Page 8 of Marrying the Mobster
A shiver runs down my spine at the silken steel of his voice and the soft utterance of those words. He called me ‘kitten,’ and it’s as insulting as it is intriguing. “You would really kill me because of my father’s actions?”
Diego straightens, slipping both hands into the pockets of his slacks. “Killing you doesn’t appeal to me, but I’m a man of my word. In the meantime, I want you to be comfortable here. This is one of the best guest rooms in the house and I’ll do my best to accommodate reasonable requests.”
“Would you consider a knife to plunge into your eye ‘reasonable?’” I ask, rolling my eyes.
I was only half joking, but Diego gets that look on his face again—as if he wants to laugh. “Absolutely not. Come into the bedroom and sit down. We have things to discuss.”
He doesn’t even wait for me to move, going back into the room with confidence in his stride as if he knows without second thought that I will obey him. The asshole.
It occurs to me to rebel, maybe lock him out of the bathroom. But my legs are shaky and I’m still weak. Reminding myself of my plan to be docile until the time is right for escape, I trail Diego into the bedroom.
He’s in the chair vacated by his lackey, and he gestures for me to sit on the bed. I hesitate for a second, not sure I’m comfortable being in what feels like such a vulnerable situation. I’m half-naked and exposed, while he’s sitting there looking like the king of the castle. Slipping back onto the bed makes me feel like some kind of supplicant—a possession to be commanded at his whim.
I don’t like how that makes me feel.
I sit on top of the blankets and fight the urge to tug at my cover-up. Showing weakness—even by letting him see how uncomfortable I am—is the last thing I want. Giving Diego a pointed look, I wait for him to lay down his rules. Rules I intend to break at the first opportunity.
“Don’t you want to know where you are?” he asks, raising a dark eyebrow.
I shrug. “It doesn’t matter.”
He makes a low, humming sound in his throat, and it almost sounds like a laugh. Almost. “It does, actually. Understanding where you are is part of accepting your situation. This is one of my properties on Indian Creek Island. Are you familiar with it?”
My heart sinks as I realize he was right. Itdoesmatter that I’m on an island removed from the city, in a place that’s locked down like a fortress.
When I don’t answer, Diego goes on. “There are about twenty houses on the island, and only a single road—one way in, one way out. We have a private police patrol here, and every one of the officers is on my payroll. The entire island is secure, including the waterfront. If you try to run and happen to make it off my property—which is highly unlikely to begin with—you won’t get far. You’ll only piss me off, and you should know that’s the worst sin you can commit.”
I raise my chin, unable to resist this tiny act of rebellion. “You gave your word not to hurt me.”
“I did. At least, not in any permanent or scarring way. There are other ways I could punish you, Elena.”
His voice drops when he issues that threat, growing huskier. His timbre slides down my spine in a cold shiver.
“Now,” he says, lightening his tone. “In a little while my maid, Mariana, will bring your breakfast. She’ll provide you with a change of clothes and the toiletries you’ll need to freshen up. Any requests you have will come through me. You’ll be provided with more clothes, three meals a day, and any entertainment that doesn’t involve an Internet connection. The door will remain locked at all times, and my security team will take shifts guarding this hallway. If they catch even a hint of trouble out of you, there will be repercussions.”
“You mean repercussions worse than locking me in this room and keeping me from communicating with my friends and family?”
“Your father can tell your family whatever he likes about where you are. It doesn’t matter to me.”
“And what about my work? I have a business to run and employees who will wonder what’s going on when I don’t show up today.”
Diego frowns as if he hadn’t considered this. “Give me the name and address of your boutique. I’ll send one of my men to inform your staff you’re going out of town for a while.”
Horror washes over me at the idea of Diego’s thugs going anywhere near my boutique. The last thing I want is to endanger my livelihood or the safety of the people who work for me. “I don’t think so. They’ll get suspicious if they hear from anyone but me. If you let me make just one phone call—”
“No.”
I heave a frustrated sigh. “A text message then, or an email. You have to let me contact someone, somehow.”
“I don’thaveto do anything.”
Throwing my hands up, I let out a laugh of disbelief. “Then prepare to find the cops on your doorstep in the next couple of days. My people aren’t going to just ignore that I’ve gone missing without contacting anyone.”
“The police,” he says slowly, eyes glimmering with humor. “That’s cute.”
Of course he isn’t intimidated by threats of the police. If he can buy a small squad of private island security, he can certainly pay off Miami PD.
“Please,” I beg, not too proud to change tactics. If threats don’t work, pleading might. “I built my business from the ground up. The people who work for me … I need them to take care of the place until I’m free again.”
