Chapter 6
DANIKA
Prisoner or refugee? Shouldn’t I be able to tell if I’m one or the other? If I wanted to leave, would they let me? Where would I go if I did leave?
Exhaustion hits me like an ocean wave crashing onto the shore. The man and woman—Sante and Amelie—just left, and no matter how terrified I should be about being left alone with Tommaso, I have no energy left to fuel any fear.
I’ve escaped the grasp of the Russian mob only to end up in the hands of the Italian Mafia. I don’t know what to think about that. Amelie seems sweet enough, and her husband clearly adores her, so that’s a good sign.
Tommaso is a different story.
They called him Tommy, but such a boyish name doesn’t fit around his hard edges. He’s so severe. So rigid.
I would be sold on that perspective of him if it wasn’t for the way he helped keep me calm after restraining me. What kind of monster comforts its prey? Either he’s a very twisted creature or … he’s not a monster at all.
I’m bound to find out soon enough.
He watches me with inscrutable intensity like a jungle cat eyeing a snake for the first time, unsure if it’s danger or dinner. I want to assure him I’m neither, but it won’t do any good. I can already tell Tommy is the sort of man who isn’t easily swayed.
“Bathroom is in there.” He gestures to one of the two closed doors. “I’ll bring dinner at eight.” And with that proclamation, he’s gone, shutting the door behind him.
The safety of solitude brings on another wave of exhaustion, but I don’t let myself give in to it.
I could be in more danger than I know, so I force myself to stay awake by checking out my new surroundings.
The bedroom suite is equally as luxurious as the rest of the apartment—nicer than I’ve ever known.
A queen-sized bed is fitted with soft cotton linens and plenty of pillows.
The neutral colors and minimal decor create a modern aesthetic that is simple but not overly cold.
I’m just settling in when Tommy appears with a plate of food as he promised at 8 p.m. on the dot, according to the bedside clock.
He doesn’t say a word and is gone as quickly as he arrived.
The lemon chicken with asparagus and pilaf rice is delicious.
I don’t realize until the smell hits me just how starving I am.
I haven’t eaten all day. Once I’ve downed every last bite, I decide to venture out of my room to return the plate to the kitchen.
He never said I couldn’t leave the room, and the door isn’t locked.
If I am, in fact, a refugee rather than a prisoner, I figure the least I can do is clean up after myself.
I don’t see Tommy while I’m out of my room and have no idea where he is.
I figure it’s none of my business and plan to return to my room as soon as the dishes are cleaned.
It feels safer back there. But when I see the last bit of sunshine melting into the river beyond his wall of windows, I can’t look away.
Going right up to the glass, I sit cross-legged on the floor and absorb the view.
When the first firework of the night goes off, I startle out of my haze and remember what day it is.
Independence Day. And this apartment has a perfect view of the city’s fireworks show over the river.
I take a minute to turn off the living room lights, leaving the kitchen on so I’m not in total darkness, then return to my seat on the floor. I’m fascinated by the way fireworks can explode into shapes, but my absolute favorites are the giant glittery gold ones that sparkle as they fade.
I’m so engrossed in the show that I don’t hear Tommy come into the room and have no idea he’s joined me until he speaks.
“While you’re here, you don’t touch anything. I like my home in a certain order. I expect it to stay that way.” The softly spoken words are a warning.
I peer back and see that he’s sitting on the sofa behind me, eyes glued to the brilliant display out the window as though he can’t even bring himself to look at me. I get it. This isn’t how he expected his day to go, either.
“I understand,” I return. “And I appreciate what you’re doing. I really am sorry to have barged into your life.”
Briefly, ever so briefly, his gaze flits to mine, then returns to the fireworks. He doesn’t say another word, and when the show is over, I look back to discover he’s gone.
It’s time for this wretched day to end.
I go back to my room and find my bag sitting on the bed, which is an enormous relief.
I wasn’t entirely sure if I’d get it back or if my belongings had been confiscated.
