39. When In Doubt, Help Yourself Out
Chapter 39
When In Doubt, Help Yourself Out
Antonella
“Have a good night, Cami!” I fix the black sweatshirt around me. It’s a fucking ice box inside the office. Why they set the temperature in there to the Arctic Circle, I’ll never know. I’m wearing sweatshirts and leggings in the middle of summer.
“Bye, Toni.” Her once tense expression softens as I step off the elevator. She stays on. After our first interaction, we’ve grown a little closer. Not enough to say friends , but work colleagues. And Mr. O’Duinn’s pissed I haven’t produced any results about Giordano’s company.
Oh, well. Screw the promotion. I’m not a rat.
The hair on the back of my neck immediately stands up, so, I scan the dark surroundings.
Something’s off.
The garage is dimly lit with a yellow glow from the occasional light bulb from the ceiling—otherwise it’s entirely enclosed. There isn’t anyone else here.
“Huh.” I blow a puff of air up into my bangs. Everyone must’ve gone home already. We’re getting out a little later tonight.
I walk to my car, parked far in the way back. My peripheral catches a glimpse of a shadow looming off to the side. Oh, no. There’s a man. Standing in the corner. Wearing a black hoodie and a mask over his face.
I swallow the ever-growing lump in my throat. An unsettling energy washes over me. My vision tunnels in on my car. Which is still at least ten feet away. This can’t possibly be a coincidence, no?
My gut feelings are rarely ever wrong.
I quicken my pace as my heart races in my chest. I don’t run, but now seems like a good time to fucking start.
Thump . Thump .
My head shifts slowly to the side, peeking over my shoulder. If he’s moved from his spot, then he’s for sure following me. No. No. No… sure enough, he’s about five feet away from me now.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.
The eerie silence and emptiness of the parking garage adds to the ambiance of impending doom. Stale, cool air fills every ounce of the room. This is a scene straight out of one of those thriller movies. The only sounds are my erratic breathing and the accelerating beat of my heart?—
I try to dig around in my purse for my keys—left over mace even. Why don’t I keep mace in my purse? I should . I used to. Go figure, when I actually need it. I don’t have it.
“Shit,” I whisper, still fumbling around in my purse.
His laughter bellows throughout the parking garage.
Cold, uneasiness overwhelms my body. Goosebumps and the hairs on my arms stand right up.
I run. I fucking run . I can’t outrun him. What am I thinking? I’m already out of breath and I haven’t gotten far.
Keys .
I fumble my car keys around in my hand as the thumping footsteps become pervasive, coming up closer behind me. I swallow the lump in my throat, attempting to gain any sort of composure, or rational thinking.
Come fucking on.
The one time someone’s tailing me I can’t seem to get my shit together. My hands are trembling and my heart’s practically jumping out of my chest. One, from the running. Two, from the man chasing me.
I take a deeper breath as I get the key fob in the correct position between my fingers, about to press the button. The man’s hot breath hits me directly on the back of my neck.
I’m too late.
I’m too late.
My fingers hover over the unlock button, frozen in fear.
He snatches the keys out of my hand and places a cloth over my mouth. He lifts me slightly off the ground.
I’m moving entirely on autopilot now, my legs kicking and flailing out from underneath me. I try to fight, scratching the hand with my nails. Get his DNA underneath my nails in case he dumps my body.
Oh, God he’s going to kill me.
Who is this man? He has his arm wrapped around my waist and the cloth over my face. Breathing in the fumes—shit—I’m being drugged. He’s not killing me—he’s kidnapping me.
I’m dizzy. Tired. My eyes are getting heavier by the second.
“I found you once again, beautiful,” the masked man roars. That accent.
Cillian .
I try to scream, but it’s muffled. Every inhale becomes less air in my lungs. My vision tunnels. My ears thump with a mix of my own quickened heartbeat and ringing of pure panic. I slump into his chest backward, against my will.
All my senses become black.
I groan, rolling my neck, cracking it in a few places. My eyes flutter in efforts to gain some sight back, blinded by all of the bright fluorescent lights shining directly in my face.
