Cruel King: An Enemies to Lovers Romance

by Jillian Quinn

  When I’d approached Senator Parisi with the paternity results and accused him of murdering Mark, I had no idea he would use that conversation against me. I was only trying to buy Isabella’s freedom. We didn’t have a lot of options. He watched every move Isabella made and had her calls traced and recorded. His influence made him dangerous, too powerful to escape.

  “I want to talk to my lawyer,” I growled at the man on the other side of the table.

  His jaw flexed. He opened his mouth, as if he wanted to say something, and stopped himself. Agent Conklin placed his palms on the table and pushed himself up from the chair, staring at me with hate filled eyes.

  I wanted to smack the stupid look from his face. The charade had gone on for long enough. For the first few hours I was in federal custody, they asked me question after question, all with no response. I wouldn’t tell them a damn thing. My father raised me not to talk to cops, even if he didn’t follow his own advice.

  Anything I said could have been used against me in court. I wasn’t a lawyer. I didn’t know every loophole of the law. So, I did the only thing I knew how to do in the situation and kept my mouth shut. It was my shot at leaving the building. One wrong move and Isabella would be visiting me behind bars for the next decade.

  Agent Conklin left the room without another word. I let out a sigh of relief that my father’s advisor would be there soon. For all I knew, my lawyer was already there, and they were interfering with my civil rights in an attempt to get information out of me. The agents who questioned me were on Senator Parisi’s payroll. That asshole followed through on his promise to take away my freedom.

  I would never back down to him. He didn’t scare me. The threat of prison didn’t bother me either. It was having Isabella taken away from me that worried me most.

  But how did they get proof of my crime? Was it fabricated? Was all of this a ruse? That was the only question I wanted to be answered.

  An hour later, Paul Basile, the family lawyer, waltzed into the interrogation room with a briefcase in hand, dressed in a thousand dollar suit. It was the middle of the night, and yet he looked like a Wall Street broker ready to start his day. I was so damn tired I propped my elbow up on the table and leaned into it, fighting sleep.

  Paul closed the door behind him, set the briefcase on the table, and took a seat across from me. “Don’t look so miserable, kid. I’ll get you out of here in no time. You didn’t tell them anything, right?”

  I frowned. “Are you serious? No, of course not.”

  “I asked to see you earlier, but they said you were in the middle of being processed.”

  “They lied. I’ve been in this room for hours.”

  “What did they ask you?”

  I looked up at the camera in the corner of the room and pointed at it. “Is that thing on?”

  “No, they’re not allowed to record our conversation. That’s the beauty of the attorney-client privilege.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest and sighed. “When can I get out of here?”

  “Your bail hearing is in the morning.” He opened his briefcase, removed a pad of paper and pen, and set it in front of him. “When the judge asks you how you would like to enter your plea, you say not guilty. They claim they have physical proof of you threatening Senator Parisi.”

  “That’s not possible. I didn’t leave a trail. Whatever they have on me, the Senator made up.”

  “It’s an audio recording.” Paul scribbled on the paper in front of him, his eyes focused.

  “What did you hear?”

  “I haven’t heard it yet. They were about to play it for you before you asked for a lawyer. You’ll be asked to confirm the voice on the tape. Don’t answer them. Say nothing.”

  I nodded. “Same as I’ve been doing.”

  “Your old man trained you well.”

  If you only knew, I wanted to say.

  I wondered how many people were aware my father was a federal informant. Paul was his advisor and one of his oldest friends. He had to know.

  A knock on the door ended our short conversation. Two agents strolled into the room, one with a folder and tape recorder in his hand.

  Agent Conklin sat next to his partner, glaring at me. “Are you ready to talk?”

  Here we go.

  “What can you tell us about the kidnapping of Isabella Parisi?”

  I had every intention to remain silent, but his words sucked the air from my lungs.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Isabella

  Someone tapped me on the shoulder. Their constant prodding ripped me from my drug-induced sleep.

  “Hey,” a young girl said to me in an accent I didn’t recognize. She pushed her bony finger into my arm. “You alive?”

  My eyes shot open, and for the first time, in what felt like ages, I could see. The handkerchief no longer covered my eyes. I could move my jaw without something shoved in my mouth. I reached up to touch my face and looked up at the girl hovered over me.

  I blinked a few times to let her know I was, in fact, alive, still too stunned to speak. My shackles were gone, but the pain left behind from the cable ties burned my skin.

  “Where am I?” Pushing my hand to the lumpy mattress, I sat up and leaned back against the wall. It was cold and a little wet from the dripping porthole.

  While she had the voice of someone younger, she was much older, probably closer to my age. Brown hair sat atop her slim shoulders and curled at the ends. Her face was free of makeup, her clothes casual. I was expecting to find someone with a bruised face and a broken spirit. But she wore a smile I didn’t understand, not after being drugged and thrown around like trash.

  “We’re on a ship,” she said, stating the obvious.