I check to verify that my tablet computer is still safely inside my duffel, then scrounge inside the bag to see what else I crammed in there.
I was so disoriented when I packed that I have no idea what I grabbed.
I manage to find a pajama set and a couple of pairs of underwear, which is a good start. There are also two mismatched socks, a silk blouse, a pair of leggings, a sundress, and a tank top—a perfectly worthless capsule wardrobe. Oh, well.
When I pop into the bathroom, I see a travel-size toiletries kit on the vanity, which wasn’t there before.
It’s an unexpected kindness. I still don’t feel safe, but it’s sufficient to help me relax enough to shower and head to bed.
But before I do anything else, I get out the disposable phone Sachi got for me.
Me: Hey, Sachi, it’s me. All is well.
It’s a little white lie, but I don’t want her to worry.
Sachi: Good! Man, I’ve been worried. What kept you?
Me: Just being cautious. It’s all good, and I’m headed to bed. Exhausted.
Sachi: I bet. Night, babe
Me: Night ??
Next, I text Mom to let her know I’m okay. It’s probably not the safest thing to do, but I’m sure she and Gran have been worried sick.
Me: Marco
To help minimize the risk to both of us, I decide to be discreet and use a game we’ve played since I was a kid.
I think Marco Polo is supposed to be played in water, but we never had access to a pool.
I started playing the game with her while hiding in clothing racks at department stores, and it stuck with us, evolving into a silly thing we do when we’re looking for one another.
She won’t know the number for the disposable phone. All I can do is hope she sees the message and realizes it’s me. She’s not great about looking at her phone, so I know she must have been waiting for me when a message comes back almost instantly.
Mom: Polo ??
My relief is overwhelming. So much so that if I don’t get in the shower now, it’ll never happen.
The absence of a lock on the bathroom door gives me the motivation I need to take a record-fast shower.
Before crawling into bed, I set the chair in front of the bedroom door.
I’m not sure what it will do because it’s lightweight, and I can’t get it to stay wedged under the handle, but it’s better than nothing.
Two minutes later, I’m fast asleep, but it doesn’t last long.
I wake groggily at the sensation of ice on my wrist. When I try to pull away from the cold, I realize I’m not alone. A flood of adrenaline ensures I’m now wide awake.
“Get away from me. What—” I frantically try to figure out what’s going on.
“Calm down,” Tommy cuts me off harshly while struggling to keep hold of my hand. “I just need to—”
Something cold clamps closed around my right wrist. I instinctively yank my arm to get away and use my other hand to try to remove the hard metal cuff, but in the dark, I can’t see what I’m doing. Hands flailing, mind in total panic, I pant as I struggle to free myself.
“ Fuck , stop moving—” Tommy grouses.
“ Don’t touch me ,” I hiss back at him.
“I’m not going to hurt you.” A sound of metal ratcheting together clinks through the blackness, and we both still. “Oh, fucking Christ . Do you realize what you’ve done?” he demands.
My hand is yanked against the iron headboard frame by the metal cuff circling it. “What I’ve done? No, I have no idea what’s going on. I was asleep before you attacked me, remember?”
“I never attacked you,” he bites back. “I wouldn’t be able to sleep with you loose in my house, so I came to fix that problem.”
I tug at my arm, my eyes adjusting to see the slightest silver glow around my wrist. “By cuffing me to the bed?”
“You’re not cuffed to the fucking bed. You’re cuffed to me .” He waves his hand, showing me how he’s attached to the other end of my cuff, which is wrapped behind the iron bar on the bed. “ We are cuffed to the bed.”
“You cuffed us together so that you could sleep better?” Okay, so maybe I’m not as awake as I thought. This isn’t making any sense.
“No, Danika,” he grumbles, his exasperation evident. “I was cuffing you to the bed, but you lost your shit, and now we’re both handcuffed to the fucking bed.”
I sit up, my thoughts finally clearing. “Well, unlock it, then.”
“Genius. Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Don’t you have a key to your own cuffs?” I gape at him.
