Page 59 of The One
“Is Mariella with you?” I ask without a greeting.
“No, sir. I dropped her off at Vatican City.”
“Collect her and bring her back,” I order.
There’s silence on the other end.
“What?” I bark.
“Umm, I have no way of reaching her.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t have her phone number. We agreed I’d collect her at five o’clock at the Colosseum.”
God, sometimes my men are idiots. Why didn’t he make sure he has a way to reach her?
I hang up and go to the garage, grabbing a set of keys from the wall.
I wave off the guard rushing to accompany me. I don’t want my entire entourage trailing behind. It would draw too much attention.
“I’ll call you if I need backup,” I tell him sternly.
“But sir, Santino’s orders—”
“Santino is not the boss, I am. Just make sure you answer your fucking phone on the first ring if I call.”
With that, I slide into my black Ferrari, hit the gas, and speed out of the garage and down the driveway.
That sense of unease? It’s settled like a boulder in the pit of my stomach.
Something is not right.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Mariella
“Stop struggling,” an all-too-familiar voice hisses in my ear.
For a split second, relief flickers through me, like a gasp of air after drowning. But it vanishes just as quickly. My pulse pounds in my ears, louder than his voice and the sounds of the Colosseum around us.
My muscles lock tight, not out of obedience, but because my body simply refuses to move. Fear is coiling around me like a serpent, squeezing every bit of air from my lungs. I can’t breathe.
How is he here?
He’s meant to be in Sicily!
I force my body to turn when the hand leaves my mouth, only to come face to face with cold, unfeeling eyes.
I try to step back, but the wall is right there, leaving me no room to escape. The bruise on my cheek, now faded enough to hide under makeup, still throbs as a painful reminder of his cruelty.
“Father,” I whisper, my voice barely audible as I try to keep it steady. I drag in desperate breaths through my nose, struggling to calm down enough to gauge his mood.
Why is he here?
The question circles in my head like a vulture. Is he here to drag me back to Sicily? To force me into some groveling apology to the Contis?
Or maybe they’ve demanded something worse. My head.
