by Amy Brent
I knew that eventually – most likely on our wedding night – I'd have to give in to him. But for now at least, I was happy keeping my virginity intact.
“It's more than just Tony. I'm not that kind of girl, Tabitha,” I muttered. “You know that.”
“I'm not saying you have to fuck him, geez. But what could a conversation hurt?” she said. “Though if I'm being honest, I most certainly would. I'd be all over that guy like white on rice, baby.”
I laughed, turning my attention back to Tabitha. I couldn't keep staring at the sexy man in the tight jeans. I feared that if did, I might give in and do something stupid. Something I might come to regret later. Like actually talk to him – because where would we go from there? And I couldn't do that. My dad had made it clear that no matter what, I had to behave myself. I had to make this marriage happen. He said it would be the best thing for the family – and I always had to put the family first. At least, in his opinion.
I sighed and took a sip of my drink, trying to wash away the images of the man from my mind. Tabitha though, continued to stare at him without the slightest trace of shame.
“If you like him so much, why don't you talk to him, Tabby? You're a free agent. It's not like you have a boyfriend or anything.”
It was meant to be a joke, but as soon as I said it, I saw the look of hurt in her eyes and instantly regretted saying anything at all.
“Sorry, I didn't – ”
“No, we can't all be as blessed as you, Emilia,” Tabitha said, rolling her eyes, the hurt in her eyes replaced by anger.
I couldn't believe she'd said that. She knew exactly how I felt about being married off to Tony. Knew how I felt about him – or how I didn't feel about him.
“Blessed?” I snapped. “You call being forced into a marriage that I want no part of, with a man I can't be in the same room with without feeling sick to my stomach being 'blessed'?”
“Aww come on, Tony's not so bad,” she said. “He's nice on the eyes – for an older man. And he's loaded.You're not going to want for anything, Emilia. Your every want, whim, and desire is going to be fulfilled. It could be worse.”
Could be worse. I wanted to scream. It didn't seem so bad to her because it wasn't Tabitha being forced to marry a man almost the same age as her father. Maybe some people could happily marry a man they didn't love or care for, maybe some women only wanted financial security and nice things, but I wasn't one of those women.
Growing up, I knew my father would likely have a say in who I married. All family decisions ran through my father – but I'd always assumed he'd want me to be happy. Would let me choose the man I was going to spend my life with. Little did I know, I was not only not going to be able to pick the man I'd marry, but that my marriage would be nothing more than a bargaining chip in one of his goddamn business deals.
My marriage had nothing to do with love and everything to do with uniting two rival families together at last. It was a business transaction contingent on me marrying some man I barely knew and didn't even love.
Tabitha didn't get it. No matter how many times she said she understood how I felt, she never would. It wasn't her fault, but I wished she'd stop trying to make this all seem okay to me. She wasn't involved in this life like I was. She more or less got to stay above the fray while still enjoying some of the perks of membership.
Tabitha was part of our family – distantly – meaning, she had freedoms I'd never get to enjoy. And to her, it was all about the money. All about enjoying the finer things in life. She got to enjoy those things without having to worry about something like being married off to a stranger because my family had all the money and wealth and power.
She thought because I never wanted for anything, my life was ideal, and yet – what I wouldn't give for the freedom to be able to walk over to the blue-eyed stranger and strike up a conversation with him. Like any normal girl would.
Like Tabitha could.
“I'll be right back,” I said, and before Tabitha could insinuate that I was heading over to flirt, I cut her off with a glare and added, “I'm just going to the bathroom, that's all.”
To get to the bathroom though, I'd have to walk back behind the pool tables – which made things a little awkward. Which meand that I'd have to walk by the guy who was staring at me – the guy Tabitha was helpfully suggesting I hook up with.