“I do, on my dresser, where I left it.” Tommy’s irritation is escalating as he explains the situation, and I probably shouldn’t push him, but I can’t help myself. It sounds too absurd to be true.
“You accidentally cuffed us together … with no key?”
“Not me, you . It was your flailing that did it.”
A heavy silence blankets the room before laughter bubbles up from deep in my belly. Uncontrollable, tear-producing, cackling laughter.
“You think this is fucking funny?” he barks at me.
It only makes me laugh harder. “Oh … my God. So funny,” I wheeze between breaths.
“I fail to see the humor.”
He’s truly upset, so I try to collect myself. “I know it sucks, but it’s okay. It’s not like we’re going to die here, right? Someone will come by eventually and help us.”
“Eventually? You’re okay with eventually ?”
A second silence thickens the air as reality sets in.
“Do you have a cleaning service or anything?” I ask in a much more reticent voice.
“Yes, but they come once a week and were just here two days ago.”
Five more days.
Oh, good God.
“Someone will come looking for you before then, right? Will your friends be back? What if I have to pee? Would someone below hear us if we screamed loud enough?”
Tommy must hear the rising panic in my rapid-fire questions because his tone is softer when he answers. “Slow down. Don’t blow this out of proportion.”
I think he’s trying to calm me, but the damage has been done.
“You’re the one who said we may be stuck for days,” I say in a high-pitched squeal.
“My interior designer is supposed to come by in the morning. We won’t be stuck for days. Now, move over.” He tries to nudge me away from the edge of the bed, but my thoughts are still reeling.
“But we won’t be able to open the door to let her in.”
“She has a key. Now, move .”
I absently shift to the side as realization sets in. “So we weren’t in any danger of dying here. You were just toying with me?” I blurt.
He lies beside me, explaining himself as he tries to find a comfortable position with one arm forced over his head.
“Who said anything about dying? This right here is what I was trying to avoid, and now I’ll be awake all night, I’ll miss my morning workout, and my entire day will be a mess,” he grunts and grumbles until finally settling on his back with a sigh.
The heat from his arm resting against mine makes me suddenly aware that he’s not wearing a shirt. We lie very still, both of us with an arm raised over our heads. Neither of us sleeping.
“I didn’t mean to do it,” I whisper into the silence.
“I know,” he says on a weary exhale.
God, this is so uncomfortable. So awkward. I try to adjust my position from one side to the other, but it’s pointless.
“Quit your wiggling,” my irritable captor fusses.
“I’m trying to get comfortable.”
Nope, the side I’m on is making my arm go numb. I return to my back only to have Tommy wrap his free arm around my middle and pull me snug into the curve of his body like we’re some sort of couple.
Oh God. This is bad.
Every muscle in my body tenses in anticipation of a fight. This man is a criminal. And we’re in a bed together. I’m clothed, but the thin fabric hardly seems like any barrier at all.
“Last time I’m telling you, woman,” he says in a brooding grumble. “Get some sleep before I knock you out myself.”
I’m not sure how I can tell, but my instincts assure me it’s an idle threat.
For all the scowls and posturing, Tommy Donati has yet to do a single thing to hurt me.
The reminder helps me relax a bit, though I’m well aware our limited interactions aren’t any real predictor.
Technically, this man held me at gunpoint and has me in handcuffs.
The fact that I’m not totally terrified of him has got to be a testament to my exhaustion.
Once I get some rest, I’ll go back to feeling appropriately petrified of the man.
I can’t allow myself to be fooled by a tiny bit of kindness.
Men like Tommy and Biba should never be underestimated.
If I am, in fact, not a prisoner, I’d do best to get myself out of here at the earliest opportunity.
Who knows what might happen if they figure out who I really am.
Even without that knowledge, they could easily decide to use me as a bargaining chip, but knowing my paternity could make me a full-fledged prisoner and subject to who-knows-what horrors.
Let’s stay focused on the positives, or you’ll never get any sleep.
Right. Sleep.
Hopefully, this go-around will be less traumatizing than the last. With my luck lately, chances are slim.