  I rubbed my sore ankles, working my fingers into the ridges left behind by my restraints. “Yeah, but where are we going?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t ask questions.”

  “Who are these men?”

  She raised her hands over her head and yawned. “They’re criminals.” Her lids dropped as if she were fighting sleep. “They’re not so bad once you get to know them.”

  I narrowed my eyes at her, beyond confused by her laid-back attitude. My entire body shook from the nervous energy shooting through me, and yet she looked so comfortable. What the hell was wrong with her? In some ways, her calmness relaxed me. If we were both complete psychos, on edge and ready to jump out of our skin, we would’ve only made each other worse. I was almost happy to have her next to me.

  “You’re not afraid of them?”

  She shook her head. “No, why would I be? They’re doing me a favor.”

  “They drugged and kidnapped me from my house and left me here to rot. Whoever owns this ship is the kind of person you should be afraid of. We need to get out of here. If we stick together, we can escape.”

  She covered her mouth to laugh. “Don’t be silly. I’m here for the ride. I gave them a lot of money to sneak me onboard.”

  Moving from my ankles to my bruised wrists, I massaged the ache from them. “I don’t understand.”

  “I paid them to take me with them.”

  “Then you must know who they are. Did they give you a name? My father is a United States Senator. He can help us.”

  As long as he’s not the one responsible for this…

  I wouldn’t have put anything past him. The man was pure evil. It was hard to believe I was related to him.

  She shook her head. “No, I didn’t catch any of their names. Someone in America told me about men who could smuggle me to Europe, and I begged them to help me.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “Romania.”

  That explained why I couldn’t place her accent.

  “Is that where we’re going?”

  “Among other places. They’re drug dealers, I think. Something like that. They only agreed to help me because they were already traveling this way.”

  “Do you know which port we left from?”

  “C
ape Canaveral.”

  I stared at her in shock. “Florida? No way.”

  Based on the mileage between New York and Florida, I was in the car with those men for at least a day before I woke up in the trunk. The drive from New York to Florida took around twenty-four hours if driven straight through.

  “That’s where I met them,” she said. “I took a bus from Cincinnati to New York to Florida.”

  “Have they fed you?” My stomach rumbled and hadn’t stopped since I opened my eyes. “I’m starving. It’s been days since I last ate.”

  “Once a day.” She pulled her legs into her chest and rested her chin on her knees. “It’s usually a sandwich and a bottle of water.”

  I glanced around the room in search of water or even an old slice of crust on a plate and came up empty-handed. We were below deck, the feet moving above our heads creating a cacophony of sounds, which were adding to the pounding at the base of my skull. I had a migraine unlike any I’d ever experienced.

  Acid churned up in the back of my throat, the taste making me nauseous. Combined with the subtle rocking of the boat, I was beginning to wonder if I was seasick. I’d been on ships dozens of times without any issue. But we were so close to the water in this small room that I felt every wave as it crashed against the sides.

  “I need to eat something. Did they come yet?”

  She shook her head.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Livia.”

  “I’m Isabella.”

  She nodded. “Nice to meet you.”

  After that, we sat in silence, until a few hours later when I heard a disturbance outside the room. Two or three men were arguing with each other, their voices so loud they sent a chill down my spine. Were they going to kill me? 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 carrying a tray of food, the other dressed in all black with his hands shoved into his pockets. Stalking toward me, they stared me down, their sharp looks piercing through me. I flattened my back against the wall, moving as far away from them as possible. I’d never been so terrified. My father was pure evil, but these men were animals. Drug dealers, criminals, it didn’t matter to me. They looked at me as if they wanted to hurt me.

  The man with the food crouched down in front of Livia and handed her a sandwich wrapped in plastic and a bottle of water. She smiled at him, and he winked. Even though I was starving, my hunger pains vanished, replaced by stress knots in my stomach. But it didn’t matter. Because there was only enough food for Livia on his tray.

  Instead of feeding me, he held out his hand for me to take. Confused by his gesture, I narrowed my eyes at him and sat still. I wasn’t about to touch him.

  “You weren’t supposed to be down here,” he growled. “Now get up before I throw you over my shoulder.”

  His threat was enough for me to peel myself from the mattress. He helped me up, crushing my fall with his muscular chest, and hooked his arm around my back to stabilize me. My legs were weak, the muscles so sore from not moving for days. Every part of my body ached. I felt as though I hadn’t slept in weeks.

  After he ushered me out of the room, the other man stayed behind to talk to Livia. She’d paid them to smuggle her to Europe, which made it harder for me to understand why they were treating her like a prisoner. None of this made sense to me.

  We climbed a ladder that led to what appeared to be sleeping quarters. I’d been on yachts plenty of times over the years with my father, and this one was on par with most of them. Judging by the room where I was being kept, I’d assumed we were on a fishing boat. It stunk of fish and cigarette smoke. But this floor was immaculate, like a floating hotel.

