3. Two
Two
Sienna
T he second my eyelids flutter open, I’m assaulted by a jarring mixture of unfamiliar sensations. My mind feels like it’s stuffed with nothing but cotton, and my head is pounding as if a jackhammer is having the time of his life inside of it. I struggle to fully open my lids and take in my surroundings, then a rolling wave of nausea crashes over me, leaving a bitter taste in the back of my mouth.
What the hell happened, and where am I?
With a groan, I squeeze my eyes shut again and press my palms against my forehead, trying desperately to block out the dizzying spin of the room and the maddening dance of tiny sparks of light dancing across my vision.
Shit.
I draw in a sharp breath as my fingers brush against a bandage on my forehead. Even the lightest touch sends a fresh jolt of pain through my already pounding skull, intensifying my headache even more. Pushing against the pain, I grit my teeth and force myself to sit up. The groan that tears from my throat sounds distant and unfamiliar as I summon every last scrap of energy to remain upright, my body swaying precariously.
Blinking rapidly, I try to bring my blurry surroundings into focus but they remain hazy shapes and splashes of color. The harder I try to concentrate, the more I seem to fan the flames of the burning agony in my head. With each blink my breathing grows shallower. A strange tingling sensation begins to seep from my fingertips, spreading like ice water through my veins.
My breath hitches as a massive wave of panic threatens to overwhelm me, fueled by the disjointed images flashing across my mind’s eye, pushing through the dark fog of amnesia.
St. Anne’s. My classroom.
Maddy and Flynn.
A man with a mask.
The barrel of a gun.
The cold steel pressed against my temple.
Icy blue eyes.
Fabrizio Moretti.
The name echoes in my mind, heavy with dread and sinister foreboding. The realization jolts me awake for the second time in mere minutes, and as the heavy haze clouding my brain slowly lifts, the circumstances of this very reality threaten to crush me beneath their suffocating weight.
As a jolt of fear courses through every fiber of my being, the dull throbbing in my head recedes, replaced by adrenaline that gives me the strength to stagger out of bed. My legs tremble beneath me, and I cling to the bedframe for support, forcing myself to take slow, measured breaths. Only when I trust my unsteady legs to hold me upright do I take the few tentative steps to the door.
There’s a slight tremble in my hand as it closes around the cold metal handle. My knuckles whiten with tension as I twist and pull, then twist and push. But no matter how hard I try, the door refuses to budge. A wry smile twists my lips.
Did I really think it would?
Knowing who most likely put me here, did I really think I could just walk out of here on my own terms?
For a moment, I entertain the idea of pounding my fists against the solid wood and demanding my release, but I know it would be pointless. I’d most likely just exhaust myself, worsen the pounding in my head, and whoever might hear me would probably not come to my aid anyway.
I am trapped.
The question is, where exactly? And why?
With a defeated sigh, I turn my back to the door, leaning against it for support as I drag in a shaky breath.
I force myself to scan the room, just to do something, anything, to distract me from the rising tide of panic threatening to engulf me.
My gaze drifts from the plush, cream-colored carpet that feels soft beneath my bare feet to the luxurious, king-sized bed I woke up in just minutes before. The linens of the softest cotton against my skin and the silk pillows spread in a crumpled mess all over the bed. I continue to take in the sleek nightstand; then onward to the imposing, eight-drawer dresser to the chaise lounge nestled in a corner, until my eyes come to rest on a door I hadn’t initially noticed. An ensuite bathroom, most likely.
Every piece of furniture in this room screams opulence and elegance as each is perfectly tuned to the other.
Just when I’ve managed to somewhat calm my racing thoughts, the sound of heavy footsteps echoes through the hallway, growing louder.
The deep, unfamiliar voice I heard for the first time in my classroom only hours ago now rings in my ears again.
Was it just hours ago? Or has more time passed already?
I’m completely disoriented. What day is it? What time? How long have I been out?
Every effort to calm down is nullified in an instant, replaced by a fresh wave of panic.
I stumble backward, away from the door, away from the footsteps drawing closer and closer.
Frantic thoughts whirl through my head. What am I supposed to do now?
I can’t hide, and I certainly can’t run.
The only option I am left with is to fight. Frantically, I scan the room for a potential weapon.
If I’d paused for a moment to rethink my intention, I might realize the futility of my plan. But as soon as my eyes fall on the sturdy lamp on the nightstand, my instincts and sense of self-preservation take over. I rush forward, yanking the cord from the wall and wrapping my hands around my makeshift weapon as tight as possible.
Just as I position myself behind the door, it creaks open. At least I am not surprised by the figure that enters the room.
