Trapped: A Dark Mafia Romance

by Anna Ray

  Then there’s the closet, full of clothes in exactly my size. He must have been watching me for weeks. A shudder ripples down my spine as I remember the expensive, dark, unmarked car I’ve seen everywhere for the past month. I assumed it was my father keeping tabs on me, but now I realize it had to have been Massimo following my every move.

  My blood turns cold. I feel like such an idiot. I should have known he was too good to be true. And what about his friend, Francesco? I swear to god, if they’ve hurt Taylor… The thought dies as quickly as it was born. It doesn’t matter what they’ve done to Taylor; there’s no way I can help her when I’m trapped here.

  I stalk out of the bathroom and check the bedroom again, but nothing has changed. I’m in a luxurious, but inescapable, prison.

  Trying to figure out how long I’ve been gone, I estimate it has to be almost twenty hours. Surely my father is looking for me. When I didn’t call in the morning to say I’d gotten to class safely, he’ll have sent people out to look for me. Actually, it might have been even sooner if Taylor told anyone I vanished at the bar, but then I have no idea what happened to Taylor after Massimo took me away. She could lie dead in a ditch somewhere.

  I suppress a sob at the thought of my best friend, needlessly murdered because of something she had no part of. I have to believe she’s okay. I have to believe I’ll make it through this and see her again.

  Massimo’s earlier words echo in my mind; “If you behave yourself while I’m gone, I’ll let you call him this evening.”

  All I have to do is wait a few hours and I can call my father. It’s just a few hours… I can do that.

  7

  Massimo

  When I return to the house that evening, neither Alfred nor Peggy have anything to report, which I take as a sign Alessandra behaved herself while I was at work. When I check in on her, that theory is confirmed to be true. She’s lying on the bed, dozing, and everything in the room seems in its correct place. So I assume she didn’t have another tantrum and start throwing things around.

  I stand in the doorway, watching her silently for a moment. She’s still wearing the outfit she had on when I bought her in, minus the shoes of course, and her legs look lean and shapely as she lies on her side.

  I clear my throat to announce my presence, and Alessandra jerks awake. She looks around in panic, but when she sees me, she lets out a breath.

  That’s odd… shouldn’t she be more worried to find me watching her?

  As she sits up, I say, “I want you to call your father. You won’t tell him where you are, only that you’re in the custody of Massimo Accardi and that to ensure your safe return, he needs to meet me at a location of my choosing, with fifty-million dollars.”

  She juts her chin out. “Is that how much I’m worth to you: fifty-million dollars? My father will pay that, no problem.”

  “This isn’t about the money,” I remind her, taking a phone I bought especially for this purpose out of my pocket. “What’s your father’s number?”

  “I can do it,” Alessandra insists.

  “Oh, no. I’m not stupid. If I give you the phone, you’ll call the cops. Tell me the number…”

  She huffs out a breath, but tells me her father’s number. I input it and switch the phone to speakerphone so she can be heard. We’ll both hear everything said.

  “This is Stefano Giuliani; who is this?”

  “Daddy, it’s me, Alessandra,” she says, and the emotion is clear in her voice.

  “Alessandra, thank god. Where are you? Are you unharmed?” Stefano asks desperately, and I’m pleased to hear such concern in his voice — it’s clear he will do exactly what I ask to get his daughter back.

  “I’m being held by Massimo Accardi,” she begins.

  “Accardi. Is he with you now? Can you hear me, Accardi? You’ll pay for taking my daughter.”

  I remain silent, watching Alessandra closely. If anyone is going to pay, it’s Giuliani.

  “He says if you want me back safely, you have to bring fifty-million dollars to a location of his choosing.”

  I wait eagerly for Giuliani to take the bait and set in motion the next part of my plan, but I’m shocked when, instead of agreeing, he lays into Alessandra.

  “I can’t believe you and Taylor were so stupid to go out and get so drunk you couldn’t even call for a driver to bring you home,” he says.