As I neared the pool tables, I looked back at Tabitha who gave me a thumbs up and a pantomimed the motion for giving a blow job. And even though I tried not to laugh at her – because that would only encourage her – I couldn't help it. She was my best friend after all – for better or worse. I couldn't contain my grin and shook my head as I walked toward the bathroom, making sure to not look at the man as I passed him by. I kept my eyes straight ahead and I walked fast, making it to my destination without so much as a catcall, an offer to buy me a beer, or even a polite hello. Which was a relief – and simultaneously, a bit disappointing.
Stepping inside the restroom, I locked the door behind me and took a deep breath as I leaned against the sink and stared at myself in the mirror. I didn't really need to use the toilet, I just needed to step away from Tabitha and clear my head. I loved my best friend to bits, but this whole thing with Tony was starting to cause a little friction between us that had never existed before. She thought I was lucky as hell to be getting a man as loaded as he was. I disagreed. Vehemently. It was my life and I didn't want this for myself.
But I was being required to take one for the team. Or as my dad always said, I was being required to “do it for the family.”
Reaching into my purse, I pulled out some lipstick and touched up my makeup. Not that I needed to make myself look extra sexy. I was there for a drink with my friend, not to impress anybody – okay, so maybe I liked the attention some guys lavished on me. I could be a little vain, I could admit that. And it felt good, flattering, to have men pay attention to me. I knew it wouldn't go anywhere, but I liked the attention from the guy, shoot me.
Taking another deep breath, I decided to stop staring at my reflection and to get back out to the table with Tabitha and finish my drink. With any luck, I though I could slip out sooner rather than later. Not that I didn't enjoy our little girl's nights out together, but things between us had changed a lot lately and I sometimes had a hard time being around her. Especially when she went on and on about how great my life was. And all things considered, being tied down to a man I didn't love didn't help matters in my own mind either.
Someone banged on the door, startling me and nearly dropped my lipstick.
“Emelia? You still in there? Hurry up, I have to piss,” Tabitha said.
That's my best friend for ya – classy to the last. I dropped my lipstick back into my purse, turned and unlocked the door, switching places with Tabitha. She winked at me as she shut me out, quickly closing and locking the door. And it took me a moment to figure out why she was in such a hurry. Surely, she didn't have to go that badly. But as soon as I turned around to walk back to the table, I found myself face-to-face with the blue-eyed stranger.
“Emilia?” he said, a smile forming on this luscious lips.
He had an accent, but what sort of accent it was didn't register, not at first. British? Scottish? I didn't care because it sounded like pure honey falling from his lips when he spoke – especially when he said my name.
“Emilia,” he repeated. “What a beautiful name.”
“Thank you,” I said, feeling the color rise in my cheeks.
He was standing in front of me, making it hard to sneak past. I was desperate to get out of there and be away from him. There was a feeling like static electricity between us and our bodies were so close together in the confined space, I was terrified he was going to hear my heart pounding in my chest.
“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked.
“Uhhh,” I looked around, trying to find any possible route of escape, my body tingling and a fire erupting between my thighs. I had to get out of there. Quickly.
“I really can't do this. See, I'm engaged to be married and – ”
“I know that,” he said, taking a long pull from his beer. “I know all about you Emilia Antonelli. All about you. In fact, I think I know more about you than you know about yourself.”
And that was the last thing I remembered before the world went dark.
DEACON
Chloroform. I hated to do that to a fine piece of ass like her, but it had to be done. It was the cleanest, most efficient method I knew to get her out of there. The last thing I could afford was to not chlorofom her and have some huge scene unfold in front of all the witnesses in the bar. I knew that to grab her, we had to act fast, while she was separated from her friend.
Thankfully, the perfect opportunity had finally presented itself.
Because I believed in planning meticulously, we'd already cleared out a path to the car through a back door. Everything was set and Emilia had finally given us the chance to put our plan into motion.
She lay limp in my arms and I needed to get her out of there before anybody became suspicious. A couple of people were nearby, looking at us with curiosity, rather than concern. So, I flashed them my most charming smile and shrugged my shoulders.
