach flipped. Felicity said he would only take advantage of her if he was drunk. The stink emanating from him told her she didn’t have a prayer.
When Grace tried to step backward, he thrust out a hand and grabbed a fistful of her hair. Grace yelped, her arms and legs trembling. He gripped her hair so hard Grace could feel her scalp tighten and burn where his fingers pulled at the roots. She tilted her head toward him to relieve the pain, and he slowly pulled her to her feet, his grasp growing tighter. Grace’s breath came in ragged gasps, and every muscle in her body tensed. She clung to the letter opener, and its hard coolness gave her some comfort. Her fingers searched for and found the pocket in her dress and she dropped in the letter opener, hoping it wouldn’t show above the pocket.