  Alessandra bows her head. “I’m sorry… please, just do as he asks, and I’ll be good.”

  “I told you Taylor was a bad influence,” Giuliani continues, sounding more concerned about his daughter’s behavior than the fact I have her. “If you’d just followed my rules.”

  “I know, Daddy, and I’m sorry. I swear, just please give Accardi what he wants, and I’ll never do anything bad again.”

  “I’ll be in touch,” Giuliani says simply, and ends the call without agreeing to my demands.

  Alessandra sobs, while I remain silent and confused by the door.

  What the fuck just happened? What type of father wouldn’t do anything to rescue their daughter? Perhaps the same type of monster capable of killing an innocent woman and her fourteen-year-old daughter?

  Feeling like I need to say something, anything, to cut through the awkward tension in the room, I say, “You did well. I’m sure you father will call back soon. Until then, you’re allowed to move around the house as you please.”

  I step away from the door at the exact moment she stands from the bed, and I get a full view of her lean, bronze legs, the hem of her skirt kissing her thigh, and have to suck in a breath.

  Thankfully, she doesn’t notice, and I’m able to leave the room. I’ve just reached the top of the stairs when she rushes out after me.

  “Call him back,” she demands. “Get him to meet you. Make him save me.”

  Without turning to face her, I inject more confidence than I feel into my voice, and say, “Your father knows what I want and how to get in touch. When he’s ready, he will agree to my demands.” I was certain he would have given in right away, and I can’t understand why he didn’t.

  Behind me, Alessandra drops to the floor. “I don’t understand why he didn’t right away… he has that sort of money.”

  This makes me pause. I knew Giuliani was a monster, but what kind of man leaves his daughter with the second of a rival crime syndicate? I wonder if there’s more to it than Alessandra is letting on. She obviously knows about her father’s criminal dealings, so maybe they have some sort of prearranged plan for if she ever got taken by one of his enemies. Perhaps, if I can get her to trust me, she will offer some insight into what her father is thinking and planning.

  Trying to soften my features into what I hope is a reassuring expression, I turn and say, “I’m sure he’s calling his accountant right now to get the money I asked for. Come on, let’s have something to eat. I can ask the cook to make your favorite.”

  Alessandra looks up at me, her eyes narrowed. “Why are you doing this?”

  “I told you, I’m not a monster. I won’t let you starve. You did as I ask by behaving while I was away, and you said exactly what I told you to say to your father. That deserves a reward. Tell me, what should I ask Alfred to make?”

  Alessandra stands and her gaze softens. “Could I have some pasta with garlic butter and grated parmesan cheese?”

  I almost burst out laughing at the simplicity of the request and don’t fail to notice we have the exact same comfort food. Mama always used to cook pasta with garlic butter and parmesan cheese for me after a bad day at school.

  “I’m sure Alfred can manage that,” I say and lead the way downstairs.

  She follows, looking around the house with interest. When we get to the living room, she flops down on the couch and lets out an exhausted sigh.

  “You can watch a movie if you want,” I say, gesturing to the huge, flat screen TV hanging on the wall before heading through to the kitchen to give Alfred our dinner request.

  When I return with bottles of wa
ter for me and Alessandra, I find her curled up on the couch with a blanket covering her and watching Avengers: Endgame. I sit on the other end of the sofa and pretend to care about the comic book movie while we wait for Alfred to bring us our food.

  “Please, feel free to do as you like around the house. Until your father gets in touch, this is your home, too,” I say, just to have something to fill the awkward tension between us.

  She looks at me through narrow eyes and says, “That’s very kind of you. But I don’t imagine your kindness extends to giving me my phone back or letting me leave the house, does it?”

  “No, it doesn’t. I can’t have you go wandering off. You might get into trouble.”

  She scoffs and rolls her eyes. “You sound like my father. He always has to know exactly where I am.”

