17. Last Beautiful Thing
CHAPTER 17
LAST BEAUTIFUL THING
S erena
An hour later and no call back from my mom. I’ve left two more messages with the number to the untraceable phone and Antonio even tried Papà again, this time leaving a detailed message about my capture. Where the hell could my dad be that he wouldn’t answer his phone or at least check the voicemail? A hint of unease rattles in my ribcage, but I shove it down as I tug the brush through my wet hair.
After the shower and the new clothes, I feel almost normal. If I can just ignore the fact that I’m a prisoner and pretend I’m on a weekend getaway, I can trick my heart into pumping as it should, instead of the manic beats from earlier.
I don’t doubt that Papà will do whatever it takes to get me back, but the fact that he seems unreachable has me on edge. Slowly twisting the knob on the bathroom door, I find my room empty. Both doors are ajar, the one leading to the hallway barely wide enough to make out Otto’s form. His good eye peers through the opening, and his lips curl into a snarl when our gazes meet.
That guy is not my biggest fan.
As if the eye gouging thing isn’t bad enough, I overheard Antonio ripping him a new one last night after my escape attempt. I think I’ll try to avoid him for the near future. Instead, I turn toward the other door, the one which I’m assuming will lead me to a still brooding Antonio.
This kidnapping isn’t going as planned and his temper escalated to new heights before he stormed off to shower. Reaching for the crutches which appeared in my room this morning, I hobble toward Antonio’s room and pause in the doorway, peeking inside.
The bathroom door is ajar, and I can just make out slivers of tanned flesh blanketed in splotches of dark ink. Even through the crack, I can see the dips and valleys of his muscled torso. Dio , I love a man with tattoos.
Said no one ever who was being held hostage by said tattooed man.
Shaking my head of the stupid, I stagger forward, bumping into the doorframe with the unwieldy crutches. Antonio springs out of the bathroom, his eyes wide as he takes me in. But it cannot in any way match the wide-eyed stare I’m ogling him with. He’s all endless expanse of carved muscles with only a towel hung around his waist. His body is a canvas of art, both physically innate and fashioned by the intricate patterns adorning his flesh.
Once I’ve forced my gaping jaw to shut, I attempt to string together a sentence. “Relax, I’m not trying to escape.” For some reason, my ankle feels worse today than yesterday. Maybe it’s because the pain meds the lovely doctor gave me are starting to wear off.
“Good girl.” He smirks before turning to the dresser where all his clothes have now been neatly folded and stacked. He tugs a shirt over his head but leaves the flimsy towel which seems to be holding on by a thread. I force my gaze away from the sharp V that descends beneath the trail of dark hair.
“I was thinking you could try calling Tony. He’s Luca’s righthand man. If there’s something going on, he would know about it.” I also tried calling my Uncle Luca and Aunt Stella in a desperate attempt an hour ago, only to reach more voicemails.
“Very well. Let me finish getting dressed, and we can try him next.” He pulls out a pair of boxers from the drawer then turns toward the bathroom. He closes the door behind him, but again a sliver remains open. My curious gaze drifts through the opening, catching a glimpse of the towel hitting the floor.
Stop it, Serena. What is wrong with you ?
Ripping my traitorous gaze away before it lands on any naughty bits, I glance out the glass doors to the lake instead. Yesterday, I’d barely had time to take in all the beauty. Now I see a small wooden boat bobbing along the shore.
Too bad we can’t take it out for a little ride.
Not on vacation. Hostage ! That annoying voice in my head resonates across the crazy.
Antonio reappears, now fully dressed, and I can’t help the tiny twinge of disappointment at seeing his beautiful body covered up.
“So you like tattoos?” The question pops out before I can stop it.
“Mmm,” he mutters.
“Do they mean anything?”
“Don’t they always?” he counters.
“Touchè.”
His gaze trails down my body as if he’s memorized every inch of my naked form or maybe hoping he could peel away my clothes and figure out if they are concealing any hidden ink. Or weapons. “And you? Any tattoos?”
“Just one.” My thoughts flicker to the bouquet of violets inked across my inner thigh. It’s ironic because in Italian culture, violets are a symbol of modesty and faithfulness, neither exactly my forte. It was Nonna’s best-loved flower, the one of her birth month and coincidentally her favorite color. When she passed away, I was flooded with the pain of her loss. And one night, indulging in too much alcohol, I marched to the nearest tattoo lounge and got it in memory of her.
“Of what?” That piercing gaze razes over me again.
“I’ll let you see it when you let me go.” I throw him my trademark smirk.
“You said I’d be dead soon after…”
She shrugs. “Maybe it’ll be the last beautiful thing you see.”
A flash of something unreadable surges across his midnight eyes, softening the hard lines of his jaw. Just when I think he’s going to say more, he reaches for the phone on the dresser instead. “Let’s make that call to Tony.”
I hold Antonio’s phone to my ear, my heartbeat escalating with each unanswered ring. I’m embarrassed when that familiar gruff voice resonates across the line, and hot tears spring to my eyes. For a second, I was worried something terrible had happened to all of them. How could no one answer any of my calls?
“Who is this?” Tony grumbles over the phone.
