Page 8 of The Mafia's Captive

“You’ll be staying here from now on.”

“I-Why?”

“We can’t have you going about your usual business, now, can we?”

“Until when?”

“Till we can work out what to do with you.”

“You can’t just keep me prisoner!”

“Prison? Really? And here I was thinking my place is one of the best in the city.”

“I’m not staying here.”

“Do you prefer a cold room in the casino's basement? It can be arranged.”

“What about my place? Can’t you have your goons watch me if you think I’m such a risk?”

“Nah. Someone like you would seduce them and bend them to your will. Isn’t that what you did with Saccone’s guy? Work him so you could get to Saccone.”

“You have a wild imagination. And you think I can’t seduce you?”

“I’m quite immune to your wiles, yes.”

Why does he always have an answer for everything? “What about my people? My friends. My family? How am I to explain it to them?”

“You have no family and as far as I can tell, you have one friend.”

“How do you know all that?” His cheeks flush. Whether it’s from embarrassment at his stalkery knowledge or alcohol, I can’t tell. How the fuck does he know this much about me? The only explanation would be he has been spying on me for months. Years, if those images are anything to go by. All because I dated that cheating fucker.

“You’re my employee and, as it turns out, my enemy. I make it my business to know both.”

“What am I supposed to tell my friend?”

“Tell her you’ve quit your job and moved.”

“And you think that’s a sufficient explanation?”

“As far as I know, Jesse, your roommate and friend, is a working girl. She’ll understand.”

“You make it sound so simple.”

He shrugs. “Follow me,” he says and without waiting for a reply, he marches out of the room. I can’t help myself; I follow him even though I want to run away, beat him — anything. He leads me out of the living room, down the corridor, and opens a door. The bedroom we enter, I must admit, differs from the dominant black and gray of the rest of the penthouse. This one is mostly white with black accents. Like the rest of the place, the room is vast. I’m sure my entire apartment can fit in here. In the middle is an enormous bed and on top of it are my luggage and my phone.

“Your room,” he says and leaves. I truly do not understand the man. Left to my own devices, I take a turn about the room, taking it in. It’s less a bedroom and more a suite. There are at least two sections. The bedroom section, with the bed and then a lounge section with a table and two stools and a settee. There are large windows on one side and double French doors on the other that lead to a balcony. I try to open the doors. Locked. The windows are locked too. I make my way to the other door in the room. This one isn’t locked, and it leads to a spacious marble tiled bathroom on one end. On the other is a large, empty walk-in closet. I doubt all my clothes will be enough to fill even a quarter.

“Give me your hand.”

I jump, surprised by the unexpected voice, and turn to see Dante holding a platinum bracelet looking thing in his hand. He waves it in my face. “Your hand.”

“Whatever for?” He ignores me and grabs my right hand and clips the bracelet on. I can’t ignore the tendrils of electricity I feel when he touches me. His hands linger for a second and let’s go almost caressingly. However, he quickly shoves them in his pockets after he’s done, as if he’s burned. “What is it?” My voice sounds so hoarse I clear my throat.

“A tracker. In case you get any ideas.”

I turn the bracelet around in my hand. It looks like normal jewelry, and there’s even a ruby looking stone in the middle. Beneath the stone, though, is a tiny flickering red light. “You seem prepared. Is this what you do to every woman you wrongly accuse? Or, wait a minute, is this a fetish for you? Accuse women of stealing, spying, whatever. Get them under your roof, so you can fuck them? Is that it?”

He glares at me and for a moment I’m sure he’s going to do something bad, but he says, “You’re the last person I would want to fuck, Corina.”

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