“I think I’m going to make you bleed before you cum,” he tells me. “I want to see that dark blood pooling at my feet again.”
My eyes widen, adrenaline rushing through my body. “Please,” I beg him again. But this time, I don’t beg for freedom. He’s made it very clear that he won’t give me that…. I’m begging for my life instead. “I’ll do anything, just don’t hurt me.”
“Shut up.” He slaps me, and the contact of his hand hitting mine throws me back on the bed. I recover from his strike, realizing just how strong he is. He barely put any effort into the hit, and I’m still reeling from it. I’m so fucked.
He leaves me on the bed, my heart pounding and my cheek radiating pain. Walking over to the door, he doesn’t give me a single look as he shuts the door behind him. Next thing I hear is a key turning in the lock, and I scream my head off until I lose my voice. It must only be a few minutes, but it feels like hours holed up in this place.
When I’m utterly exhausted from screaming, I get off the bed, pressing a cool palm to my cheek. It still hurts so badly, but I’m not about to sit idly by as this man attempts to hurt me. I need to figure out where I am, find out more about the man who’s taken me captive.
I walk through the room. There’s the bedroom and an ensuite bathroom. Every object I could use as a weapon has either been removed or nailed down firmly. Even if it wasn’t, I could never defeat the monster who’s keeping me here against my will. He’s a mountain of muscle and determination. Even when I lunged at him, giving it my all, he swatted me away as if I was but an annoying fly.
I explore the space instead, needing something to distract myself. I assumed it was nighttime outside, because all the lights were on in the room. But now I’m realizing it’s because there are no windows, and I must be in a basement of some sort. The man mentioned putting me underground, and I see he’s already done that.
I have no idea where I am.
No clue who the man is who took me.
I know he’s going to hurt me in more ways than I can possibly imagine.
My thoughts flit back to Matteo and the time we spent together. As much as I want to hate him, there was something there, something I didn’t feel willingly. A spark of something dark and delicious that makes me want him more than anyone or anything in my whole life.
And just like that, I become sure of another thing.
Wherever I am, he will come for me.
Whoever took me will die by his hand.
Matteo will come for me, and he will save me.
I just hope he is fast enough…. And I hope we’ll walk out of this hellhole hand-in-hand, not with him carrying my lifeless body in his arms.
10
Matteo
My father’s fist smashes into the wall. He is cursing in Italian, some words that even I don’t recognize. I know I'm going to have a black eye tomorrow from the blow he delivered to my face, but I'm past the point of caring. All I want is Bianca. Her soft skin pressed against mine, arms wrapped tenderly around my neck.
"We have to find her," I say. "Someone took her."
"You stupid son of a bitch," my father snarls at me. I don't correct his wording, since he just insulted himself as well. Then again, he still doesn't see me as his son, which explains his words. "She ran."
"She didn't fucking run!" I bellow back at him. "She's been taken. Are you fucking blind, old man?" I point around to the mess in the room, the shattered window, the blood covering the floor. "Can't you see there was a struggle?"
"That could've been staged easily enough," he says, pacing the room, a wild look in his eyes. His shoulders are tense and he's pissed off as hell. I know he blames me for this. "She ran from you, and from me. Back to her Daddy. What makes you think she didn't?"
"Shut the fuck up!" I snap. "She didn't run. She wouldn't run from me."
"Sure." My father snarls in anger and pulls me closer, grabbing a fistful of my shirt. "You're going to find her. You're going to fix this goddamned mess if it's the last thing you do!"
I don't disagree with him. Finding Bianca and bringing her back safely is my first priority right now. I need to make sure she's all right. Need to bring her back to me.
"Where do we start?" I ask, already planning what to do in my head.
"Call the brothers," my father says, already sounding defeated. "Have them search for her. One place at a time."
"I don't think this was Da Costa or his men," I say, furrowing my eyebrows. "Her daddy never would've hurt her. She told me — he really loves her."
"Who then?" My father looks like he's about to be violently sick all over the floor, and I assume I have the same look about me. "Why would someone kidnap her, again?"
"Does Da Costa have any other enemies?" I wonder out loud.
"I'm sure he does, but no one who would try to hurt his daughter," my father says.
"Yeah, only you're crazy enough for that." I feel fucking angry, even though I don't really have a reason. Had my father not decided he needed to have Bianca, she never would've walked into my life.
We're looking around the room aimlessly, not sure what to focus on, not sure what to do. After a few minutes, my father excuses himself to make a call and steps outside. I remain in the bedroom, the signs of struggle my beautiful girl went through making my blood boil. I kneel down on the floor and find her lingerie still discarded there. So when they took her, she must've been naked....
My fingers form a fist around the skimpy piece of fabric and I feel angrier than ever. I have never been consumed by so much rage. That girl is mine. I will decide her fate. I will keep her safe. And no-fucking-one else.
Father walks back into the room, stopping when he sees me kneeling on the floor. I don't attempt to hide the pain I feel from him this time. I know he considers me weak. He probably thinks I'm ridiculous for developing feelings for a captive girl, but.... He just told me he's experienced love at least once in this life.
Wait a fucking minute.
Love?
This can't be fucking love.
