Chapter 10
Imogen
My wrists are blistered and lightly bleeding from the abrasions of the metal cuffs. I have worked tirelessly for what I can only assume is hours trying to rid myself of them.
I wish the old trick of a broken thumb would’ve freed me. Or that I had a bobby pin laying around to finagle the lock. But my captor is too smart to leave me to my own devices.
There’s nothing of use within these four walls.
Hope plummets faster than a shooting star.
And so I lay on the bed, stare at the ceiling and feel riddled with guilt.
So much so that it suffocates me. Because I know ma is taking the brunt of pa’s frustrations.
He has no one else to berate but her. And Sebastian.
. .he must be furious. Made a fool standing alone at the altar.
He’ll want vengeance. He’ll spend his days searching for me only to make me an example in front of his men.
I was so hell bent on freedom that I never once thought of the consequences of my actions. The ripple effect.
It haunts me now. Consuming my every waking thought.
Because now I’m not shackled to a loveless marriage with the only purpose being to produce an heir. I’m shackled, literally shackled, to a man whose intentions are unclear.
A shiver sluices its way down my spine.
I eye the camera in the corner of the room. The dot blinking red. I give two middle fingers followed by the slicing of a throat. The dots fade away.
The fourth check in today.
Sighing heavily I re-position myself, giving my back to him.
Wrists sore I start again with the leg cuffs. Rationally I know it’s futile. There’s no glimmer of hope that I’ll be free of my restraints. But I can’t just give up. It would feel final. And I’m not going to be the one to put the final nail in my own coffin.
My ankles have taken less of a beating than my wrists. The cuffs dig into the skin there, creating cuts that sting every time I go to walk. I mentally curse his name. He couldn’t even give me a slither of space between my damn skin and the restraints.
I know if I continue to try and remove them I’ll only be slicing my skin to the bone. And what good will that do me?
If I have any chance of escaping I need to be strategic. I have to outsmart the man who seems to have thought out every little detail.
My stomach rumbles. I eye the uneaten food. Perhaps I should put my stubbornness aside and at least take a bite.
Realistically, how long can I refuse food before my organs start to shut down?
It’s already been two days given the amount of trays that lay untouched.
Wetness kisses my cheeks. I wipe my eyes with the back of my hands.
Two days and it feels like a fucking lifetime.
God, I really miss my ma right now.
I sober quickly as I hear the key being placed in the lock. I will not show fear and I will not bow down.
If I could defy my pa I can defy any man. Even knowing the notorious tales of the infamous Rico Maroni. Stealing souls like the grim reaper himself to place before The Devil of the East Coast, Don Constantine Donati and his wife Carina.
My death, if it does come to that, will be honorable. That is a promise to myself I will not break.
He enters the room and it’s almost impossible not to look at him. His presence demands to be acknowledged. What a contradiction for a man who wants to belong to the shadows.
Satisfaction fills me as I see the wounds I inflicted. A swollen eye and tape over his broken nose. My hands fists with the urge to do more.
The door shuts quickly behind him. I’ve tried once running past him. The next day I woke to my feet being shackled.
“You haven’t eaten,” he says.
I reply with snark, “Thanks Captain Obvious.”
“Are you trying to commit suicide by starvation?”
“Would it ruin your precious plans if I did?”
He ponders. His eyes search mine. Assessing. Analyzing. I have a feeling if he stares too long he’ll uncover everything there is to know about me. “I could always force feed you.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” I seethe.
“I wouldn’t dare, Imogen. I simply would.” His tone is nonchalant. Blasé. And it begs the question how many times has he had a captive?
Enraged, I shuffle off of the bed and come to a stand. There’s a healthy distance between us but it can be closed easily.
I look at him then. Really look at him. And as I do it only pisses me off more.
Here he stands in his perfectly tailored clothes, with warm food in his stomach, skin clean and his damn scent of amber.
Yet I haven’t bathed in two days. I’m still in the clothes I attempted to escape in.
