Page 28 of Vicious Souls

No, Dante Accardi is in this for the long haul. But he gives nothing away. I am unsure what he wants, but I am under no delusions that he is not a dangerous man. I’ve heard about the Accardis; don’t think there is anyone this side of the coast – possibly even the whole country – who hasn’t. My father had entertained me with stories over the years. Now I wished I’d actually been paying attention. But what I did hear obviously registered, because I understand, with a very vivid clarity, the predicament that I am in. I am in the company of murderers, and at this point, I’m not sure if I’d been safer getting into the car with Dante Accardi the night we met or throwing myself to the mercy of the Savages.

A shudder runs through me as his breath skates over my skin, rolling down my bare shoulders as he continues to breathe next to my ear. To an outsider, it may have looked like two lovers embracing, intertwined in the most intimate of moments. But I know better. He means to get his point across. An important point. I just don’t know how far he’ll go in his quest to do so.

“I expect an answer to every question I ask you. I expect your voluntary assistance.” He is so close, his tongue almost touches my ear. Goosebumps scatter against my skin as I try to channel all my senses into staying in control. There is too much going on at once. I am trying to dissect the meaning of his words, whilst trying to keep my sanity leashed as his breath ignites my skin. At the same time that his smell – my God, his smell – incites a raging war within me. At such close proximity, his heavy, woodsy scent lingers like a fire around me, assailing my thoughts and making my knees quake like jelly.

Push back, push back, push back… A soft, humming voice in the back of my mind sounds like a roar, and I move away from him, pushing further into the door until there is at least a measly distance between us. I won’t let the man run circles around me and make me weak. No man has ever been able to do that, and I’ve played with the best of them. I’m not about to let him be the first. He takes my withdrawal away from him for what it is and moves away, his eyes still cemented to my challenging ones.

“Why am I here?” I ask him.

He turns away, facing forward and giving me the cold shoulder before he taps his sidekick’s shoulder and tells him to go faster. He is in a rush to get to his destination, a destination I have no idea about. He gives nothing away as we continue to drive on, the houses becoming fewer and farther between until we are travelling in utter darkness but for the headlights of the car. We see light again only once we eventually come to a wide black gate. I turn to Dante, memorizing the contours of his face as he sits engrossed in something on his phone. We drive through the gate, up a long and winding driveway, coming to a stop in a circular driveway in front of a house of monolithic proportions. As soon as the car comes to a stop, the front door is hurled open and two men, soldiers…

Soldiers.

In uniform.

Two soldiers in uniform emerge from within the house and stand at either side of the entryway, rifles slung against their shoulders. It is not lost on me that they also wear handguns strapped to either leg and gun holsters with another two handguns.

Dante produces a key and hovers it above the handcuffs that sit like a heavy burden between us. I shudder involuntarily. He points the key and gives me a curt look. As though saying “With this ring, I thee wed…” Or maybe not.

“I’m taking a leap of faith here, removing the handcuffs. Just so you know, we’re in the middle of nowhere out here. If you try to escape, you won’t get far before the coyotes get you.”

It is as though he has tapped into my deepest, darkest fear. I’ve been afraid of dogs since I was a child – there was no way I was ready to face that fear and try to make a run for it.

“Where are we?” I ask him.

“Somewhere safe. As long as you comply, you’re safe here. Cross me, and I’ll send you into the dungeons so quick, you won’t remember how to spell your name. Want a tour?”

He gives me a lop sided smirk that makes me want to rip his eyes out. It goes without saying that I don’t want a tour of the dungeon; I’m sure he isn’t exaggerating its existence. I shudder and shake my head, making a pact with myself that I won’t try anything that will land me in a cell again. Instead, I will watch and wait, biding my time until I can make my great escape. After all, I am nothing if not a great strategist.

* * *

“You haven’t toldme why I’m here,” I say, as we walk into a room he says will be mine as long as I am a ‘compliant’ guest in his home. The room is more like a suite, with its own walk in and ensuite. “This wouldn’t be your room, would it?” I ask, looking around at the heady tones of black, brown, and gold hardware. This is definitely a masculine room.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he mutters, walking to the window to indicate the balcony.

“Not a trace of pink,” I mutter, regretting that the words residing in my head suddenly blurt forward.

Dante snorts. Actually snorts. In his vague attempt to hold back a laugh.

“I don’t entertain women in my home.”

My eyebrows rise in curiosity, and he looks away quickly, choosing to ignore my enquiring eyes as they follow him around the room.

* * *

Dante hassome seriously hardcore security measures in place around his home. Everything from the guards at the door, to the strategically placed soldiers scattered along the perimeter of the estate, the cameras pointing at every angle of every corner of the house, and the constant rush of communication filtering through intercoms and walkie talkies. I feel like I’ve stepped into the Pentagon. My father had always prided himself on his security protocols, but this is a whole other ballgame. Even the housemaid and butler looked like they have military training.

“That’s a lot of security you have floating around,” I comment, as I sit down at the dining table the next morning.

“I see you’ve met Helga,” Dante says, waving his knife in the maid’s direction. The Swedish maid has her blonde hair braided, the twin braids falling against either shoulder as she pours coffee. She was definitely a soldier in another life.

“Is all this really necessary?”

“You’re very chatty so early in the morning. I know you’re not usually this talkative. It would almost appear as though you are deliberately trying to aggravate me.”

“Is it working?”

I give him my sweetest fake grin and drape my napkin across my lap. I look around the table, wondering what to eat. I have my own morning routine, which runs like clockwork. And now I understand why. When faced with too many choices, one simply doesn’t know what to choose.

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