Chapter 8 Grace
GRACE
The car partition is drawn up.
It's just him and me in an enclosed space now.
My ears are still ringing from the sound of the gunshots. I'm certain that if it weren't for this man, I would have taken one of the bullets today.
"What's your name?" I ask him.
"Dante," he says. "Dante Mancini."
The name is unfamiliar to me. But I have a feeling I know exactly who he is.
"What do you do for a living?" I ask.
"I have a couple of businesses," he answers vaguely.
I study him for a moment. He has an Italian accent when he speaks, but I could've sworn that I heard another accent bleeding through when the bullets were fired.
"What kind of businesses?" I probe.
He studies my face like an artist looking at their muse.
"What is it that you really want to ask me, Grace?"
"You're in the mafia, aren't you?"
He levels me with a stare. He says everything by not saying anything.
"You said that your mother wants you dead," he says. "Explain."
All of a sudden, there's a lump in my throat. I can barely breathe around it.
"There's not much to explain," I whisper. "We just don't get along."
"There's not getting along, and then there's wanting your own blood and flesh killed," he says.
"I don't wish to talk about it," I say, taking a deep breath to calm myself. I can feel a panic attack coming on, and I don't want to spiral in front of him.
I don't want to appear weaker than I already do.
As if he can feel the turmoil inside me, he places his big hand over mine. The warmth goes straight to my core. It makes me feel grounded, like I'm tethered to something.
"Where are we headed?" I ask.
"Home," he answers.
"Where's home?"
"You'll find out soon enough, little bird," he says.
The name sends goose bumps scattering over my skin. It's supposed to be derogatory, but I feel those two words reverberating inside my core.
"Why me?" I ask, licking my lips.
"I've been asking myself the same question."
"I should hate you."
"Do you?" he asks.
"You saved my life."
"I paid good money for you." He pins me with that whiskey stare.
There's something about the way he looks at me.
I'm usually the wallflower. I blend into the background. When people look at me, their eyes drift right past me. But it's not like that with Dante. He's looking at me like I'm something rare. Like...I'm beautiful.
"Did you really pay two hundred grand for me?" I ask.
There's a shift in his eyes. I try to read it, but it's gone before I can make sense of it.
"I'm asking because you don't seem like the kind of guy who needs to buy women," I say.
"What makes you say that?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.
"You're obviously attractive and wealthy," I say. "Women probably throw themselves at you without you having to even try. And...I saw you before the raid happened. You looked uncomfortable to even be there."
"It wasn't my first time at one of those auctions," he says. "It was just the first time I bought someone."
His words are a reality check.
I shouldn't be feeling so comfortable around this man.
My intuition is usually on point, but everything is distorted today.
"Why me?" I ask again.
"Maybe I have secret perversions I wish to carry out with you," he says.
When our eyes meet, I get that same feeling again—like he's hiding something. I don't know what he wants from me, but he didn't buy me just because he could. He must have another motive.
"Like what?" I ask, feeling bolder than ever.
"Are you sure you want to know, little bird?" he asks.
I'm crossing lines I shouldn't be. But I can't help myself.
I don't trust myself to speak, so I nod.
"I'd tell you, but I don't want to scare you off just yet," he says.
He removes his hand from over mine. I feel like a helium balloon that's no longer tethered. I float toward the clouds as my heart starts racing double time.
My anxiety seems to be worse when he's not holding my hand.
And suddenly, it feels too hot inside this limo. I shrug out of the jacket he gave me. He gives me a sharp look.
"Keep the jacket on," he orders.
"Why?" I ask.
"You're wearing next to nothing, that's why," he says.
I glance down at my dress. He has a point. Under different circumstances, I would be feeling self-conscious. But I don't feel anything of that sort right now.
"Can I ask you a question, Dante?" I ask, gazing up at him.
His gaze drops to my lips, like he enjoys the way I say his name.
I love the way he looks at me, like he can't get his fill.
He's attracted to me.