Love shouldn't feel like this.
Love isn't a primal urge to protect her, fuck her, save her, show her what she means to me, and give her everything I can. Love isn't supposed to be so wrong. Love doesn't leave your heart bleeding when she's taken away. Is it?
"I don't understand." The words leave my mouth without me meaning to say them.
My father's heavy palm comes to rest on my shoulder. "It's all right," he tells me. "You will, son. In time you will understand."
He just called me his son, and I can't even respond. I'm too caught up in this, in the fact that she's gone. I need her back. I need my princess back. At any cost.
We stay like that for a long time, me on my knees with my father’s hand on my shoulder, until I stop thinking about time passing by and find comfort in my father's touch instead. I wait until I've calmed down, which coincides with a knock on the door.
I get up slowly, bracing myself against the bed. I feel like a weak old man, unable to do anything. Too broken to react when the three brothers walk into the room. I try to focus on them to stop thinking about my predicament. I need something to distract me instead.
Antonio, Francesco and Pietro are all staring at me like I'm some kind of wounded animal. My father helps me get on my feet, and I feel them wobble under me. I feel destroyed, but at the same time I know if Bianca's kidnapper revealed himself to me right now, I would have the strength to kill him with my bare hands.
"What the fuck?" Pietro asks. He's the smallest of the three brothers, the middle child. He's the one I would most likely be friends with, if that were an option.
"He took Bianca," my father explains. His voice is tired. "You three pricks were supposed to be watching her, and Matteo took her to his apartment.”
"So? Where is she?" Francesco wants to know. The youngest, and also the boldest. He's the one I'd be intimidated to fight. It's not his brawn, it's the sheer anger and hatred that radiates off him, and also —
I assume — the reason he got himself and his brothers involved with the mob.
"She's gone," I admit. "Someone took her from my apartment."
"You weren't watching her?" Pietro scratches his head. "Fuck man, why?"
"I just left to go see him." I point towards my father. "I needed to talk about something. I assumed no one knew where she was.... No one knows about this apartment."
"It's all right." Antonio steps closer, placing a heavy hand on my shoulders. The only one out of the three brothers I consider a friend. The oldest, the strongest, and the kindest. "It's not your fault, Matteo."
"Damn fucking right it is!" Francesco exclaims. "If he were keeping a closer eye on her, this wouldn't have happened."
"Shut the fuck up," my father tells him. "You don't know shit. You were called here to find her, so get to work. Scour this room and the apartment for evidence. Ask the people who live here if they saw anything, bribe them if you have to."
They all nod silently and file out of the room to do as they were ordered. I head to the living room of my now destroyed apartment, feeling defeated. So fucking helpless. There's nothing I can do but wait until the person who took her reveals himself. And then I can tear him to pieces.
My father joins me on the old sofa, and his look of disgust on his face as he sits down doesn't escape me. But I appreciate that he's trying. It's more than he's ever done for me his whole life. I know there's some selfish intent behind his actions, but for the first time in my life, I feel like he actually cares about my feelings.
"We need to find her," I tell him. "I fucking need her next to me."
"What happened between you two?" my father asks.
"You…I.... You don't need to know." I cover my face with my hands, having trouble breathing properly.
"I can assume."
"I didn't sleep with her," I say abruptly, and my father simply nods. "She's...she's a virgin."
He doesn't say the words we're both thinking. If someone took her, she might not remain one for too long.
"You sure she didn't run?" my father asks again. I shake my head almost violently, pissed off at him for even asking.
"She wouldn't. She...she had chances before, and she never took them," I say. "She wanted to stay here, with me. She didn't want to go back to the cell or even to her father."
"We'll find her," my father says confidently.
"We have to," I reply. My words are somber, and I mean them. She needs to be back where she belongs — next to me. I'll do anything. And if someone hurt her, I will....
"Found something." Antonio walks out from the other room and presents us with a gun. I widen my eyes. There was no gun when my father and I were in the room.
"Where?" I bark.
"Under the bed." Pietro joins us in the living room and gives me an apologetic look. "Looks like someone kicked it under the bed during the murder."
"Murder?" My father is staring at the men with a confused expression on his face.
Francesco walks in, looking uncomfortable as fuck. "Given that there was a gun.... We think she was killed."
My heart constricts with pain. I feel drained as fuck, completely helpless. It can't be true, though. If she were dead, surely I would know. Surely I would feel the loss of her life, even if her body wasn't nearby.
"She's not dead," I snap. "She's not fucking dead. Take that back."
All three of them look uncomfortable as fuck, and I can't help myself. I lunge for Francesco, who is standing the closest to me. My hands wrap tightly around his throat and I barely hear the screams of the other men in the room. I need to kill, kill, kill. It won't bring her back, a small voice inside my head tells me, but I shut it up. I don't fucking care. I need to hurt, kill, maim.
Three pairs of hands are barely enough to drag me off Francesco. I'm screaming curse words at him as he grabs for his throat, choking on his words.
"Jesus fuck!" he yells. "Don't kill the messenger."
"Shut up!" my father shouts him, his voice sharp. "Keep looking. Go talk to the neighbors. Find any clue you can. She can't be dead. He would've left her body here. She's worth more alive, anyway."