“Tony, it’s me!” The humiliating high-pitched sound grates on my own ears.
“Serena, what’s going on?”
“Where’s Papà ? He’s not answering the phone. Is he okay?”
“Yeah, he’s fine, don’t worry, kid. He and Luca were pulled away to an emergency meeting with one of their distributors in a remote part of China. Your mom and aunt went with them. I imagine they’re still flying.”
I heave in a breath of relief.
“What’s going on?”
Antonio snatches the phone away, and I throw him a scowl. “I need you to listen well, Tony. My name is Antonio Ferrara, and I have Serena in my possession. She hasn’t been harmed and if you’d like to keep it that way, I suggest you have Dante call me the moment that jet lands.”
“What the fuck do you mean you have Serena?” Tony snarls, the growl so enraged it bounces around the room.
“Just like it sounds.” Antonio’s voice is calm, icy cool in sharp contrast to Luca’s righthand man. “I have some demands I need met before I return the lovely Serena to her father. You have until midnight your time.”
“And if I can’t reach him by then?”
“Serena’s life will be forfeit.”
A gasp hisses out as I watch in pure indignation as the asshole who just threatened my life jabs his finger at the call end button. Then he paces the length of the room, his steps growing more agitated with each circle. As if somehow all of this shit is my fault.
“So you’re going to kill me if my father doesn’t call you back”—I glance at the clock on the nightstand and do the conversion math—“in six hours?”
He cants his head over his shoulder, putting a pause to the manic pacing. “Serena…”
“What? That’s what you just said. Are you going to torture me too? If I only have six hours left in this world, I deserve to know. There are things I need to do and?—”
He lifts a hand, cutting me off. The towering man steps toward me, the scowl carved into his jaw softening a tad. “I’m not going to kill you…”
Unexpected relief crackles over me. “Yet?” I blurt.
He drags a hand through his hair, the only response. I spend the next few seconds just standing there, leaning on my crutch considering the possibilities. He wouldn’t really kill me, right? Logically, it makes no sense. If I’m dead, he’ll never get what he wants. Papà would destroy him and there’d be nothing left of the Ferrara name but bones and ash.
Consoling myself with the thought, I force myself to turn around and do my best to stomp out in indignation, which is pretty damned hard on crutches.
“Serena!” His growl echoes into my room which I’m only halfway across because who the hell knew crutches were so hard to navigate?
Ignoring him, I keep moving toward the door which leads out to the hallway. I know Otto stands in front of it, but right now, I’d rather deal with him than the man who just threatened to kill me.
“Serena, wait!” Antonio’s voice is close now, but I refuse to turn around.
Instead, I whip the door open and attempt to squirm by Otto, but his meaty hands clamp around my shoulders and slam me against the wall.
“Ow!” I squeal as the back of my head hits stucco and the crutches fall to the tile with a clatter. Damn it, that hurts.
Antonio is beside me a second later, cursing and hissing at Otto in Italian. “ Che cazzo fai ?” He glares down at the man with a look that would have most pissing themselves. Not me because I grew up in my dad’s household, but most normal people, nonetheless. “I warned you once, Ottavio, keep your fucking hands off her.” His fingers curl around his wrist and he twists it so far back, I wince at the sight. I wait for the pop of bones or at least tendons but Antonio releases his guard at the last minute. A tiny part of me is sorry he didn’t finish the job. The asshole deserves it. “That is your final warning,” he snarls. “I’ve been more than lenient with you. The next wrong move will have more permanent consequences.”
“But she was trying to run away from you.”
“I didn’t ask for your excuses,” Antonio barks. “Are we clear?”
A hint of satisfaction swirls in my middle at his harsh reaction to the dickhead guard.
Otto’s good eye narrows as he regards me, the hatred pouring out so potent through that one eye, he might as well have had twelve. “ Si, signore ,” he murmurs.
“Serena is mine to handle, coglione . How far do you think she possibly could have gotten on those things?” He ticks his head at the crutches splayed on the floor. “Now pick them up, hand them to her and apologize.”
Otto stares at him incredulously.
Damn, Antonio’s mood swings are making my head spin. One minute he’s threatening to kill me and the next he’s threatening to maim others or worse for touching me? Someone must be feeling guilty.
“Now,” he hisses, that icy cool demeanor back.
With a grunt, Otto bends down and collects my fallen crutches. He hands them to me with a scowl.
“The apology…” Antonio snaps.
“ Scusi, signorina ,” he mutters through clenched teeth.
“Now get out of my sight before I lose my temper.” He waves off his guard, and the man’s angry footfalls reverberate across the quiet hall.
Gently running my fingers across the back of my head, I search for the bump I’m sure the big beast caused when he slammed me against the wall.
Antonio inches closer. “Are you alright?” The hard set of his jaw has softened but the murderous gleam in his eye remains.
“Why the hell do you care? If you’re going to kill me anyway…”
“ Cazzo , Serena, I’m not going to kill you.” He huffs out a breath. “We both know that wouldn’t get me anywhere with your father.”
My brows furrow as I tip my head back to meet his weary gaze. “Is that the only reason?”
“It has to be.”