30. Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty
Emilia
A giggle escapes me as I half run, half hop up the stairs to the apartment.
I pull off my high heels as I go, whilst trying not to fall over my floaty skirt and keep my thighs pressed together, so I don’t leak out any more of the evidence of my wild car ride home with Vincenzo.
Cum stains are not easy to get out of satin and the cheeky asshole still has my panties!
I feel like a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders.
Vincenzo is not engaged to Kayla and seems very pissed about his father’s impromptu visit this afternoon.
I’ll let him sort his family out. But the path for us to be together seems clear.
The Monet will be gone tomorrow, and this nightmare of a job will be behind me.
Maybe I can take a much-needed break and really give myself a chance to see where this thing with Vincenzo can go?
Maybe, we could both get away together for a while.
I can’t even remember the last time I had a real holiday.
I get to the landing but fumble with my keyring and clutch, so I shove the straps of my shoes between my teeth to give me a spare hand.
Another giggle escapes at my failing attempts to open my own front door, but I finally manage to get the right key into the slot, only to tumble forward as the door swings open before I get the chance to push with my shoulder.
The motion should have me spiralling to the floor in a heap, but a thick wall of muscle stops my descent, and large hands grab my upper arms aggressively.
I barely manage a gasp before something smashes into my forehead, and everything goes dark.
I startle awake to the slam of cupboard doors and drawers behind me.
Pain stabbing behind my eyes and has me immediately closing them again.
I hang my head against the blinding lights so my hair will darken the space around my face, as a wave of nausea makes me sway slightly.
I try to raise my hand to my head, but it’s caught on something behind me.
“Seriously, who doesn’t keep rope or cable ties in their kitchen?” A rough male voice grumbles behind me, and I nearly jump in fright. Instead, I freeze in place. I try to calm my rapid breathing, and bite my bottom lip, thankful that my loose hair hides my face. Am I being robbed?
I crack open my eyes and blink rapidly past the harsh light that filters through the curtain of my hair.
I can tell from the wooden floorboards that I’m in my apartment, and thankfully still in my dress, though there are dark droplets on my lap.
Maybe I have been crying? The emerald green silk colour makes it hard to tell.
I shuffle slightly in the seat. It feels like I’m on one of the dining chairs. I carefully tug on my arms again, but they don’t move. Something locks my wrists together. My hands are obviously bound behind me, though they aren’t pulled so tight as to be painful, it’s just uncomfortable.
My bare feet sit flat on the floor, and whilst I can’t see them, I can move them slightly without restriction, so I think they’re free.
I start to move my eyes around while I keep my head still, but between the dizziness it causes, and my obstructed visual field, I give up pretty quickly.
But I think I’m in the space between the kitchen island bench and the dining table. I can’t see my bag or phone anywhere.
“There’s nothing in the bathroom. I’m going to check her bedroom. Maybe she’s into being tied up or has some furry handcuffs we can use,” says a second man, his voice is louder and then quieter as he wanders around to my left.
“Just hurry up would ya? We need something to tie her feet,” says the man behind me. The sound of drawers being opened and rummaged through, then closed again.
“Yeah, well what fucking idiot only brings one set of cable ties to a job?” His mate calls back, his voice somewhat muffled by the crashing sounds that come from the direction of my bedroom.
There’s a shuffle of feet from behind me that then moves in the direction of my room, giving me the courage to quickly tilt my head to try and get a look at my surroundings, but another wave of nausea at the quick movement makes me dry heave.
I breathe deeply in through my nose and out through my mouth, to get the impulse to vomit under control.
“Keep ya voice down, dickhead. I want her tied up before she wakes up. We don’t need another incident .”
“She surprised me, that's all! Barrelling through the door like that when I opened it.”
“Yeah well, you didn’t have to fucking headbutt her! I heard the crack from downstairs! No wonder she’s out like a light.”
A wet drop falls onto my skirt. Ahh, not tears then, blood. I guess the fucker split my head open when he headbutted me. Judging by the nausea, I probably have a damn concussion.
“Here, just use these to tie her legs to the chair. We need to get her locked down before the Boss gets back.” I hear their combined footsteps come towards me, so I close my eyes and breathe as slowly as possible.
