Page 3 of Owned
Imake it about ten more feet before Adrian's threat to carry me becomes a necessity.
He's huge, at least 6'5, and it seems like no effort for him.
It’s certainly faster than dealing with my heels sinking into the soft forest floor. Bobbing around helpless and trapped in my kidnappers arms, I throw an arm around his neck to stay steady. This is so bizarre and frightening that I can't stop a hysterical giggle from bubbling up. I swallow it and it emerges as a half-chortle, half-cough.
Adrian looks up at me briefly, but doesn't question it, looking ahead once more. I take the chance to really look at his face up close in the patches of moonlight that break through the trees. It's a harsh, brutally handsome face, with high cheekbones and a Roman nose, the bump on the bridge telling me it's been broken before. His jaw is shadowed with a day's worth of stubble, his short, jet black hair immaculately styled, and his eyes, even in the dim light, are a dark, intense brown that seems to burn right through me.
I'm being kidnapped,I think wildly.I'm being kidnapped from my own rehearsal dinner!
Going with him without kicking and screaming was one of the stupidest decisions I'd ever made, but I was still so stunned from the connection I felt when I first met his eyes that I couldn't think straight. He was handsome, of course, but at that moment, I felt like I knew him. Or that I'd been waiting for him all my life. That, combined with the sorrow and dread I was drowning in when I thought about actually marrying Charles, made me disoriented, and now it was too late.
“Quiet now” he says quietly. I can see a break in the trees ahead and some headlights flashing past, but I can't stay totally quiet. "Are you going to ransom me?"
Adrian snorts. "This may come as a surprise to you, princess, but your dear old dad doesn't have the funds to pay any sort of ransom."
I sputter. "I will have you know--"
"Hush," he snaps, and I reluctantly obey.
A black sedan is idling just off the side of the road, and Adrian heads straight for it. He opens the back door and sets me down on my feet, his hands lingering on my waist for a second longer than necessary. "Get in."
My body is operating on pure instinct, the adrenaline that's been pumping through me from the moment I saw him on the patio finally fades into a dull thrum of fear. I slide into the back of the car, the cool leather a stark contrast to the frantic heat of my skin.
Adrian follows me in, sitting close enough that our thighs touch. He doesn't look at me, just pulls out his phone and taps out a message. The driver doesn't say a word, just pulls away from the curb and merges smoothly into traffic.
The city lights blur past the window. We aren't even out of the city yet, and I feel a million miles away from the life I was supposed to be living just a half hour ago.
Adrian pulls a brown folder out of his jacket and places it, no,throwsit onto my lap unceremoniously. "Look through that if you want the truth about why you're in this car with me right now. Your father sealed this fate for you before you were even born." He then turns his face to the window, ignoring me completely.
My hands tremble as I open the folder. Inside are documents, photos, and what look like legal filings. My father’s familiar signature is on several of them. There are patent applications for new green energy technologies, filed under two names: Laurent Moreau and Lorenzo Marchetti.
My blood runs cold. Lorenzo Marchetti. That name. It's a ghost from my childhood. The "other founder" of Moreau Dynamics. My father always spoke of him with a strange mix of nostalgia and dismissal. "He couldn't handle the pressure, Elena," he'd say, "He decided to move back to Italy, to a quieter life." The story was so ingrained in my family's lore I never thought to question it.
But the documents in this folder tell a different story. Bank statements showing my father draining their joint business account. Letters from Lorenzo, pleading with my father to reconsider, to honor their agreement. And the last damning piece of evidence is a news article announcing the deathof Lorenzo Marchetti, son of notorious mafia boss Victor Marchetti, not long after my father claimed he had supposedly moved away.
It stated that Lorenzo left behind one son, Adrian Marchetti.
The folder falls from my limp fingers, papers scattering on the car floor. I look at the man beside me, the silhouette of his profile illuminated rhythmically by the passing streetlights. Two revelations beat against the inside of my head, making it ache. One, my father had ruined Lorenzo. Two, the man sitting next to me is the head of the Marchetti crime family...the family Lorenzo had originated from.
I'm silent even as the car pulls up alongside a sleek private jet, the stairs already open for us to ascend. Adrian gets out of the car and comes around to open my door, and it's when he reaches his hand down to help me out that I finally find the ability to speak again.
"Are...are you going to kill me?" The words are barely a whisper, thin and reedy. My whole body feels like it's vibrating with terror. I don’t want to move.
He doesn't answer, just stands next to the open door impatiently. Waiting, not looking at me. He offers his hand. I slowly accept it, illogically drawn to it. He leads me up the stairs and onto the jet. The interior is all polished wood, cream-colored leather, and dim, ambient lighting. He takes a seat in one of the luxurious seats, and motions for me to take the one across from him. I sink into it, my limbs feeling like lead.
The jet begins to move, taxiing down the runway with a low hum that vibrates up through the floor. Terror that I've repressed is starting to seep in. Dizzying, deflating.
"Are you going to kill me?" I ask again. "Is that what this is?"
Adrian looks at me, his dark eyes empty of any visible emotion. "If I wanted you dead, Elena, I would have killed you in the garden. I'm a monster, but even I wouldn't kill an innocent woman in cold blood." He says the word 'innocent' like it's something he's not entirely sure applies to me.
"I am innocent," I whisper. "I didn't do anything."
"Your bloodline is enough of a sin for me. But no. I'm not going to kill you."
I let out a shaking breath, relief mixing with the fear of what comes next. "I-I didn't get through all of the papers in the folder...what did you mean my father isn't going to be able to pay a ransom for me?" My voice gets stronger as I speak, a sliver of my old self peeking through.
Adrian's expression is grim. "Your father is a liar and a thief, and a terrible businessman.Moreau Dynamicsis on the verge of bankruptcy. He was counting on your marriage to Charles Beaumont to bail him out."