I attempt to move my hands. Useless—they’re tied down to a wooden chair with leather belts. I pull my arms up. They won’t budge. I try to kick my ankles. They too, are tied with similar leather belts.
Is this what I get for knowing some mafia shit? Why did I get myself involved? I don’t know anything important. The sides of the belts are cutting into my skin on my wrists, leaving slices and red marks. “Mannaggia,” I hiss.
“Well, well… Look who returns to the land of the living,” a familiar voice says.
I squint, trying to make out the dark silhouette standing in front of me. “W-what?” I squeak out. “Why did you kidnap me?”
“You may have information I need, beautiful.” He circles around me.
“I promise, I don’t.”
“Here’s the problem, lass. I don’t believe a word you’re saying.”
My stomach knots up—like butterflies in the worst way imaginable.
I truly know nothing significant. What good is it wasting my breath trying to convince him?
“Believe me. Don’t believe me. You’re going to do what you want anyway. I know nothing, and will say nothing. Vaffanculo, ” I hiss through clenched teeth.
“I don’t know what you said, but I’ll take it as an insult. Duly noted, gorgeous. You’re a hard girl to get to… Giordano keeps you protected.”
“Protected?” My nose scrunches up.
“Visited your ex-landlord Kevin, said you didn’t live there anymore.”
“How did you?— ”
“Does it matter?” He hisses. “You keep evading me. The interview, the café, the club.”
I scoff, my right eyebrow twitches. “So, this is about your ego?”
He clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “I hate to do this to you…”
Bugiardo .
He twirls the knife in his hand and vigorously drags the knife down my arm, leaving a large gash in its wake. A scream rips through my throat, squeezing my eyes shut in attempts to drown out the pain. Think of anything else.
“Pretty sounds from a pretty girl.”
Sick and sadistic man. I sniffle and peel open my eyes. I can handle this—a little torture. He won’t get any answers.
“Now tell me, where’s Giordano? I don’t see him coming to save you any time soon.” He laughs menacingly. “Maybe he’s finally realized you’re a waste of his time.”
I shake my head. He hasn’t got a clue about Giordano’s feelings for me. And even though I don’t know where he is exactly… my best guess is he’s at his office. But, by now I would’ve texted him that I arrived home safely. And he’s definitely noticed that I didn’t.
Instead, here’s what’s more than likely going down:
1 He finished his meeting with the Russian’s— Hopefully everything went smoothly and there’s an alliance between them.
2 He’ll be aware I didn’t text him.
3 He’ll freak out because my location’s off, unavailable, or somewhere so obscure.
4 He’ll be tracking me right about now—well, Xander is.
5 Giordano’s stress eating, probably . It’s a good thing he took all that pasta with him when he left this morning.
“No? Not going to tell me? That’s alright…” He picks the knife up and slices another line down my arm, leaving a trail of blood beading up in a line.
A scream leaves my throat against my will. I didn’t want to give this man an ounce of satisfaction, but can’t keep it all in. It hurts. I grip tightly on the arms of the chair.
“How about we play a fun little game?”
“I’m not in the mood for a game ,” I snarl—my heart thumping against my chest and every single pulse point in my body. Adrenaline rushes throughout my veins.
What did I do to deserve this?
“Oh… I am, beautiful. You have information… and access to the people I need.” He stands back and slaps me across the face.
The slap sends my face flying in the opposite direction. The stinging sensation on my cheek brings tears to my eyes. Only out of natural reaction, I’m not going to cry out of fear or despondence.
I sniffle, allowing for the tears to fall down my cheeks. I would wipe them away if my hands weren’t tied. I can be strong.
“You refused to give information my father requested. For every question you don’t answer… I’m going to slice your leg. And then your other leg. Or punch you. Whatever I want at the moment. I suggest you give me what I need.”
Another sob wracks through me as I shake my head vigorously. “ Please , I didn’t do anything.” My voice wobbles, cracking.
“You’ve said these words already. Unfortunately, not what I need to hear.” He slices my leg through my black leggings. A sob escapes my trembling lips as the pain radiates through my body. “You’re loyal, I’ll give you that. You’re a good one to keep on the team.” He chuckles darkly. “Such a shame you chose him, instead.”
