17. Aurora
Chapter 17
Aurora
P ink and orange hues illuminate the skin of my eyelids, lifting the veil of a dreamless sleep. I stretch my arms, luxuriating in the cotton rustling around me, and my eyes flutter open, squinting at the brightness. Maybe if I stay here, I can pretend that I’ve had the best sleep of my life and that none of this is happening to me. Avoiding reality sounds pretty damn good right about now.
In the safety of Romeo’s bed and with the calming quiet of the room, I allow myself to forget the events of the past few days. I turn onto my side, watching the branches of the tree just beyond the window rustle in the breeze. Water stains the windowpane and a lone droplet runs from one end to the other before being blown away.
On my periphery, I can see the empty chair just off to the side. I don’t want to look at it or address the disappointment that’s settled into my gut at him being gone. I should be relieved that he’s not here. He saw me at my weakest and I have no doubt that he will use it against me. I need to reinforce my armor before I see him again.
Throwing back the covers, I climb from the bed, wiggling my toes on the soft carpet before standing. I pad across the room, toward the window. Instinctively, my hand runs along the arm of the chair, like I might be able to feel him there.
What is wrong with me?
The man held me in his arms and yet I’m obsessing over a chair he spent mere hours in. Redirecting myself to the window, I gaze out at the rolling hills. The gravel driveway seems to go on for miles and it dawns on me just how remote this place is. Resting my head on the cool glass, I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to understand my jumbled thoughts.
Is it too early for Stockholm Syndrome to kick in? I don’t have that . Jeez . So what if he held me in his arms and soothed away my nightmare? He’s still a cold-blooded killer and the reason I’m here and having bad dreams in the first place.
Movement near the edge of the tree line draws my attention. Two men with guns pass each other as they patrol the perimeter. A sharp tightness shoots through my chest. There one moment and gone the next.
Falling back into the chair, I’m hit with the scent of his woodsy cologne. It crowds me, cementing the fact that nothing will ever be the same. Even if I make it out of here alive, I’ll be intrinsically changed, untrusting of anyone and everyone. My fate rests in the hands of a man who has made threats to kill me, and yet, no matter how much I don’t want to, I can do nothing but surrender to him.
A knock sounds at the door, and I stand, instantly on guard for whoever may be on the other side. I soothe my hands down the front of Romeo’s T-shirt, wishing I’d had the forethought to find a weapon. For some reason, I feel more exposed up here than I did in the basement.
I watch intently as the handle turns and the door is pushed open. Daniele stops mid-stride, averting his eyes when he says, “You’re awake.”
Nodding, I twist my fingers together before forcing my hands to my side. It’s been a while since I’ve spoken and the act feels foreign when I stutter, “Y-y-yes.”
He points toward the door he hasn’t taken his eyes off of. “I?—”
I cut him off. “What time is it?”
“Four-thirty.”
Daniele has been nothing but gracious since I was taken. Maybe it’s na?ve of me, but I don’t think he’d hurt me and so I think nothing of following him into another room. Besides, I have questions and he has the answers.
Daniele opens the door to what I now realize is the closet and I come to stop on the threshold. He pulls open a drawer, and I ask, “How long have I been asleep?”
He lifts a shoulder, pulling open another and moving around its contents. Over his shoulder, he replies, “I think it’s been something like thirteen hours.”
My eyes widen. What? How is that even possible?
I look around, my gaze landing on the bedroom door that’s been left wide open. Gnawing on my bottom lip, I consider running for all of two seconds. The armed guards I saw outside shut down any idea I might have of making a break for it. And anyway, this is probably a test. Someone could be waiting in the hallway, eager to take me out.
Within seconds of me dismissing the idea to run, Daniele hands me a folded item of clothing. “Put them on. Romeo doesn’t want you walking around the house half dressed.”
Affording me some privacy, he leaves the room, closing the door behind him. I wait for a moment, listening intently for the sound of a key turning in the lock, but it never comes.
I spring into action, a fluttering in my stomach as I hold up a pair of soft, black sweats.
Quickly, I gather up one leg, stepping into it before I do the same with the other. Yards of material pool at my ankles and I hold the waistband to keep them from falling down.
Great .
It’ll be more embarrassing to have them fall down than to not wear them at all, but who am I to go against Romeo’s demands? With the hem of the T-shirt in my mouth, I pull on the drawstring before rolling the waistband down. When I let go, they slip down, riding low on my hips before I give up.
