Page 66 of Stolen Mafia Vows
My heart flips when I think about Eoghan.
I can still feel his lips on mine, can still feel him inside me, his gray eyes gentle when he calls me his heart in Irish.
Then I remember that he’s a liar too and something inside me solidifies.
My eyes are still closed. I try to get my bearings before I confront my dad. I’m lying down, but this isn’t a bed, the material beneath my cheek is sticky, sweat clinging to my skin, and is that dribble on my chin? There’s a draft coming from overhead, making the exposed side of my face feel chilly, and there’s a blanket covering my legs.
He might’ve tried to keep me warm, but it doesn’t atone for kidnapping me in broad daylight because I refused to go back with him. Nothing will. Nothing I can think of right now anyway.
Before I can open my heavy eyes and push myself upright, a voice ploughs through my foggy thoughts. A woman’s voice. Mom? Sienna?
No. Different accent. But it sounds familiar.
I strain to hear what she’s saying, but I can’t make out individual words. Then, a man’s voice joins in the conversation. Only, it isn’t my dad. This man sounds younger, his words rolling off his tongue, not in a singsong way like Eoghan, but harsher. Eastern European maybe.
I wait for my dad to speak, but he doesn’t.
Their laughter is loud and explosive. What’s so fucking funny that they don’t care about the drugged captive lying unconscious nearby?
I open my eyes a fraction and gaze at the scene directly in front of me while I psych myself to raise my head. I was right. I’m on an aircraft, but I don’t recognize the interior; this isn’t our private jet.
The seat opposite me is black leather, the walls ivory with gold trimmings, the floor covering is burgundy. It’s sumptuous in a bold, brash way, like a sign that reads: THIS IS WHAT MONEY LOOKS LIKE.
Then it hits me with a jolt. Am I way off-track? Did Eoghan kidnap me before my dad could find me? Maybe he did follow me after all. He might be on his way to New York, holding me hostage to get to Caleb. And then what…?
I need to move. I know I said our marriage was over, but I’m the only person who can stop him from declaring war against my brothers.
Sliding my hands under me, I try pushing myself into a sitting position.
But I don’t get far.
Something cold and hard is pressed against my temple and I swivel my eyes to find a perfectly manicured hand holding a pistol. The barrel of the gun pushes me back down onto the seat, my cheek smacking against the patch of leather that’s sticky with my sweat.
“You’re awake.” It’s a statement rather than a question.
It hurts to move my eyes, but I drag them across a sapphire-blue silk shirt and eventually settle on a face I recognize. The woman whose car had broken down on the country lane.
Confusion draws my eyebrows lower, and a smile lifts thecorners of her mouth upward as she grinds the gun into the side of my head. “Remember me?”
I’m struggling to get her into context. Where am I? What is she doing here? Is she working for my dad?
“Where are my manners?” She sits on the seat opposite me and studies the gun in her hand. Her white pants are still immaculate, and my brain fixates on how she managed to stay clean when she was inspecting her car engine. “My name is Olivia Dragonetti.”
Am I supposed to recognize it?
As if reading my mind, she adds, “You don’t know me, but I’m a friend of your brother Caleb. Or at least I used to be. We were more than friends in fact. We were engaged to be married.”
Married?
Another secret that my family kept from me along with the whole organized crime racket that probably paid for everything that we own.
“I feel sick…” I try to sit up again but only succeed in rolling forward and vomiting bile onto the thick-pile carpet.
Olivia offers no comfort. She stands up and backs away from me so that I don’t spoil her pristine white pants and the pointed toes of her white leather shoes.
“Ilya!” I hear her say.
Shiny black shoes approach. Men’s shoes. Strong hands grab my arms and hoist me into a sitting position. Head tilted back against the seat, I find myself staring into dark flinty eyes as his fistgrips my jaw.