I sniffle, taking a deep breath through my nose and exhale out through my mouth—the technique I walk everyone else through all the time. I squeeze my eyes shut.
He asks, “Where does Giordano keep most of his information? His home base, if you will. His main headquarters—whatever you’d like to call it. The bug I had planted in his office, is destroyed, but there was nothing I needed. Nothing useful…” He circles around me like a damn vulture.
I honestly have no idea what he’s even talking about. Giordano’s told me nothing about any sort of headquarters thing. I know where his tech company office is… unless it’s the same place.
“Until you came around, and I got to watch every single move you made… How he reacted to you, and made it extremely difficult for me to get to you. You were supposed to belong to me. We met first . But I got to sit back and watch you live your life as if I didn’t exist to you.”
“I owe you nothing,” I whisper through gritted teeth. My eyes remain closed. Maybe, it will hurt less when I don’t see it coming. I clench my fists together; the belts cut into my wrists more. Did he tighten them?
Slice .
Another sob breaks through me, my bottom lip quivering. My hands are shaking.
It’s the adrenaline.
Fight or flight.
I want to flight .
I can’t. I’m stuck.
He cuts my other leg, stopping above my knee. The pain stings worse than I could ever imagine. I’ve never been through anything like this before. He’s careful not to hit any arteries—doesn’t want to lose his leverage. He knows Giordano’s coming for me.
Please, come for me.
“Those tears…” He flicks one away with his thumb and brings it to his lips, sucking it off. “Too bad you don’t want to give me more, beautiful.”
“I don’t have more,” I mumble, rolling my head around in a circle in attempts to stretch out sore muscles.
“You called me once,” his voice reverberates off the walls in this obnoxiously bright white room.
“And you tried to break in,” I quip. “You found out where I work and live, attempted to break in, and do what? What was the point?”
His expression hardens, swirling with rage as he brings down the knife, slicing it against the skin on my wrist. I hold back a scream. My fists clench tight, leaving half-crescent indents from my nails in the palms of my hands.
“He called, too. How did he get the number?”
“I gave it to him,” I answer honestly—staring up at him through my wet lashes.
“Why?”
“Why did you order a hit out on him?”
He hums. “Where is his offshore account?”
“I don’t know?” My voice cracks as I answer him honestly, again. I could play even more stupid, though. “What’s an offshore account?”
He can’t break me. I won’t let him.
Slice .
An ear-piercing scream filled with pain escapes through my lips. Dizziness and the overwhelming urge to pass out washes over me. My vision tunnels in on the analog clock. I attempt to ignore him as much as I can. He flicks the blood off of the knife with a cloth, folds it, and places the cloth back in his pocket.
“Where is his money?”
“Look, the best I got is like a few thousand dollars in my checking account, okay? I don’t know how much you need, but—” My raspy voice croaks as I slump against the back of the chair, tilting my head up toward the ceiling. I can’t take it anymore. Why hasn’t he found me yet? It’s been hours .
Tick .
Tick .
Tick .
Stupid clock.
He takes a photo with my phone, laughing; dare I say… chortling ? “He’s going to have a field day when he sees you in this condition. You know… when my father, your boss , told me you were hired at the news station—I couldn’t believe it. I told myself it’s too good to be true.”
A wave of nausea crashes over me, but I hold it in. As much as I want to spew my lunch all over his shoes, I can’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me throw up out of fear . “W-why?” I cough, also fighting the urge to fall asleep, exhausted from the amount of pain he’s put me through.
“Oh, beautiful, it’s not about the why …” His top lip curls up. I want nothing more than to jam the fucking knife into his skull—and I’m not even a violent person.
“Where. Is. The. Fucking. Money ? The money he stole from me. The money he took which wasn’t his to take. Money… his father stole from us.” He grips my throat tightly and squeezes it. “Before I murdered him for it,” he whispers.
The fuck did he say? Vito stole it?
He buries his face in the crook of my neck, sniffing hard through his nose. When he leans back, he throws my face in the other direction.
Stars glaze over my vision. I’m sick to my stomach. I squeak out, “What fucking money are you talking about? Vaffanculo .”