I can sense one of the men stop in front of me, then there’s a soft thud as something hits the ground at my feet.
“Wait. Is that blood on her skirt?” Hands push the hair from my left back. The second man leans down, and I can feel his presence move closer to me, but I keep my face carefully blank. “You fucking moron, you split her fucking head open,” he whisper shouts. “The Boss is going to lose his shit!”
I hear the first man’s face come closer to mine, presumably to look at the damage he inflicted, his nose whistles as he breathes which gives away his exact position.
Without thinking, I kick out. I use my unbound legs to strike at his body, uncaring at where I hit.
The movement pushes me backwards and tilts the chair I’m on.
I hear him crash into what I presume is the dining table, and my eyes fly open in reflex as I feel the momentum from the kick tipping me backwards, chair and all.
I cry out in pain as I land onto my bound arms, and the back of my head bounces off the floor.
Hands grab my legs and stop me from toppling over onto my side.
One of the men comes into view as he stands over me, feet either side of my waist. He glares daggers down at me.
With the ceiling lights behind him, I can’t make out what he looks like.
I shift my shoulders to try and take some of the weight off my arms that are crushed beneath me, but my movements cease instantly when the man above me pulls a gun from the back of his pants and points it at my face.
“Guess you weren’t as out as we thought,” he tsks at me. “You alright, Gino?” he asks over his shoulder to his friend.
“Bitch fucking kicked me, Tony!” Gino pushes his weight through my legs where his hands still grip, and he rises.
“I saw,” Tony responds.
Gino comes into view as he stands up to his full height.
He looks like a typical boxer–bald head, built like a brick shithouse, with a face only a mother could love.
His nose is flat and crooked, like it’s been broken repeatedly in the past and not healed straight.
His hands fly to his face, and wipe as blood starts to fall. “She made my nose bleed,” he whines.
“That wasn’t very nice. You owe Gino an apology, young lady.” Tony turns his attention back to me.
My mouth gapes open. You have got to be joking?
Tony steps off to the side of me and tucks the gun into the waistband of his pants, then leans down to grab the top of the chair behind me and pauses. “Help me get her up, Gino,” he says, after a beat.
Gino scrambles forward and grabs my upper arms, then pulls me up to standing, the sudden movement makes me sway.
Tony rights the chair behind me, while Gino holds me steady.
I feel the chair legs pushed against the back of my knees, then my bound hands are pulled back over the top of the chair, as I am forced to sit again.
Once I’m back in the chair, Gino takes a hasty step back out of reach. Clearly having learned his lesson. I glare at him the best I can as the world still spins from my dizzy spell.
Tony steps into view from my left. He’s much smaller than Gino, with slicked back brown hair and beady brown eyes. His collared shirt has too many buttons undone, and it shows off his hairy chest and multiple gold necklaces. Classy.
“Apologise to Gino,” he says, like you would tell a naughty child to say ‘sorry’ to a friend when they don’t share their toys.
“You cannot be serious.” My voice comes out husky.
Tony snatches his gun out of his waistband and waves it in my face. “You will apologise to Gino,” he shouts.
Furious, I spit instead. It hits Gino square in the middle of his chest.
“You fuckers broke into my home, assaulted me, tied me up, and you want me to apologise for making him bleed?” My eyes dart from Tony’s expectant face, to Gino’s, who looks like a kicked puppy. “I can literally feel my own blood trickling down the side of my face.”
They say nothing, and my anger spikes.
“Tell you what, why don’t we go back to yours, I tie you up,” I tilt my head at Gino, “and I wave a gun in your face,” I say pointedly at Tony, “and we call it fucking square!”
My heartbeat pounds in my ears, but I am spitting fucking mad and could not give two shits that I am screaming at them like a crazy person.
“Gino, find me something to shut her up. We don’t need to hear anything she has to say, if she’s just going to be rude,” Tony says, and I am stunned silent again.
Gino goes to walk off, but all our heads snap around when my front door bangs open loudly, and in walks the last person I ever thought to see.
“Well, this is not how I thought our reunion would go, Bella. ”