16. Ransom
CHAPTER 16
RANSOM
A ntonio
As if the discussion with Dante isn’t going to be painful enough, I had to deal with Otto’s utter ineptitude last night. How does a guard fall asleep the first night on the job and nearly allow my most valuable hostage to escape? He would lose a week’s pay for his incompetence. If it happens again, he’ll lose something more vital. If Serena had gotten away, everything I’d fought so hard to hold onto would have slipped right through my fingertips.
I will not make the same mistake again.
On the bright side, upon Pietro’s return trip to Rome he managed to secure a deal with the Salernos for the new restaurant complex. At least one good thing to come of the past few days. Of course, it’s all riding on Dante agreeing to my terms.
Staring out onto the tranquil lake with streaks of morning light glittering on the glassy surface, I attempt to still my racing pulse. For some goddamned reason I can’t seem to find the nerve to pick up the phone. What the hell is going on with me? This woman falls into my life, and I’m a fucking mess.
I left the adjoining door between Serena and me ajar and kept my eyes on her all night. My gaze flickers to the bed she’s still sprawled across through the opening in the door. I hadn’t slept for the second night in a row now. Raking my hands over my face, I heave in a breath. If all goes according to plan, Dante will concede to my demands and the blonde beauty would be out of my life by tomorrow. So I could finally sleep…
A hint of sadness? Regret? What the cazzo is that? Some inconvenient feeling I can’t quite name squirms its way into my chest at the thought of resuming my solitary existence.
Maybe I’ll reach out to Stefania again once all of this is settled. With the Ferrara empire back on track, I could afford the time to devote to a real relationship. But do I even want one with her? Can I see Stefania as the mother of my children? I’m not even certain I want any. Not after seeing how easily a father can fuck up their kids’ lives.
And with the one I had as a role model, I don’t have high hopes for my own parental skills.
A hint of movement through the crack in the door draws my attention away from the lake and the muddle of thoughts to her . Serena rolls over, then groans, before pushing the comforter back. She slides to the edge of the mattress, blonde locks tussled and wild, and slips out of bed. Her shirt—no, my shirt—rides up, revealing her long, perfectly muscled legs in my boxers.
My stupid cock twitches at the sight. Last time I saw Stefania, I felt nothing. It must be a reverse Stockholm’s Syndrome or something illogical like that. My gaze follows her like a starving man as she disappears into the bathroom.
Blinking quickly to chase away her tantalizing lingering image, I reach for the phone in my pocket. Pietro assures me the signal has been scrambled, and the call to Dante will be completely untraceable. I suppose we’ll see because it’s time.
With purposeful strides, I march into Serena’s bedroom and find a shopping bag filled with clothes wedged in the doorway. I pick up the bag with a quick glance at Otto stationed outside the door once more and drag it to the unmade bed. How long does Mariuccia think she’ll be staying? There are enough garments here to clothe the girl for a few weeks. As I rifle through the collection of sundresses, blouses and skirts, I find a lacy array of underthings. I groan. The last thing I need are mental images of Serena’s sexy bra and panties engraved in my mind.
The creak of old hinges spins my head over my shoulder. Serena saunters out of the bathroom, her head tipping back on a yawn. “Jet lag sucks,” she mutters before she plops back down on the bed. Then her eyes drift to the shopping bag perched at the edge. “Aww, you bought me something? How sweet.”
I grunt, shaking my head. “Mariuccia bought you some clothes last night. You should thank her.”
“I will. Now gimme, gimme.” She reaches for the bag, her eyes alight with excitement.
That look of pure joy is contagious and the ominous feelings roiling around in my gut momentarily ebb. “You work for Dolce & Gabbana, and you’re excited by a bag of cheap clothing from H&M?”
“I’m a fashionista, Antonio. I love clothes and don’t you dare diss H&M. It’s one of my favorites.” She holds up a frilly sundress with splatters of bright colors and smiles. “Besides, Mariuccia has great taste, and she nailed my size perfectly.”
“I’ll be sure to commend her on excellent work.” I look down at the phone still clutched in my hand and remind myself why this woman is here. This is not some romantic lakeside retreat, coglione . My fingers tighten around the cell, and I bring it up to Serena’s face. “It’s time to call your father.”
“Oh.” Her lips screw into a pout, and she drops the colorful assortment of dresses back into the bag. Then she peers up at me, gaze narrowed. “You want me to talk to him?”
“No,” I growl. “I will speak to him first and lay out the conditions of your return. I’m sure he’ll want to speak to you after.”
“Right, proof of life and what not.”
My head slowly dips.
Serena leans back on her palms, the picture of calm. “Well, let’s get this over with.”
“You’re not the least bit nervous?”
She shakes her head. “Why should I be? Papà will do anything for me. You’re the one who should be shitting yourself. He might give you what you want now, but once I’m back safe and sound, there will be hell to pay.” She shoots me one of her feral grins, the one that has blood pumping to the wrong head. “No one fucks with Dante Valentino’s daughter and lives to tell the tale.” Her lips pucker around the last few words, as if she doesn’t find the thought of my bloodied corpse sprawled across the piazza of the Duomo as appealing as she thought she would. Or maybe I’m imagining it…
Drawing in a steadying breath, I jab my finger at the call button. It rings once, then twice and the pleasant voice of a young woman answers.
“I need to speak to Dante Valentino.” I attempt to match her cordial tone, but my voice is clipped and rough from exhaustion.
“I’m sorry he’s not in today. Would you like to leave a message?”
“No, I’ll call his cell, thanks.”
“You won’t be able to reach him that way either. I’m afraid he’s out of town and will be unreachable for the next week.”
I hiss out a curse through clenched teeth. That may be true for business associates, but surely, he’ll take a call from his daughter. Too bad I had Otto dump her phone before we took off for Milano. “Fine,” I grit out and hang up.
“What happened?” Serena stares up at me with wide, blue eyes.
“Apparently, he’s unreachable.”
“Not to me.” She holds out her hand, palm up. “Give me. I’ll call him.”
Handing over my phone, I watch as she dials her father’s number, brings the phone to her ear and waits…
“How could he not answer?” she snaps.
“Well, he clearly doesn’t recognize the number.”
“I’ll just call my mom.”
Again, no answer, but this time she leaves a message, and I’m impressed by the coolness in her tone.
“Damned spam block,” she mutters as she drops my phone beside her on the mattress.
“I’m sure she’d return the call if the number wasn’t untraceable.”
“Oh, right,” she grits out. She taps the toes of her good foot on the terracotta tile, her knee bouncing. “Maybe I should just call Isabella?—”
“No!” The shout comes out more forcefully than intended. Softening my tone, I continue, “I don’t want Raffaele to know about this until it is done.”
“Well, he’s going to find out. The moment my father knows, word will spread across the King’s empire. And as Bella’s bodyguard and boyfriend, there’s no way he won’t hear about it.”
“I only hope by the time he does, you’ll be on your way back home.”
“Why does it matter?”
“Because I don’t want my brother involved,” I hiss. Which is ironic since only a week ago, I was considering taking his life myself. Only twenty-four hours in this place and the memories of the past have weakened my resolve, turning me into a sentimental fool.
“You think he’ll come after you himself?”
“Not if it puts his precious principessa in danger.” Anger coils around my heart like a poisonous snake. My pulse grows more violent, my fingers curling to distract from the onslaught.
“Are you jealous of Bella?”
“No,” I grit out. Aren’t I though? Not of her exactly but that my brother has found a love so deep it’s worth ruining everything for.
Rolling her eyes at me, she glances down at my phone to the black screen. “So now what do we do?”
“We wait.”