“She had too much to drink, I'm afraid. Looks like the party's over early,” I said to the onlookers who laughed and returned to their conversation.
We took Emilia out the back door and loaded her into the van we had waiting. We slid her in and slammed the door. Smooth as butter. Like I said, I planned meticulously and left nothing to chance.
“Damn. Who knew old man Antonelli had a fine ass daughter,” Sean said, climbing into the back of the van with her.
“Don't you fucking lay a hand on her,” I said. “She can't be harmed. Not a hair on her bloody head. That's the deal, alright?”
“Not even a hand, Deacon? Really?” Sean mocked. “Meaning I can't grope her tit or – ”
“Don't be a fuckin' pervert, Sean. She's out cold for fuck's sake. What in the hell is wrong with you?”
“That's about the only way he gets to touch a tit,” Colin said, climbing in and getting behind the wheel.
“Shut your dirty fucking mouth, Colin.”
“Jesus fucking Christ, you two, shut the fuck up,” I snapped. “I almost envy Emilia here. All knocked out like she is, at least she can't hear you bickering like a couple a old women.”
Both men shut their traps without another word from me. Colin gave me an apologetic look and a slight shrug, but I was too busy keeping an eye on Sean in the back to really care. Kidnapping, murder, hell, even burglary – all fine with me. It was part of the job and I was very good at my job. A real professional.
But I drew the line at groping up an innocent girl when she was out cold. It was wrong on so many levels and I wouldn't tolerate that sort of shit. I was guilty of some heinous shit in my day, but I had to draw the line somewhere. That shit was not okay with me.
As I stared back at Sean, who was still practically drooling on the girl, I couldn't help but look down at Emilia. Sean was right about one thing – I had no idea she was as beautiful as she was. Rich, black hair contrasted with her soft, pale skin. She was a tiny little thing with delicate, feminine curves and had some amazingly perky breasts – which she showed off in a tight red dress.
Even from where I was sitting, I could see her ample cleavage and I had to admit, it was hard not to stare. I could see why Sean wanted to cop a feel – they were almost too perfect to be real. But then I looked at that sweet, angelic face and there was no way I was willing to do anything to abuse her – or let anybody else to it either.
Sean decided to speak again – which was probably a bad idea considering what he had to say. “So, why are you so protective of this asshole's daughter, eh? I mean, we're already on the old man's shitlist as it is. Why not scratch and itch and have some fun with her – ”
“Because it's not about her, asshole. My hatred for her father has nothing to do with her,” I roared. “She didn't ask to be born an Antonelli – she's innocent in all of this. And I'm not about to let you do something to her just because no other woman will fuck you. You have money, go to a fucking whore, asshole.”
“If she's innocent in all this,” Sean continued, “then why are we kidnapping her in the first place?”
“She's a bargaining chip,” I said, my patience wearing incredibly thin. “A bargaining chip and that's it. And I'll tell you this, nno harm will come to her while she's in my care. Do you hear me? Do you fucking understand?”
EMILIA
Voices were coming from the other room – or at least, I thought they were. The voices sounded distant at first, but as I started to wake up, I realized that they weren't in another room. They were actually coming from right beside me. Unfamiliar men were talking around me, and as a fear-fueled adrenaline coursed through my body, I tried to sit up and my head started spinning immediately.
“I'm going to get sick,” I said, not realizing I'd said it out loud.
Someone – one of the men from the bar – put a trash can beside the bed. I leaned forward, but didn't throw up. I just sat there for a few moments, trying to recover my senses as I tried to figure out where in the hell I was and who I was with. Bits and fragments of the evening were flashing through my mind, but I felt so fuzzy-brained right then that I was having trouble grabbing one and remembering the details.
One face in my jumble mass of memories stuck out to me though – the blue-eyed stranger from the bar. The one who'd been watching me. The one who'd struck up a conversation with me when Tabitha had kicked me out of the restroom. Slowly, the fragments were beginning to coalesce and it was all coming back to me.