Fueled by another surge of adrenaline pumping through my veins, I swing the lamp at him. But I am no match for his lightning-quick reflexes. He stops me mid-swing with a tight grip on my wrist. My makeshift weapon clatters to the floor with a dull thud. And I am left defenseless.
But at least I’ve managed to catch him off guard just enough to use it to my advantage. I shove both of my hands against his chest in an attempt to create some distance between us. He stumbles back a mere inch or two. Still seeing this as an opportunity, I prepare to push past him and make a run for it. But I don’t even get the chance to take a single step.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he growls, snatching my arm and yanking me deeper into the room.
“Let go of me!” I twist, turn, and struggle against his iron grip on my arm with every last ounce of strength I can muster. It’s not nearly enough to stand a chance against him, but I refuse to give up.
Finally, I manage to free one arm and swing at him, my palm connecting with his cheek. His head snaps to the side, but he doesn’t flinch. My hand throbs from the impact; I think I’ve hurt myself more than him.
Fuck.
The second Fabrizio Moretti’s eyes lock onto mine, I know I made a mistake. A big fucking mistake. A colossal mistake. A catastrophic, life-altering mistake.
His gaze pierces through me, a potent mix of smoldering fury and primal hunger that makes my skin prickle with dread. The man towering over me exudes danger, a coiled predator ready to strike. And I’ve just poked that beast, slapped it across the face for good measure.
That realization leads me to a startling conclusion: I’m either mind-bogglingly stupid or harboring a strong death wish. Since my mind is still racing, frantically scrambling for an escape, I settle on stupidity. But I don’t even get a chance to test that theory.
As I continue to squirm and struggle in his hold, failing to put up any real resistance, he spins us around and effortlessly tosses me onto the bed.
My back has barely hit the mattress before he is on top of me, straddling my legs and pinning my arms above my head. Even trapped beneath his massive frame, I refuse to surrender, futilely bucking my hips in a futile attempt to throw him off me.
“Stop fighting me,” he growls, sounding completely unbothered while I’m gasping for air, my chest heaving as I try to catch my breath.
“Fuck you,” I spit out, my voice barely more than a breathless hiss.
He tilts his head down, and the deep rumble that escapes his throat sounds almost like a chuckle in my ears, feeding my fear with a fresh surge of rage. I push against him again, and his fingers tighten around my wrists.
“Will you stop now?” he says, his voice tinged with a hint of exasperation. “I have no intention of hurting you , but—”
“You’re already hurting me.” The words slip out before I can stop them, laced with a hint of vulnerability I had absolutely no intention of showing.
But almost instantly, his grip on my wrists loosens, though he doesn’t let go of me completely. The tension in his body starts to dissipate, his fingers no longer digging into my skin.
I dare to look up at him, my gaze locking onto his, on those piercing blue eyes, and for a moment, we just stare at each other, the only sound audible our ragged breathing.
His deep, raspy voice cuts through the tense silence. “Will you behave now?”
I take a deep breath and nod in answer. What other choice do I really have?
“Good girl,” he rumbles. The slight amusement in his tone ignites a spark of indignation in me, but I swallow down every insult that comes to mind, forcing every last one of them back down my throat. With his big frame still caging me, it’s the smartest thing to do.
“What do you want from me?” I ask, even though I am not sure I want to hear the answer to my question.
“I simply want to talk to you,” he responds, his tone deceptively calm and firm.
“I have nothing to say to you except let me go,” I snap, trying to sound braver than I feel.
“Unfortunately, this is not an option at the moment. .”
“Why?” My voice is laced with a mixture of fear and defiance. “Why am I here?” A desperate quiver breaks my voice, undoing all my efforts to appear unfazed by the man looming over me.
For a long, tense moment, he studies my face, his eyes burning into my skin. I can practically feel his gaze tracing the lines of my features as if searching for some hidden truth. And for the briefest of instants, his expression falters, a shadow of concern flickering across his handsome face, just like back in my classroom. It’s a momentary crack in his hard exterior, but his stoic mask slips back into place in the blink of an eye.
“Because,” he begins, “you either saved my kids from a kidnapping attempt, exposing the would-be abductor and putting your own life in danger…”
“Or?” I prompt, my heart pounding in my chest.
“Or you were an accomplice in the attack, which means you can lead me to the person responsible,” he finishes, his voice devoid of any emotion.
“I-I’m their teacher,” I protest. “Why on earth would I ever try to hurt them?” I intentionally leave out the fact that crossing his family would be suicidal. I’m pretty sure he knows that already.
“I don’t know. You tell me.” To my surprise, Fabrizio lets go of me and climbs off the bed, but his icy eyes remain locked on me. He looks like a predator sizing up his prey, clearly assessing if I’m stupid enough to try and make a run for it again.
