Page 73 of Stolen Mafia Vows
Where am I? What time is it? How long have I been asleep?
The ache in my head has dulled to a steady rap tune competing with my awakening thoughts. I was on an aircraft, so I’m no longer in Ireland. I haul myself into a sitting position and slide my legs over the side of the bed, gripping the edge of the mattress when the room spins out from under me. When it eventually settles, I raise my eyes and peer around the room.
The bed is central, making the room appear smaller at first glance than it really is. A closet made of dark wood is pushed up against a wall next to a dressing table with an oval mirroron top. There’s an armchair beneath the window, which is framed by floor-length drapes, secured with silk ropes.
It’s luxurious as prisons go. Which means that Olivia Dragon-whatever has a reason to keep me comfortable.
Spotting a door on the wall to my left, I cross the room on trembling legs and push it open. A sensor-activated overhead light switches on to reveal a bathroom complete with walk-in shower and an assortment of white towels on a standalone rail. White marble tiles cover the walls and floor.
I splash my face with cold water over the basin and peer at my reflection in the mirror. I still look the same. Heavy-lidded and pale, sure, and my hair is stringy and matted on one side from where I slept on it, but the mirror is a liar too.
I’m not the same person I was when I left Eoghan’s bed and stole his car to meet my dad. Everything has changed. I’ve changed. I woke up a married woman and the universe conspired with everyone I know to transform me into a mafia princess being used as a bargaining chip to trade empires.
A mafia princess.
What did the Dragon woman say to me on the aircraft? Was she supposed to marry Caleb?
Oh, this is just too brilliant. The day I find out what my family really are, I get kidnapped by another mafia princess with her own agenda, and her beefy boyfriend Hilly or whatever his name is. What are the odds? I must remember to ask my brothers what they’d have wagered on this scenario when I see them.
I hope my dad is satisfied. Because lying to me all my life hasn’t done such a great job of keeping me safe.
Patting my face dry with a towel, I glimpse my empty ring finger, and my legs buckle. How did he fool me so easily? I fell for him like a pallet load of bricks, and the whole time he was using me to get close to my brothers. But how am I supposed to forget him when I can still feel him inside me?
I squeeze my eyes closed and bury my face in the towel. The real issue is that I don’t want to forget him. I don’t want to forget how he made me feel because I know that I’ll never feel that way again. No one else will ever live up to Eoghan, so how am I supposed to deal with that?
Deep breath. I remove the towel from my face and study my reflection.
I was born into a mafia family. I might have no clue how these things work, but it’s in my blood, just like it’s in my brothers’ blood, and Eoghan’s.
So, what would a mafia princess do in this situation?
I think about the Dragon in her silk shirt and white pants. She’s poised, confident, calculating. She tricked me, and I fell for it.Gullible Emily: that’s me. But she needs me more than I need her, because I have nothing to prove.
I have nothing left to lose either.
Folding the towel neatly, I hang it back over the rail and close the bathroom door behind me. Skirting the bed with my chin jutting defiantly, I open the door on the opposite side of the room.
I’m greeted by a click and another gun pointed at my head.
This guy is tall and broad and dark, the epitome of a thug in a gangster movie. I check out his swarthy features behind thegun, the deep-set eyes, the bushy black eyebrows, the tiny tattoo on his right temple.
I see you, asshole.
“Take me to Olivia.”
The thug guides me through the house with a gun pressed between my shoulder blades. He’s obviously on some power trip given that he’s at least twelve inches taller than me, and I’d be completely camouflaged by his bulky frame to anyone approaching from behind. I’m tempted to ask him if it makes him feel big, threatening a woman with a gun, but I’ll save my breath for my real captor.
The dragon lady.
She had me fooled by the roadside. But she’s the last in an extremely long list of people who’ve had me fooled, and unluckily for her, my cup of patience has run out. I’m done with being treated like a baby. I don’t even know why I put up with it for so long, but I guess it took an Irish mafia prince to open my eyes.
My heart performs leapfrogs at the mere thought of Eoghan, and goose bumps pop all over my body. If only I didn’t have this overwhelming desire to spread my legs and pull him inside me at every available opportunity, what I’m about to do might be a little bit easier, but that’s my cross to bear. All I have to do is remember that he was using me.
This place isn’t what I expected. If the movies are to be believed, most kidnap victims are held in leaky basements with a cup of mildewy water and the odd stale crust tossed through the bars of the locked door. But this is a mansion.
The room where I slept off whatever drugs they administered to keep me silent during the journey is on the upper level. The hallway carpets are thick and springy underfoot, the walls covered in silky wallpaper the color of oysters, the ceilings dotted with what appears to be millions of brilliant stars. We take a narrow staircase that might be reserved for the staff rather than the property’s owners, an invisible route like those built into ancient European castles so that the ruling monarch didn’t have to set eyes upon his servants.
The ground floor is decorated in the same muted colors, tasteful, understated, which was obviously the brief given to the interior designer. It tells me nothing about who lives here though.
