Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Dante
? Three days before the kidnapping. ?
The rain hadn’t hit yet, but the dark sky over Manhattan showered gloom over the city.
She stood firmly by the window in the living room of her father’s penthouse, dressed in all black, like she was mourning something no one had dared yet to kill.
One hand rested on the window, the other held a glass of whiskey.
She was still six months away from being able to legally drink but had long since earned it.
“You sure you’re ready for this?” I asked, stepping further into the room.
There were no guards around.
Just her and me.
Her eyes didn’t move from the skyline. “I’ve done this before, Dante. This won’t be any different.”
I studied her.
Everleigh Genovese.
Queen in her own right.
She was right. She’d done this plenty of times in the past. Her father knew a woman’s touch could get any man to talk if they had the right training. And she did.
She was trained her whole life in the art of deception and manipulation. But that didn’t seem to ease my worries when it comes to her. Not even with the skill set she had mastered over the years.
“It’s not just pretending this time, Leigh. This is bigger than you and I.” I said, voice lower than before.
Her lips curled faintly. “You think I don’t understand that?”
Of course she understood. It was probably just me trying to convince myself to go through with everything.
I couldn’t seem to convince myself of anything in regard to her possibly being put in a risky situation.
With that, I walked closer to her and took the glass from her fingers, setting it down on the end table behind us. “This isn’t a game.”
She turned to me slowly, the city lights casting a halo around her.
“Of course it is,” she assured me. “But it’s one we play better than anyone else.”
I stood there quietly, trying to decide on how to continue what I was saying.
I felt like she’d deflect. And then somehow convince me that she knew better.
She exhaled a breath and placed her hand lightly on my shoulder. “I’m not sure why you’re so up in arms over this.”
I stepped closer, causing her hand to drop, keeping my voice at the same quiet tone. “What if he gets too close?”
“That’s the plan, is it not?”
I flexed my jaw anxiously and stepped closer.
My hand reached out and my thumb brushed the curve of her lower lip as I murmured, “Okay, let me ask the question differently. What if you get too close?”
Her breath caught, just for a moment. Almost like she couldn’t believe what had just fallen out of my mouth.
“You know me better than that, Dante.”
My hand moved to her upper arm, gripping it firmly, so that I could pull her towards me. “What happens if-”
Her eyes harden as they met mine. “In that case, you shoot me first.”
I hated the way my pulse spiked at that.
I wouldn’t. I couldn’t ever do that. I didn’t want to.
But this was our life.
She was her father’s daughter.
And I was the one he trusted to make sure the plan didn’t unravel.
Even if it meant burning everything to the ground.
Even if it meant pulling the trigger.
“Fine,” I agreed quietly. “But if-”
“You’ve said enough.” She glanced at me with those venom laced eyes before leaning down to pick the alcohol filled glass up from the table, “Just please let me enjoy my drink in the warmth of my own home before I have to go and play the damsel in distress in a cold fucking warehouse all weekend.”
She turned back to the window, this time fully distancing herself from me.
The door shuts with a dull thud.
When I enter the room, she is sitting on the old mattress that lays flat against the ground. From here, I can see the red that encompasses her wrists from how tight the zip ties squeeze the sensitive skin.
When I step a foot forward, her breathing betrays her before her face does.
A faint glow of the streetlamp’s light slips through the boarded window, shining gently over her face. That pretty white dress she had only bought days before is ruined beyond repair, asphalt and dirt ground into the expensive fabric.
But she looks exactly like she’s supposed to.
Fragile and innocent.
There’s a look of panic in her eyes as she watches me step slightly closer. As usual, she’s perfected the victim expression beautifully.
Anyone else would have easily believed she was being held here forcefully.
Not one inkling to suggest that she is here on her own accord.
Leigh isn’t prey. She is the director and the lead actor all at once. This entire warehouse is hers if you knew how to look.
Finnic doesn’t, of course. That is the plan after all.
I glance back at him. “What’s she given you so far?”
He shakes his head. “Same thing you heard. She claims she doesn’t know.”
My gaze slides back to her, a slow smile tugging at my mouth. “Seems someone taught her how to sell it.”
Finnic scoffs. “That’s a pretty natural reaction to a question like that. I doubt anyone had to train her for it.”
A quiet intelligence glints in her eyes, then slips away before anyone but me can notice.
I crouch down onto the concrete in front of the mattress. The zip ties creak as she shifts away.
“Natural,” I echo, tasting the word. “Sure.”
Her gaze lifts to mine once more as her lips tremble. She sells it handsomely. Even now, after all these years, there is something unsettling about how easily she can disappear into the role of a victim.
“Let’s change the question,” I breathe out. “You said your father doesn’t tell you things.” I nod, “That’s fair. Politicians are specialized in lies and secrets after all.”
I glance over at Finnic as he crosses his arms, trying to shut himself off from everything unfolding in the room.
“But he did take something,” I continue, turning my gaze back to her. “And he never returned it.”
Her throat bobs. “I don’t know anything about his finances.”
I lean in slightly, enough to crowd her breathing space. “Then tell me about the night he left.”
Her jaw tightens, teeth gritting as she spits out, “What night? I have no idea what you’re talking about!”
Another question pops into my mind, “Where did he go?”
Her eyes narrow.
Finnic shifts, probably running the multiple possibilities of his whereabouts in his head.
“Did he take anything with him?” I press.
But she stays silent.
I straighten abruptly, causing her to jolt backwards on the mattress.
“He stole millions,” I point out as I pause where I’m at to stare down at her, “and men have died for far fucking less than that.”
Her head snaps up. “You clearly don’t know my father.”
I let out a humorless laugh. “I don’t need to. Men like him don’t get their hands dirty. He hides behind his money and lets other people do the dealing for him.”
She looks spent, hollowed out in a way that makes the air feel heavier around her.
Finnic steps forward. “If she’s telling the truth-”
I cut him off with a hard glare that stops him dead in his tracks. “She’s not.”
I face her again, my shadow swallowing her whole.
As soon as her eyes lock with mine, I draw my hand back just long enough for her to register what’s coming, then snap it forward.
The slap echoes as skin connects with skin.
“Here’s the deal, Princess.” My hand throbs from how hard I struck her, but I slip that hand into my hoodie pocket and pull out a photo.
“I knew you were lying from the start. I just wanted to see if you’d admit it. ”
I hold the photo before her and recognition sparks in her eyes instantly.
It’s an all-color picture taken from a few feet back.
Long brunette hair, black pea coat, and to match, those fancy-ass stilettos all the girls like these days.
I lean in slightly, voice low in her ear. “You expect me to buy your act of knowing nothing, when the evidence is right in front of me? Tell me, is that not you, handing a duffel bag full of cash to your father as he climbs onto some fancy fucking jet?”
Her eyes water, but no tears fall. The red hand print across her face is neon against her pale skin.
“What do you want from me?”
I tuck my fingers under her chin, forcing her emerald eyes on mine.
“Everything you remember. Every name. Every phone call. Every place he ever ran to when things went wrong.”
She swallows as my thumb grazes her bottom lip. “And what if I don’t know enough?”
I straighten and stare down at her.
I hate playing this role. I don’t like having to lay my hands on her. I have to talk myself up for weeks to be able to even fathom it. It’s comical that I have done this to plenty of other disloyal members of the Genovese mafia and hostages for business purposes, but I despise doing it to her.
But I need to convince Finnic that she is worth nothing without information.
“Then you’re not worth my time and you’ll die here.”