Page 4 of Tattletale

The only clock on the wall has stopped ticking. I don’t know how long ago the battery died.

I have no idea how long I’ve been trapped in the Accardi lair, but it’s long enough for the hunger pains to be unbearable. My body screams at me. It needs nourishment, and I have nothing to give. The sink water has kept me hydrated, but it’s not enough.

I’m going to die here.

And it hurts.

I spoke to Luca like I was fearless. Fiona, princess of the mob. Eldest daughter of the great Cillian O’Leary. And yet here I am, too weak to stand, barely able to breathe. I’m in so much pain, that as I lie in the large bed with the luxury comforter, I’m embarrassed to be filled with regret. I should’ve gone with Luca. Everyone is brave in the face of a quick death.

Torture is another story.

Laying my head back down on the pillow, I pull up the cover to my chin. I pray for death to hurry along. Let it be swift. Let my feeble heart stop beating while I sleep. I only want this misery to be over.

I’ve nearly drifted off to sleep when I hear a soft beeping coming from the door. For so long it’s just been silence. No footsteps. No muffled whispers. As Luca promised, the mansion was abandoned. But now…

Beep…beep…beep.It speeds up, and I realize too late it’s not the number pad to unlock the door. That’s the warning sound of an explosive. Covering my ears, I sit up and curl into a tight ball, bracing for the pain, tears spilling from my eyes as I clamp them shut. I wished for a quick death…

Here it comes.

Mama, Pappa, Saoirse… I’m coming home, and I’ll see you soon.

There’s a loud hiss as the steel door peels open. The entryway is covered in smoke, and the smell is foul, but no bomb has gone off. Instead, a man—a little larger than Luca—walks through the haze, his gun pointed at my forehead.

A new fear washes over me as he steps under the overhead light. He’s wearing an intimidating glower. He lowers the pistol in his right hand but keeps his icy blue eyes fixed on mine.

“Who are you?” he asks in a deep gruff. “We were told the Accardi abandoned this house.”

My lips crack painfully as I try to speak. I wet them with my tongue and taste a hint of blood. “Their prisoner,” I answer.

“They left you here to die?”

I nod. “How long has it been since they left?”

“Six days, give or take.”

I guessed four. I’m more resilient than I thought. I relax from my curled-up position, stretching my legs. It’s not that I’mcomfortable around this stranger, or certain that he won’t hurt me. It’s that my body is finally giving out. Six days. No food, sunlight, or sense of time.

I can’t…think…straight…

My vision goes blurry as my body slumps to the side. I must be closer to the edge than I realized because I topple to the floor, too weak for my reflexes to kick in.

“Vesper!” the man shouts. “Help.”

Another set of soft footsteps hurry down the hall.

“She fell,” he explains. “I don’t want to touch her. I think she needs a woman. They imprisoned her in a room with nothing but a bed. I can only imagine what Luca did to her.”

“Jesus,” the woman says, before kneeling beside me and brushing loose strands of hair from my face. She hooks her elbow under my head, so I’m resting on the inside of her arm instead of the hardwood floor. “You’re still just a girl.”

I keep my heavy eyelids open so I can study her face. It’s an odd dichotomy. A maternal warmth, mixed with cold malice. The same look a lioness has when she’s ready to kill for her cub.

“Fiona O’Leary,” she says.

“You know me?” I take a moment to study her clothes. She’s dressed in dark, leather pants. A matching trench coat.

“I just came from your house in New York City.”

“Where am I now?”

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