Page 13 of Veil of Vengeance

“So, you’re the beloved Moretti of the American paparazzi.” Romiro seems to have mistaken my fake smile as an invite. I turn my head to tell him to fuck off when I see an opportunity to maybe get something useful out of him.

“If you think you’d get anything out of me,”—he leans his head closer and finishes his sentence—“you’re more naive than I thought you were.”

My face scrunches up in disgust, more pissed that he caught on to me. “As if I’d want anything from a dirty Camorrista,” I snarl. He goes to stand up, but to both our dismay, the seat belt sign lights up, and he mumbles some curses in Italian.

“What’s your name?” he asks me.

“You kidnapped me and don’t even know who I am?” I answer, exasperated.

He rolls his eyes. “Of course I know who you are. I was just being conversational. Why are you being so bitchy?” Oh God, I really want to slap this idiot.

“Are you honestly being purposefully oblivious, or are you just plain stupid? You fucking kidnapped me and expect me to want to talk to you. Without being bitchy.”

“I’m Romiro, thanks for asking.” He completely ignores my mini rant and introduces himself as if he’s the most important person I’ll ever meet.

“And that asshole over there”—he points his thumb back, to where the brute is sitting talking on the phone, his eyes glued to the back of our heads, and he narrows them when he sees that we’ve turned around to look at him—“is Emiliano Folonari.”

I roll my eyes. Of course, my dad had managed to piss off the Camorra’s Capo. Which in turn, gets me kidnapped. My kidnapper is known as the butcher of the East Coast. A shudder passes down my spine when Emiliano’s eyes zero in on me.

I turn my attention back to Romiro, trying to appear unfazed.

“Can I at least know the reason for my abduction?” I ask, and Romiro wiggles his index finger in my face as if he’s scolding a child.

“God, the tabloids said you were beautiful, but they didn’t mention your dramatics,” he says.

The flight attendant cuts our conversation short to tell us we’ve landed in New York City. My jaw clenches at how far I am from home and the fact that I’m now in the heart of the Camorra’s territory. The prospect of finding a way out is slim to none. Hell will freeze over before I’m able to do that.

Romiro gets up once Emiliano reaches us, and I struggle to unbuckle my seat belt. My palms are too sweaty for this, but I need to stay calm. That’s the only way for me to keep my sanity.

“Here, you need to wear this.” Emiliano passes me some sort of black fabric once I’m out of my seat.

I must look confused because he elaborates. “Tie it around your eyes, unless…” I lift an eyebrow at him, and he continues. “Unless you want to be knocked out again.”

I quickly shake my head and wrap the fabric around my eyes. Which causes both men to laugh. Dicks. One of them grabs my upper arm and leads me toward what I assume to be the exit.

“I’m going to pick you up,” Emiliano whispers in my ear, and before I can protest, he’s done just that. I am being put into a car before I know it, and the door slams, causing me to flinch.

I feel really vulnerable. I can hear everything around me, but I can’t see shit. The sound of the engine purrs to life and the car begins to move, but I don’t have any sense of direction so I have no clue which way we’re driving.

“Don’t you think this is a bit extra?” I think Romiro is the one who’s speaking, but I’m not too sure.

“No, she isn’t our guest.” I assume that’s Emiliano.

“I can hear you, guys, by the way. You know that, right?” I say to the void. Well, not the void, but it is to me.

“You’re really fucking calm for someone who was taken by force.” Romiro’s voice comes from the right. I shrug.

“Not the first time,” I tell him.

“So, we didn’t get to pop your kidnapping cherry, what a shame.”

I choke on air, and I hear a weird noise that sounds like a smack, followed by, “What the fuck, Eli?”

“Stop saying weird shit, Esposito, or you’ll end up in the Atlantic.” Emiliano’s threat seems to pass over Romiro’s head.

“I thought you said I couldn’t become a pirate.”

“Wait, Nicolo Esposito is related to you?” I cut their mini argument.

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