Somehow, the stranger had known my full name. He'd said he knew all about me. But how? I'd never met him before in my life, I was sure of it. At first, I thought he might be British because of is accent. I'd been so freaked out and anxious to get away from him that I hadn't really stopped to analyze his accent. But as I thought about it a little harder, I realized he was Irish.
And once that little nugget of information clicked in my brain, I knew why they had me. Or at least I had a pretty good idea.
“I want to speak with Deacon Murphy,” I said, looking at the men in the room.
The men laughed, obviously amused by my demands.
“Oh you do, do ya?” said one of the men. “And what do ya think ya know about Deacon, love?”
“I know he's the head of the Irish mafia,” I said quietly, trying to keep my voice even – doing my best to keep it from trembling and letting them know just how scared I was. “I know that he's the one to talk to if I want to make a deal. Not little pissants like you.”
I saw anger color both of their faces, but I tried to remain strong. Tough. Not let them see me tremble and shake. The only language cretins like this knew or responded to were threats and force. If I showed them that I was unafraid of them, I would earn a measure of respect in their eyes. The trouble was, I was downright terrified and felt like I was barely holding that in check.
“And what if Deacon doesn't want to make a deal with ya, love?” the man said, leaning down and getting in my face.
The smell of whisky and stale cigarettes saturated the air between us, causing my stomach to roil once again. I almost wished I had gotten sick in that moment so I could have thrown up on the man. That would have been amusing for me, at least.
“I'm sure he will want to make a deal with my family,” I said, looking the man in the eye. “Or else my father will kill him.”
More laughter from the two other men. They thought it was hilarious – everyone except the blue-eyed man who watched me closely. He kept his distance, standing near the door, saying nothing, and merely watched.
“What are you staring at?” I asked him, putting some real fire into my voice. “Like what you see, huh? Well you better get a good, long look now while your pretty blue eyes are still intact, because if you don't let me out of here, my father – ”
/> The look on his face sent a chill down my spine. A predatory grin spread across his face as he slowly shook his head. The room grew suddenly quiet, everyone stopped what they were doing as the handsome stranger walked toward me. All eyes shifted to him as the man hunkered down, putting himself at eye-level with me.
“Your father will do what, Emilia?” he asked, his voice calm and quiet. “Go on then, I'd love to hear more about your father's plans for me and my guys.”
“Your guys?” I sputtered.
He nodded slowly, his smile no less unnerving.
“You said you wanted to speak with the boss,” the guy from earlier said. “You're lookin' right at him.”
“You're Deacon Murphy?” I asked.
“One and only, love,” he said.
“Don't call me love.”
“Would you prefer that I called you the soon to be Mrs. Tony Bellini?”
I cringed at the very mention of being called Mrs. Bellini like it was an involuntary reflex. At that point, it probably was. Even in the face of the man who'd just abducted me, I wanted to be as far away from any mention of that man as I could.
“Not yet,” I snapped. “It's just Emilia, thanks. As if you actually care what I'd like to be called.”
Deacon looked amused. “Emilia it is, then,” he said. “And hopefully we can make your stay with us as pleasant as possible. There's no reason for this to be adversarial or unpleasant. But that is all going to depend on what your father – and your fiance – are willing to do. If they play ball with us, it's all good, lo – Emilia. If they don't... ”
He let the sentence trail off, the threat more than implied. A cold finger of fear slid its way down my spine and it took everything in me to suppress the shiver. I wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of seeing fear in me.
“And what exactly is it that you want them to do for you?” I asked.
Deacon stood, shaking his head. “Oh no, I'm not going to show my hand this early in the game, love,” he said. “You'll just have to wait and see. I've heard you like surprises – well, at least surprises you're not expected to marry – so, I'll just leave you in suspense a wee while longer.”