  The man behind me gripped my shoulder and pushed me forward, moving me down the long hall. Hardwood lined the floors, a perfect cherry color that shined when the recessed lights hit it just right. Decorated with expensive paintings, the walls were a bright white that forced me to blink a few times. I pinched myself to make sure it was real.

  How could this be the same boat?

  At the end of the long hall, we stopped in front of an oak door. He knocked, and a man on the other side told him to come inside. 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 round table in front of him, full of seafood and different plates of pasta. The scents hit my nostrils at once, the smells so intense my stomach rumbled.

  “Have lunch with me,” he said in a thick Italian accent. I wasn’t sure whom he was talking to until the man behind me pulled out the chair for me to sit. “Sorry about the confusion, Isabella,” he continued. “My men had you mixed up with someone else.”

  I couldn’t speak, even when I tried to say something.

  He sipped from the glass of red wine in front of him and then licked his lips. It was hard not to notice him. The way he carried himself reminded me of my father. Powerful men all had the same air about them. They sat with their shoulders squared, their faces full of determination.

  It was as if I were staring at the man I’d grown to hate, which only made me despise this man more. We held each other’s gazes for a solid minute before he sank further into his chair with the wine glass in his hand.

  “Do you like wine?” He set the glass on the table. “This wine is made from Aglianico grapes. At one time, they were almost extinct.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “She speaks. How about that?” He reached across the table to retrieve an empty glass and then poured some for me. Shoving it in my direction, he said, “Drink up.”

  I did as I was told, hoping it wasn’t poisoned. I was so thirsty I didn’t care. The grapes were divine, pure perfection as they hit my tongue. Without meaning to, I closed my eyes and let out a soft moan. I’d never been so excited to have a drink before.

  “My family owns several vineyards. You will be happy there,” he informed me.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “To meet the boss.”

  I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I could taste blood. “Why?”

  He ignored my question and slid a plate across the table, right in front of me. “Eat. You’ll need your strength.”

  For what?

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Stephan

  I stared at the FBI agent on the other side of the table, too stunned to respond.

  “What do you know about the disappearance of Isabella Parisi?”

  Paulie held out his hand. “Can I have a minute with my client?”

  Hesitant, the agent nodded, and his partner followed him out the door.

  Paulie tugged on my arm and shook me. “What did you do?”

  “Nothing.” I turned in my chair, so we were facing. “Just get me out of here, and it will all blow over.”

  “No, it will not.” Anger radiated through him, his cheeks growing redder by the second. “Do you have any idea how this looks? You threatened a United States Senator—“

  “Allegedly,” I corrected.

  “They have proof of you threatening Senator Parisi.”

  “We haven’t heard a tape or seen anything that proves my guilt, now have we?”

  He clenched his teeth. “Stop acting like a child, Stephan. This shit is serious.”

  “My old man has the Senator on his side. I’m sure they can work something out. Parisi wouldn’t have done this if he didn’t want something from us in return.”

  “He wants you out of his daughter’s life.”

  “And now she’s missing,” I countered.

  Lowering his voice, he said, “And I’m willing to bet you know where she is.”

  I looked away from him, refusing to answer.

  “You do, don’t you?” His voice was deep but low and full of so m
uch anger. “This is not the time to play games, kid. You could end up spending the rest of your life in prison, and for what? For this girl? She’s nothing to you.”

  “She’s everything to me,” I shot back, my tone so cold the words shook through me. “And if Parisi doesn’t drop the charges, he’ll never see Isabella again.”

  He shook his head, beyond pissed at me. Paulie couldn’t even look at me. He pushed his chair out from the table and jumped to his feet. “I don’t know what I can do for you. You’re beyond help.”

  “You’re leaving me in here?” I balled my hand into a fist and pounded it against the wooden table. “What good are you? What does my father pay you for if you can’t even get me out of this fucking place? Our guys have been in worse situations, and you’ve gotten them off every time.”

  “That’s because Senator Parisi intervened. This is different. You’re in here because of him, and he can make your stay permanent if you don’t wise up.”

  “I’m not giving in to him.”

  “Then I hope you enjoy the rest of your life from behind bars.”

  “Get me out of here,” I growled. “Now.”

  “Your bail hearing is in the morning.” Paulie stood in front of the door. “I’ll do my best.”

  “What do you expect me to tell them? I’m not answering any of their questions.”

  “I’ll stay with you until they’re done, just keep your mouth shut.”

  I sucked in a deep breath and blew it out. “Where are you going?”

  “To grab a smoke. This is going to be a long night.”

  For six hours straight, the same agents interrogated me. And for all six hours, I pretended they didn’t exist. I had my bail hearing in the morning. Paulie had assured the judge I wasn’t a flight risk, but because my family had the means for me to disappear, I had to surrender my passport. I wasn’t planning to leave the country the traditional way. But I was getting the fuck out.

  Paulie drove out of the parking lot in complete silence. The only thing I wanted to do was run to Atlantic City. My cousin, Damon, would know how to get me out of here without a trace.