A constant reminder of my failure. My hair has become a tangled mess and my smell certainly isn’t pleasant.
“You keep surprising me,” he says and I can tell he doesn’t care for it. “You try with tremendous effort to break yourself free. Rid yourself of tears until the point of exhaustion. Yet you have not once begged for your life nor your freedom.”
His monotonous voice does nothing to unravel the ball of nerves that reside in the pit of my stomach, it only adds to it.
Except my nerves have been ruled out by my white hot anger.
My face burns, rivaling the sun with my fury.
“Am I doing this wrong?” I spit at him. No reaction.
Not even a blink of his damned eye. It adds fuel to the fire.
A dark chortle slips past my lips. My mouth then twists. “Am I not pleasing you?
Positioning myself the best that I can within my restraints I clasp my hands together like I would in church.
I then sit prettily on my knees as I look up at him through copper lashes.
“Please, please, please, Rico, will you set me free?” I sweeten my voice to the point a tooth would ache, but it tastes sour on my tongue.
“I’m only trying to understand you.”
Another laugh breaks out but this one is more of bafflement and confusion. “Why on earth are you trying to understand me?”
He steps closer, the tips of his shoes touching the tips of my bare toes.
Then he crouches down. Invading my space until I’m engulfed by him. His scent. His presence.
It’s overwhelming and yet for some inexplicable reason I don’t fear him.
Which I very well should.
This is a man who chased me down in the woods, fought me, drugged me and had me locked in a room with no means of escape. If anything I should be terrified.
“Because maybe if I can understand you I can possibly understand myself.” My brows pull together as I stare at him unsure of his motives. His eyes stay on mine. Searching. Endlessly searching. “I’m very well aware it makes no sense. I wouldn’t expect you or anyone to understand.”
“Is that what you want? For someone to understand you?”
A muscle works in his jaw. The only reaction he’s ever given me. “To be quite frank I don’t know what I want.”
“How about what you feel?”
Ever so slowly he reaches his hand out. I stay statuesque as he tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. Even still as the pad of his finger traces my jugular vein.
“You don’t fear death, do you?”
My heart rate spikes. “Any particular reason why you’re asking that?”
“Back in the woods of your homeland you fought like a warrior.”
I counter, “Some would argue I fear death because of how hard I fought for my life. My freedom.”
“No,” he disagrees lowly. With the same finger he tips my chin up. “You fought knowing you wouldn’t win.”
His words taste bitter. With bite I reply, “Stroking your own ego now? Because I think your head is big enough.”
“My head is of normal size and there is no stroking to be had.” The way his response is so literal is almost comedic with his flat tone. But there is no humor to be found. Not on his end. I’m finding Rico to be a literal sense of the word man.
He removes his finger from under my chin and a coldness resides there.
Conflicted, I cast my eyes to the floor.
“You were impressive.” My eyes return to his.
Despite the lack of warmth he’s genuine.
Rico doesn’t seem like the type of man to hand out compliments.
So his praise? I hate that it means something.
And I despise that it’s the enemy who is recognizing my worth instead of my own pa.
“If you are making fun of me—”
His fingers pinch my chin gently but with enough force for me to follow his command. “I don’t lie, Imogen.”
“Never?”
“Never.”
“Why?”
“I don’t see the point.” His candor is as shocking as it is refreshing. This world we live in is nothing but lies.
“Then tell me why you haven’t hurt me yet.”
A pause. “Do you want me to hurt you?”
“No,” I bark out quickly. “No, I guess I’m trying to understand you the way you’re trying to understand me. I don’t know your motives.”
He tips my chin up with his knuckle. “My motive is very clear. I am to hold you hostage until your father agrees to stop interfering with Constantine and Carina’s business affairs.”
I swallow. “And if he doesn’t?”
“If he doesn’t,” he says as his thumb comes to softly graze my lower lip. I inhale sharply. “Then you’re mine to keep.”