“Again, I don’t know what that means.” He exhales a long, dramatic sigh. “Such a shame… I’d let you go if you only gave me the answers I wanted. You could’ve been my wife. We could’ve conquered the world together.”
This guy is a wiener—model worthy, but a wiener the second he opens his mouth.
I’m gagging. And I’d probably laugh in his face if I weren’t in pain, or subject to more. “I don’t want to be your fucking wife,” I spit.
The reality slaps me in the face. I want to belong to one man.
And one man only.
Giordano Marzano. He’s my amore .
“ Stronzo. This isn’t how you get women. Torturing them . You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“Don’t talk back.” Cillian slaps me hard across the face. Tears prick my eyes and I catch a faint whiff of metal. Blood trickles down my stinging nose. I can taste it as it oozes slowly onto my top lip and into my mouth. Small sweat beads on my neck.
“You’ll learn all about it where you’ll be going.” He pulls out his phone and starts typing. He put it back in his pocket as another man comes into the room.
“Where I’ll be… going?” A pit formed in my stomach—a feeling of what? I’m not sure.
Hope?
Despair?
Helplessness?
“I can’t be bothered with you anymore, beautiful. It’s business. Watch her,” he mutters to the man. “Make sure she doesn’t get out. I doubt she’ll go anywhere. You’re not to touch her. I’ve already scarred her up enough.”
The tall, blond man nods and takes his post by the door with his arms crossed.
My head hangs heavy as I breathe a sigh of relief, knowing he isn’t here to torture me some more.
Finally, a little break from the pain.
Although, the downside is the soreness of my tightening skin and constant tensing of the muscles starting to get to me. I’m dehydrated, exhausted, in pain, and most of all… annoyed .
It’s been over twelve hours since he kidnapped me. The incessant ticking of the analog clock— directly above the door. With the tick, tick, tick.
“Hey,” my voice cracks in a whisper.
The blond man raises a brow, not saying anything. He has heterochromia—one brown eye, one green eye.
“I have to pee,” I grumble. Now’s my chance.
I do, too. I have been holding it this entire time. And with all the distraction of the pain—it’s been the last thing on my mind. But now, that's all I can think about.
“Really? You think I’m going to fall for your tricks?” His accent’s different from Cillian’s— British .
I tilt my head. “I’ve been sitting here for twelve hours and not once have I asked to go to the bathroom during this little torture thing you men have got going on over here. Have you held it for twelve hours? I don’t think so.” I squint. If I hold it any longer I’m going to have a raging UTI on my hands… Or in my pants.
Embarrassing .
He cracks his neck while taking a few steps closer to me. That’s it. Undo the belt. He releases one around my wrist, and then peeks up at my face to check if I’ll react.
I don’t.
I hop up and down a little, doing a little pee dance to truly sell the bit. Once he opens the other wrist and one ankle, I kick him right in the face, hearing the satisfying crunching sound of his nose.
I aggressively unbuckle my last ankle. “Come on, come on !”
He groans on the ground as I snag his gun from the holster around his waist.
“Thank you for freeing me. I honestly do have to pee, though,” I glower, make sure the safety’s off, aim the gun, and pull the trigger, shooting him in the thickest part of his thigh. I’m not trying to kill him, only injure.
Plus, he helped me escape.
Counts for something .
“I’m not a killer. However, in your particular situation, I’m not sure which is worse. This is probably torture for you. Honestly, I endured twelve hours of it. I’m sure you can handle a single bullet wound. Your assistance is greatly appreciated.” I wave at him with the hand holding his gun. “This entire thing has been wonderful exposure therapy for my fear of blood.”
“Oh, shut the fuck u—up,” he bellows, holding his bleeding-out leg on the floor.
I limp toward the exit, leaving him to bleed out on the floor.
I’m not trained in using guns or aiming, well… at all. I know the basics well enough to use one. Perhaps I did hit an artery—there’s a decent amount of blood. I wince, my stomach churns at the sight. Surely, no one will hear him here. I bet it’s sound proof. The urge to pee hits me again, definitely more noticeable than before.
Where’s the fucking bathroom?