  “Well, he knows you’re with me, now, and I’m sure he wants to see you safely return home.”

  Alessandra stiffens. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? And yet, he still hasn’t called you back.”

  Silence descends as her words hang in the air, and I try to work out why Giuliani hasn’t called back and agreed to my demands yet. Surely he can’t still be trying to come up with the fifty-million dollars I demanded. No, it has to be something more. And I can’t believe he just doesn’t care about Alessandra, either. So what’s his game?

  When Alfred brings in folding trays holding plates of pasta with garlic butter and parmesan cheese, I try again to get some information out of Alessandra.

  “Do you know what your father does for work?” I ask as we eat.

  She pauses with her fork hovering by her mouth and stares at me. “I’m not some stupid child, you know? I know he’s involved with the mob.”

  “Indeed. And have you heard the name Carlo DeLuca?” I ask, knowing revealing my boss won’t give too much away, but it might cause Alessandra to reveal some information she’s been withholding from me.

  “Everyone knows Carlo DeLuca. He’s like the Godfather of Chicago. Why, do you think you’re a don like him? Do you think that by kidnapping the rich and powerful Stefano Giuliani’s only child, you can make a name for yourself?”

  I can’t contain my laughter at Alessandra’s assumption. “So, you’ve heard of Carlo DeLuca but never his second, Massimo Accardi?”

  Alessandra tosses her curly dark hair over her shoulder, and says, “You can’t be a very good second if I never heard of you before. Maybe that’s why you kidnapped me, to make people remember you.”

  I’m torn between knocking the plate out of Alessandra’s hand to punish her for her insolence and being impressed by her bravado. She’s obviously picked up an attitude from her father if she thinks she can speak to me like that.

  “Your father is the only thing standing between me and DeLuca and complete control of Chicago’s criminal underground.”

  “So you’ve kidnapped me so you can blackmail him into giving you complete control of the city?”

  “Haven’t I told you, more than once, this isn’t about the money or the power? This is personal.”

  At my words, Alessandra pales, and her eyes grow wide. She places her half-eaten plate of pasta on the coffee table and grabs her water bottle. In three long gulps, she drains the bottle and crushes the plastic between her palms.

  “He killed someone you care about?” she asks in a small voice, as though she still can’t believe, after everything I’ve told her, that her father is a murderer.

  “He did. He killed my parents and my younger sister, Bianca. She was only fourteen.”

  Alessandra bows her head, tears shimmering in her eyes. “I’m so sorry, but you have to know none of this is my fault. Why kidnap me?”

  “Because everyone has a weakness, and you are his. He will do what I ask to get you back.”

  Alessandra’s sadness turns to anger again, and she says, “He hasn’t done as you’ve asked yet. Maybe I’m not that important to him after all!”

  “Family means everything, even to the darkest of people,” I say, knowing I’d give up everything I have to bring my mother and Bianca back and banking on the same being true of Giuliani.

  What about your father? a voice in the back of my mind asks. A voice I promptly ignore. Growing up, I idolized my father. I wanted to be just like him. But when Carlo told me the reason my family had been murdered was because my father was playing both sides and acting as a mole for Giuliani, the love I’d had for him turned to hatred. Yes, Giuliani pulled the trigger, but my father practically loaded the gun with his actions.

  “I hope you’re right,” Alessandra says, placing her crushed water bottle on the coffee table and standing up. Without another word, she leaves the room, and a moment later, I hear her head upstairs.

  I place my half-eaten dinner on the coffee table and turn off the TV so I can sit in silence and think about everything I know about Giuliani and his daughter. I’m still convinced Alessandra knows more than she’s letting on, and this is all part of Giuliani’s game. Surely, the moment she told him my name, he had to know why I’d taken Alessandra and what I really want. So, does that mean Giuliani is stalling for time, trying to find a way out for him and his daughter? Perhaps he’s contacted DeLuca and is trying to strike some deal — complete control of Chicago in exchange for his daughter’s life. It doesn’t matter what he offers, though. Carlo promised I’d have revenge for my murdered family, and that’s exactly what I’ll get.