I sit up slowly and pull my legs underneath me. “I had nothing to do with this… You can just let me go.”
He shakes his head, his face hardening, his expression unreadable.
“The guy in the classroom… what did he look like?” The question catches me off guard.
“I don’t know. I-I didn’t really see anything.” I close my eyes and take a deep breath, my mind racing as I try to remember any detail, no matter how small. “He was white. And young. But I couldn’t see much. It—everything happened so fast.”
It’s the truth, but probably not the answer he is looking for. I get off the bed and face him, trying my best to stand my ground. “Now let me go. Please.”
Fabrizio doesn’t respond; instead, he grabs my arms and pulls me toward him. His touch is like a brand, hot and unyielding. His warm breath grazes my cheek as he leans down, his lips inches from mine.
Jolts of electricity run through me, heat prickling every inch of my face. What the hell is wrong with me? “I assume you know who I am and who my family is,” he says, his voice low and menacing, each word a reminder of who holds the power here.
“Y-Yes,” I whisper.
“Then you should be aware of what I’m capable of.” I swallow hard and nod, my nose brushing against his. Even though the intimate position makes my skin crawl and my heart race, I keep my eyes on him.
“That doesn’t change the fact that I know nothing about what happened.”
Suddenly, he backs away from me, taking a deep breath. The sudden distance between us is both a relief and a strangeness. I manage not to back away from his intense gaze.
“I’ve taken the children out of school temporarily. It’s too dangerous for them to return right now,” he explains matter-of-factly. “And the same goes for you.”
An ice-cold chill runs down my spine at the implication. “What? No, I have to return—”
“You are on a leave of absence. But, of course, you will be compensated for your time.”
What the fuck?
“And what about my life? My plans? How dare you—”
“Coincidentally, I require a new nanny for the time being,” he cuts me off.
“What are you talking about?” My voice is shaking, my mind reeling. The pounding in my head increases by the second as I try to follow his words and implications.
“You’ll stay here, taking care of the kids and homeschooling them.” The words drop between us like a bomb.
“No.”
Fabrizio steps closer, towering over me. “I wasn’t asking, Ms. Walsh.”
“Y-You can’t just keep m-me here,” I stammer, barely audible.
“I can and I will… until I know you and my kids are safe.” His words promise safety, but his tone makes them sound like a prison sentence.
“But—”
“End of discussion.” He pushes past me, ready to leave me alone to process the information he’s just thrown at me.
“Wait. You can’t just decide—”
Again, he cuts me off. “I feel like you quite underestimate what I can or can’t do, Ms. Walsh.”
He turns around, his hand on the door handle, a smirk on his lips. “You will stay here… as the children’s nanny or as my captive,” he pauses, his words hanging heavily in the air. “That’s the only choice you have, and I suggest you choose wisely.”
I nearly chuckle. Nearly break out in a loud laugh. Not because I find his words amusing, but because of the hysteria building inside me, threatening to overwhelm me.
That’s not a choice he’s giving me; I am his prisoner one way or the other.
“Do we have a deal?”
The room starts to spin again, bile rising in my throat. I’m on the verge of losing it, my body reacting to the overdose of adrenaline coursing through my veins. “Yes. I’ll take care of Maddy and Flynn.” My voice is barely a whisper, and I’m unsure he heard me. But it doesn’t matter. It’s not a real choice. I doubt he cares about my consent. Without another glance, he pulls the door closed behind him, and I hear the lock click into place. The sound reverberates through the room with finality.
So much about not being a prisoner.
What a cruel joke at my own expense.
I feel myself sway, a new wave of nausea making it hard to stand. I stagger back to the bed, sinking down into the soft mattress. One moment, I’m a preschool teacher living a boring life, and the next, I’m thrust into a world of crime and darkness.
This whole situation is ridiculous and surreal. Terrifying and all too real.
I let myself fall back onto the bed, covering my face with my hands and suppressing a frustrated scream. The weight of my reality threatens to crush me, to consume me whole. What bothers me most is that Fabrizio Moretti is, without a doubt, the most gorgeous man I’ve ever laid eyes on. His muscular physique, broad shoulders, and chiseled face with the angular jaw framed by dark hair… It’s another cruel joke, mocking everything I once believed in.
Unfortunately, a handsome face and a well-tailored suit can’t change the kind of person he is. A monster is a monster, no matter how attractive the packaging. And yet…that’s a thought I can’t shake, a constant reminder putting my attraction at war with my disgust and fear. And it makes my attraction to him even more twisted. It’s not that I want to feel this way, but the thrill I get when he’s close or touching me is something I’ve never experienced before. It’s a dangerous sensation that contradicts all logic, leaving me feeling lost and confused. That scares me even more than the man himself.