Page 11 of Power
The hours crawl by slowly. Every tick of the clock, every movement in the house feels like a countdown. Even Dannika’s cheerful attempts at small talk don’t seem to lighten the mood. She stays in the background for the most part, which is fine. I’m not in the mood for distractions right now.
Raffaele reappears a few times, checking in on the situation and making sure everything is in place. It’s clear he’s on edge too. He is visibly tense, and though he hides it well, I can tell he’s waiting for something to go wrong.
Around noon, Vittoria starts to stir. Her eyelids flutter, and I watch as she shifts slightly, trying to make sense of her surroundings. It’s now or never.
I’m not sure what I expect to see when she wakes up, but I’m certainly not prepared for the fire in her eyes. She doesn’t scream or panic like I thought she might. Instead, her eyes lock onto mine, sharp and calculating.
“You,” she breathes, her still voice hoarse from the sedative.
I take a slow step forward. “I told you I’d see you again.”
“What the hell is this?” she demands and tries to sit up, but is clearly still groggy. “What have you done?”
“Nothing you’re not familiar with. You’re not the first person I’ve had to handle like this.”
Her hands instinctively go to her neck, as if trying to figure out how she’s been restrained, but there’s nothing to hold her in place except the simple fact that she knows she’s at my mercy.
“Who are you?” she asks, her eyes unfocused. She’s still trying to wrap her head around what’s happening right in front of her. That much is certain in the hard frown lines etched across her forehead. “What the hell do you want from me?”
“Ah, but you already know who I am.”
She shakes her head, her cheeks burning up with what I think is anger and a sliver of frustration. “You’re a pianist who nearly murdered a man in cold blood. But I haven’t done anything to you…”
“Try again,”
Her face hardens. “You’re insane.”
“Maybe. Or maybe you’re just not used to the way people like me operate.”
She glares at me.
She’s a lot tougher than I gave her credit for. But no amount of grit will help her out of this. I know that.
“You think Enzo will just let you get away with this?” she spits.
I lean in, my voice dropping to a low growl. “I don’t care what Enzo thinks.”
An awkward peace stretches between us. She’s searching my face for some crack in my armor, some weakness to exploit. But she’s not going to find it. Not with me.
“Why are you doing this? Who are you?” she asks, her voice softer now, almost pleading, but I know better than to buy it.
“Because I can,” I reply simply. “And because I need something from you. And for my identity, you’ll find out soon.”
She swallows, and her eyes narrow. “What?”
I’m about to answer when the door opens, and Raffaele steps in, his face impassive as always.
“We’ve got company,” he says, his tone clipped.
I exhale sharply and rub a hand over my jaw. Perfect fucking timing. “Who?”
“Valeri’s people,” Raffaele says. “And a couple of the other crews. Seems like word’s spreading that you’ve got something... interesting in your possession.” His eyes dart to the woman, then back to me.
I let out a slow breath, before rolling my shoulders. The last thing I want is an audience for this. Not now. Not with her. “They’re expecting to see her?”
“No,” Raffaele says, crossing his arms. “But they’re expecting something. And they’re not the kind of guys who take no for an answer.”
Valeri and his people aren’t a threat, not in the way some would be. They’re businessmen, in their own way—calculating, self-serving, always looking for an angle. If they know I’ve got something valuable, they’re not here to challenge me. They’re here to figure out what’s in it for them. And that means I have to control the narrative before they start making assumptions.