  8

  Alessandra

  I feel like I’m going out of my mind with boredom. I’ve been at Massimo’s house for almost a week now, and my father still hasn’t called to agree to his demands. I have to admit that worries me — a lot. I can’t shake the feeling I’ve done something wrong. Or maybe he’s punishing me for something. I know Father has the money Massimo is asking for, and I thought he’d do anything for me. So, why hasn’t he responded?

  Added together with fears my father has abandoned me is the fact there’s barely anything to do around here. There’s a huge flatscreen TV with loads of channels, but watching movies and shows all day gets tiresome. Massimo didn’t think to supply me with anything else, like books or video games.

  Looking for something to do, I make my way into the kitchen to see if Alfred needs any help. I always enjoy cooking at home, so I figure it’s a good way to pass some time. But as breakfast was a couple of hours ago and it’s not yet time for lunch, the chef isn’t around,

  I open the cupboards and see they’re fully stocked and have the ingredients I need to make ciambella. The ring-shaped cake, flavored with lemon zest and a sweet, fruity liqueur, was a staple of family celebrations like Christmas, Easter, and birthdays growing up.

  Feeling nostalgic and homesick, I preheat the oven and go in search of the traditional ring-shaped pan.

  I’m beating together eggs and sugar with an electric whisk when someone clears their throat. I look up to see Massimo leaning against the doorframe, watching me closely.

  “You know, we have staff to do that sort of thing,” he says.

  “I know, but I enjoy it. Plus, I’m bored. If you’re going to keep me here, you could at least supply me with a few books... maybe a games console.”

  Massimo chuckles. “I’ll see what I can do. And until then, at least you have baking to keep you occupied. I know it can be a fun hobby. Bianca would spend hours baking.”

  I’m a little surprised that Massimo is mentioning his sister again after telling me what happened to her, and I seize the opportunity to get to know him a little.

  “Didn’t your mother teach you? Mine did; here, let me show you,” I say, beckoning him over.

  “Oh no, I’m useless at baking. I can cook, but anything precise, like making cakes, is lost on me.”

  I leave the electric whisk to cross the room, and before I can think better of it, I’m taking Massimo’s hands. They’re warm and soft, and a memory of us at the bar flashes through my mind.

  “Come on, I’ll show you. If you’re keeping me here until my father
agrees to your demands, you’ve got a duty to keep me entertained.” Massimo huffs out a breath but allows me to drag him across the kitchen to the electric whisk. “Here, keep mixing the eggs and sugar until they’re combined and a pale yellow color.”

  Massimo does as I ask, and soon, I’m instructing him to pour milk slowly into the mixture, followed by olive oil. Once all the wet ingredients are combined, I show him how to sift in flour a little at a time until the batter thickens.

  “Next you add the zest of two lemons,” I say, handing him the fruit and a zester.

  “What do I do with this?” Massimo asks, holding it up like it’s an alien specimen.

  “Use it like a grater to shave the lemon zest into the batter.” When he looks at me blankly, I add. “That’s the yellow skin. Be careful not to grate too deeply in case you get any of the white pith.”

  Once again, Massimo is more than capable of following simple instructions, but I know there’s a huge difference between doing what someone tells you and being able to remember all the right steps, ingredients, and measurements yourself. Still, I also know a little encouragement goes a long way, so I say, “You’re doing well. So, while Bianca was baking, what were you doing?”

  “My father taught me to prepare fresh fish we caught and how to cook them,” Massimo replies. “Every summer we went on vacation to Sardinia, and one of our favorite things to do was fish for red snapper. Then we’d roast it with extra virgin olive oil, fresh rosemary, garlic, lemon juice, and wine.”