Page 28 of Accidentally Kidnapping the Mafia Boss
It takes her a moment to get a blue document wallet with her hands tethered, and she brings it to me, then rolls her eyes when I don’t take it.
“Finn. What am I supposed to do? Hold it with my teeth?”
“Your mouth should be put to better use,” I mutter, but I can’t help but smile. I grab the key from my pocket and undo the cuff on her left hand.
“What are you doing?”
I snap the cuff over my left hand and Millie’s eyes widen in surprise.
“Giving you use of one hand, but preventing you from escaping.” Keeping her close, more importantly. I tug her with me and lead her downstairs to the lounge. Away from the temptation of the bed.
I pull her onto the sofa by our linked wrists, but she resists, sitting bolt upright where I would prefer she was closer to me.
“Is that comfortable?”
“Yes.”
Sighing, I ease back onto the cushions.
“Don’t lie to me, Millie.” I tug on her wrist, and because she’s so on edge, it unbalances her immediately. I take the advantage, and lift my arm over her head as she falls, bringing her to rest in the crook of my armpit against my chest.
She gasps, but my arm is resting over her belly now, keeping her to me when I think she’d otherwise wriggle up. Then she exhales and sinks into me.
“See, that’s better.”
I look at the notebook again. It’s bursting with printouts and covered with bookish stickers, including one that says, “Came for the Plot”.
“The plot, eh,” I comment as I flick it open.
“I like books,” she mutters.
The first paper has an addiction recovery plan, with steps. The next is a different version. Then there are pages and pages of detailed notes.
“You did all this, for your brother?” There are days of research and work in this notebook.
Her lip trembles, and when she nods, I know it’s because she doesn’t trust her voice.
“He’s very lucky to have you.”
It falls open on a page that has most of the paper stuffed in, and there is a list headed “Questions to encourage communication from addicts” in cutely rounded handwriting.
I skim down the notes.
“Tell me about events that led you to where you are,” I read aloud.
“It was dark,” she replies promptly. “I couldn’t see, and I thought you were my brother.”
“Mmm. I’ll let you get away with that excuse for now.” But before the week is up, she’s going to admit that she knew she didn’t have her brother. Aside from anything else, he’s a good two inches shorter than me. “Go on then. Tell me what led you to kidnapping a kingpin.”
“Nothing,” she replies defensively.
“Yeah, I believe you.” I shake my head. “Totally normal reaction. Everyday. Happens four times a month and extra in February.”
“There’s nothing! I’m normal.”
That’s true, and yet it’s not. “You’re twenty-two, right?”
“How do you know that?”