The knowledge that he finds me desirable turns me on even more. It builds inside me like a dormant volcano that's about to explode for the first time in a thousand years.
"Go ahead," he says.
"Do you have a type?" I ask.
His hand shoots to my throat. His long fingers wrap around it, making my pulse skyrocket. His thumb presses down on my bottom lip, parting my lips.
The heaviness inside me builds and builds, demanding release.
He leans toward me, so close that I can count every one of his dark eyelashes. Boys shouldn't be allowed to have such pretty eyelashes.
His mouth is inches from mine. This is so wrong, but I’ve never wanted anything more.
Instead of pressing his lips against mine, he lowers his head. I'm horrified when I realize that he's smelling my breath.
I pull away.
"What are you doing?" I ask him.
"You're not drunk," he says. "But you took something, didn't you? Your pupils are wider than they're supposed to be."
I blink at him. Is this man for real?
"What did you take, Grace?" he asks again.
My body and my mind are at war. I'm filled with too much desire and too little common sense.
I probably shouldn't tell him everything about myself, but I can't help it.
"It was an aphrodisiac," I admit. “A little purple pill. I was forced to take it.”
"Your mother?" he asks through gritted teeth.
Tears rush to my eyes. "Yes."
"What is it made of?" he asks.
"I was told that it's the concentrated form of some tropical fruit," I say. "And I've never felt this way before. I don't know what to do."
"It's a long drive home. Try to sleep it off," he says.
I look at him for a moment. And then I say exactly what's on my mind.
"I don't understand,” I say. "This is what you wanted me for, right?"
He's still way too close. I can smell the scent of his skin, and it's so exquisite that I want to put it in a bottle.
"When I have you, Grace, it'll be because you were begging for it," he says. "Not because your mother drugged you."
A shiver passes down my spine. It blooms to life in vivid color deep inside my core.
I close my eyes and lean against the headrest. I’ve never liked car rides. They make me feel claustrophobic.
A tear slides down my cheek.
"Tell me about your friend," he says.
I open my eyes.
"Sarah?" I ask. "We met earlier today."
"You're awfully loyal to someone you met a few hours ago," he says.
"If I had the power and the means, I would get them all out," I say. "I would help every one of them. People were nothing but cruel to them, and they don't deserve any of it."
"How long was she held in captivity?" he asks.
"Her whole life," I say, glancing at the road behind us. There are two other SUVs behind us, and Sarah is in one of them. "It's all she knows."
“And you?” he asks.
"What about me?"
"What was your childhood like?"
"Why does it matter?"
"I want to know."
I know what he's doing. He's trying to distract me from the effects of the drug. It's kind of sweet, actually.
"Do you have any brothers or sisters?" he asks.
That makes me smile.
"Two sisters," I say. "They're everything to me."
When I glance over at him, I find that his eyes are fixated on my bottom lip. He's looking at it like he's never seen anything more fascinating in his life.
But thinking about my sisters only reminds me of what my mother said.
My hands begin to tremble.
"What's wrong?" he asks.
"Chloe, my eldest sister, might be in trouble," I say.
"Was she at the auction too?" he asks.
"I didn't see her there, but my mother was planning a trap for her,” I say, thinking about the snake venom.
Just as my mind starts to unravel, Dante places his hand over mine. Something about the weight of his hand is so comforting.
"Don't worry about your sister," he says. "I'll find out where she is and confirm if she's safe."
"Do you promise?" I ask.
He nods. "I promise."
I curl up in the seat and face him.
"It's not wise of me to trust someone like you."
"You're right," he says. "It's not."
"But I do anyway."
He watches me for a moment.
"Why did you think it was your mother who sent the shooters?”
"Who else could it have been?"
"There's nobody else who would want to hurt you?"
I shake my head.
“Okay, get some rest now," he says. "I'll wake you up when we reach our destination."
I don't feel okay. Nothing feels okay.
All I have now is my intuition.
And it tells me that the safest place for me is by Dante's side.
For now.