Page 73 of The Fixer

For three years, I’ve been taking MMA lessons. I should know what to do in this situation. I should be able to wrestle free. But I can’t remember anything I’ve learned. I’m terrified, and my mind is blank.

With trembling fingers, I unlock the door, and he pushes me inside the pitch-dark room. My knees hit something—a couch—and I collapse onto it.He shuts the front door behind him and locks it, and then he turns on a light.

And I see him clearly for the first time.

He’s young.So young.My kidnapper is just a boy. He’s tall, skinny, and doesn’t look a day over eighteen.

“I’m sorry,” he says. He stares blankly at the knife in his hand and sets it down on the coffee table, then slumps into a chair across from me. “I’m so sorry. I really need the money, and Hugh won’t listen. I didn’t know what else to do.”

I can’t lunge for the knife. Even if I could stop trembling, I’d never reach for it before he does.

Then his words sink in. “You’re Romeo Santini?” I ask disbelievingly. “But you’re dead.”

“No. That was supposed to throw them off my scent.” He runs his hand through his hair, his expression bitter. “Not that it worked. Guerra ordered a fucking DNA test, the asshole. Any moment now, my father’s going to get the happy news that his son and heir is still alive.”

I thought Leo was brittle, but he has nothing on this guy. Romeo Santini is practically vibrating with tension. His jaw is clenched, his eyes hard. He picks up the knife and starts to flip it in his hand. Tip, handle, tip, handle, the movement restless,dangerous.Any moment now, he’s going to slice his fingertips into ribbons.

“Why wouldn’t your father be happy that you’re alive?”

Romeo laughs, and there’s a definite hysterical edge in that sound. “Because I’m trying to kill him,” he says. “Three fucking attempts so far, and none of them have succeeded. If only Hugh. . . ” His voice trails away on a choked-off sob. “Who cares? Lorenzo and my precious papà will tear each other to shreds, but it’s too late for Sienna, and it’s too late for me.”

I can’t tear my eyes away from the blade. “Why do you want to kill your father?”

He laughs again. “Didn’t Hugh tell you? When I was fourteen, Rocco Santini decided I was done with childish things. I was a man and needed to act like one. He had me brought to a basement room.” He swallows convulsively. “There was a boy there, tied up in the corner, bruised and bloody. His name was Edoardo. He was the gardener’s assistant. My father was a prick, and my mother had died in childbirth; the household staff were all terrified of my father and wary of me. Edoardo wasn’t. Apart from Sienna, he was my only friend.”

I have a dreadful feeling that I know where this story is going, and I don’t want to hear the rest of it.

“My father handed me a gun,” Romeo continues tonelessly. “He told me that Edoardo was a spy from a rival family, caught stealing our secrets. And the punishment for that kind of betrayal was death. He stepped out of my way and told me to shoot my friend.”

“What happened then?” I whisper.

“My big sister found out somehow. She was two years older than me and a thousand times braver. She burst into the basement, snatched the gun from my hand, and shot Edoardo herself. My father was furious. He whipped her bloody as punishment for interfering, and then he whipped me for being a coward. He sent Sienna off to boarding school, and I wasn’t allowed to have any contact with her for the next two years.”

He takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Six years,” he says. “For six years, I’ve bided my time. I learned all about the inner workings of his business. I pretended to be the dutiful heir. Then the asshole married Sienna off to his second-in-command. She begged him not to, but he sold her like property to keep himself in power.”

My voice is very quiet. “Why did you ask Hugh to steal ten million euros from your father?”

“Assassins aren’t cheap,” he replies. “It was the only way to save Sienna. I had to take out both my beloved papà and my new brother-in-law.”

I push away the twinge of sympathy I feel for Romeo. “And Hugh,” I add, my tone caustic. “You forgot his assassination attempt.”

He plucks the blade out of mid-air. “I love Hugh,” he says. “I fucked up, and he will never forgive me, and I don’t blame him. But nothing I did changes the way I feel about him.”

“That makes perfect sense.” I fold my arms over my chest, suddenly acutely aware that I’m wearing a leather bustier and a flimsy skirt. “You love my brother, so you blow up his car and kidnap his sister at knifepoint.”

“He wouldn’t listen,” Romeo grits out. “Don’t you understand? Sienna hasn’t been seen indays.She might already be dead. I can’t afford to fail again. If there’s even a chance she’s alive, I have to succeed in my next attempt.”

“You told Hugh you needed the money. You never told him why. He wouldn’t have kept it from you if he knew the truth.”

“I was trying toprotecthim. Don’t you understand? Knowledge is dangerous, and the wrong secrets will get you killed.” He starts to juggle with the knife again. “None of this was supposed to happen. My father should have been dead before anyone found out the money was missing. Then Guerra came along and fucked everything up.”

He picks up his phone. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he says again. “All Hugh has to do is give me the money. Then I’ll leave Venice, and none of your family will ever hear from me again.”

As much as I want to hate Romeo, I can’t. He’s just a badly frightened boy who’s trying to save his big sister. I can’t say I’d do anything different in his shoes.

Romeo calls Hugh and makes his ransom demand. When he hangs up, he gets to his feet, opens a closet, and puts a shirt on the coffee table in front of me. “You look uncomfortable,” he says. “Do you want some water?”

“I’m okay.”

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