The brothers scatter out of the apartment with Francesco clearing his throat, trying to recover from my attack. I feel embarrassed as fuck now. It wasn't his goddamned fault this happened. If it was anyone's fault, it was mine.... And that's why it's so hard to accept.
My father sits me back down on the couch, joining me again. "Calm down," he speaks to me in Italian. "You need to calm down or you'll be of no help to anyone."
I understand his words, though they aren't making any sense to me. How the fuck am I supposed to calm down in this situation? I need her.
"I know what we need to do." My father's voice is heavy, and I look at him, trying to search for an explanation in his eyes.
"What?" I ask.
He takes a deep breath, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he swallows thickly. "We need to speak to someone else."
"Who?" I ask, feeling pissed off. "No one knew about this apartment. No one but you knew I was the one who took her."
I give him a long look and he stares right back. For a second, I wonder if it was my father who took her back. I search for answers in his eyes, coming up empty every time. It couldn't have been him, I decide. It feels like my father sees the revelation in my eyes, and he smiles slowly, as if to corroborate the story in my head. I smile back weakly.
"It wasn't me," he says simply.
"I know." My voice is weak. I'm embarrassed of it.
"We need to talk to someone else," he repeats.
"Who?" Who could possibly help out here? There isn't much we can do except have the brothers search for clues, possibly find out who took her, and exact our revenge.
My father takes a deep breath before answering me. "We need to speak to Nicolas Da Costa," he finally manages to get out. "We need to go to Bianca's father."
11
Bianca
The first day passes by in a haze. I’m scared, shaking with every sound and unable to get a moment of peace. I’m shaking each time I hear something, so afraid he’ll come here again. My eyes hurt from the artificial lighting in the room, and I’m growing really hungry.
I’m surprised to find the bathroom fully functional, but I’m too paralyzed by fear to explore my surroundings any further. Instead, I spend hours crouched in a fetal position on the bed, thankful that he at least untied me.
I still don’t know who the man is – he never told me his name. But I know I’m very afraid of him, and I’m dreading the moment he comes back in here.
I guess I eventually fall asleep despite my fear, feeling exhausted after the horrible few days I’ve had. I’m a deep sleeper, and I don’t wake up even once until I’ve gotten some proper rest. As soon as my eyes fly open in what I assume to be hours later, I spring upright in bed, encased by a paralyzing fear. But I’m still in one piece, and nothing hurts.
However, there is a platter with some food sitting on the nightstand, and I know he came in here. I shudder at the thought of the man seeing me in such a vulnerable position and pull the duvet up around me to protect myself. I wonder briefly whether the food he brought in to me is drugged, but I don’t have the option of leaving it. My stomach is rumbling, and I need some sustenance.
I eat the lukewarm chicken noodle soup and follow it up with a grilled cheese sandwich. They’re not hot anymore, but they feel good in my starving belly. I wash it all down with a glass of milk that accompanied the food.
Once I’m done, I’m wide awake and unsure what to do with myself. I know I need to try to find a way out of here, though. The way that man spoke to me…it was obvious he wanted to hurt me. And the longer I stay, the greater his chance of doing just that.
I climb off the bed and find some clothes neatly folded in a stack on the chest in front of the bed. They’re my size, in pastel pink and white. I put them on reluctantly, only because I don’t want to prance around naked. It would only mak
e the situation more dangerous and disconcerting.
The outfit consists of pink yoga pants and a white T-shirt. Too girly and childish for me, but I put it on nonetheless. There’s a set of lacy lingerie, as well, and I put that on first. The more clothes that separate my skin from this madman, the better.
I pace the room, treading softly, trying to make as little noise as possible. I want the man to think I’m still asleep and not come back in here for as long a period as possible. The fact that there are no windows means I don’t know what time it is, though, and I can only guess when he’ll be back.
It could be any second, or it might take hours. I need to use every chance I get to familiarize myself with my environment. I’m too scared he’ll put me in the binds once he comes back, preventing me from trying to find a way to escape.
The room is very generic. Pretty and nicely decorated, yes, but there is not a personal touch in sight. The only place I deem worthy of interest is the bookcase, filled with books I’d read myself when I was a younger girl. Little Women, Pride and Prejudice, the Little Princess. So many books I remember from my childhood.
My fingers trace the pretty spines, noticing all the books are quite old. They’re not ancient, but definitely about as old as I am. I even remember some of the covers from the editions I have on my shelves back at home that I’ve kept from my childhood.
Curious, I pull out one of the tomes and the spine cracks open in my hands. It falls open to the title page, and I stare at it in wonder. A name is written down the page in swirly writing, hearts dotting the I’s.
This book belongs to Lottie!
I stare at the writing before setting the book down. I pull another one out, and sure enough, it also has the same writing on the first page. I wonder who this mysterious Lottie might be. By the time I’ve gone through most of the collection, a big pile of books sits beside me on the floor, and I feel like I know Lottie’s taste already. She sure liked her classics, and she must’ve been a younger girl, judging by her childish, bubbly handwriting.
Dark Blood: A Mafia Hitman Romance Page 9