Darting into the bathroom, I come to a stop in front of the mirror. My reflection taunts me, reminding me of my lack of proper nutrition and self-care. Not wanting to dwell on it, I look away, splashing some warm water on my face and running some toothpaste around my teeth. Finger-combing my hair, I wince as I tug on the knots that have formed, wishing I’d asked for a brush instead of paper and pencils.
My shoulders slump, and my arms fall to my side. Who am I preening myself for? It sure as hell shouldn’t be for any man in this house. They should see the mess I am in all its glory because if it wasn’t for them, I wouldn’t look like this.
Blowing out a breath, I roll my eyes and walk out of the bathroom. I hesitate for a second before straightening my spine and marching across the room to the bedroom door.
Pulling it open, I’m greeted by Daniele as he stands with a wide-legged stance, scrolling on his phone. He lifts his head and straightens before waving his arm for me to go ahead of him.
“Would it be possible for you to bring me some more drawing paper? And a hairbrush?” I ask as we start to walk.
“You’ve used the pad already?”
Chancing a glance at him as we approach the top of the stairs, I reply, “Yes.”
Daniele’s nostrils flare a fraction, but he doesn’t say anything, only nodding as we continue down the stairs.
When we reach the bottom, I turn right, heading for the basement. It might be a journey I’ve only made twice, but I know my place and I know sleeping upstairs was a one-off.
Daniele cups my elbow, and my eyes bore into his fingers as they grip me and he steers me to the left. I blink up at him, my brow furrowed and a question on the tip of my tongue, but he shakes his head and continues moving us forward. What is it with these men and shutting me down?
We walk down the hallway in silence, passing a man with an automatic weapon who stands guard at a door. I divert my eyes until we pass him, taking in the paintings that hang on the opposite wall. When he’s behind us, I turn to look out of the floor-to-ceiling windows that make up the other wall. Orange light spills through and onto the heated white marble flooring as the sun sets, reminding me of how long I’ve slept for.
At the end of the corridor, Daniele pulls me to a stop. I rest my hand on my fluttering stomach as I take in the intricate gold design of the double doors in front of us. Quietly, I blow out a breath, pushing down the nerves of the unknown as Daniele opens the doors. He steps back, giving me an unobstructed view of the room.
I gasp. The beauty and grandeur is like nothing I’ve ever seen before. There’s a fairytale element to the space. With the ceiling and nearly every wall being made entirely of glass, it’s like being outside but protected from the elements. This would be a beautiful room to hold a wedding in. Woah. Where did that come from?
My eyes bounce around the room, finally coming to rest on the large table that takes center stage. At the furthest end, Romeo sits with three other men. Two I recognize from the night of the shooting. It’s hard not to remember the guy who barely contained his disgust at my presence. What was the other one’s name? Leo. He showed the women in. Their presence sends a frisson of awareness skating down my spine.
Dark thoughts consume me, playing out in my mind. Does Romeo need an audience to kill me? Is that why I’ve been brought here? Or are they going to … Fear takes hold of me, wrapping around my throat like an old friend. The need to escape is more prevalent than ever.
I flinch when Daniele’s hands rest on my shoulders, and he urges me forward. Refusing to move, I bear down, pushing back into him.
The conversation between the men halts and I’m aware of their focus turning toward me. “Sit, Aurora.” Romeo's voice is a cocktail of impatience and empathy. When I remain where I am, he adds, “You’re eating with us. Nothing more.”
Daniele exhales heavily before he cups my elbow and forces me in the direction of Romeo. A snarl echoes around the room from the other end of the table and Daniele drops my arm, holding up his hands. Romeo’s lip is curled up at the corner and there’s a cold hardness in his eyes.
Romeo pushes out the chair next to him, inclining his head for me to sit. I slide into the high-backed chair, refusing to lock eyes with anyone. Power hangs in the air, and a desire to make myself as small as possible overtakes me. I fiddle with the material of the T-shirt pooled in my lap, needing something to distract me.
Daniele takes the seat next to me. He’s barely in the chair before the tantalizing aroma of tomatoes teases my nostrils. I wrap my arms around my waist, trying to muffle the loud and garish gurgling sounds being omitted from it.
When a bowl of minestrone soup is placed in front of me, I close my eyes, subtly inhaling the tangy tomato scent. It's been at least four days since my last meal. I’m so hungry, but I won’t eat. I stare at the contents of the bowl, the sound of cutlery clanging against china calling for me to pick up the spoon and have just one taste. My tongue darts out, swiping over my lips. Water from the shower hasn’t really been cutting it, and the longer I look at the bowl in front of me, the less I remember why I’m not eating.
Because you want some semblance of control.
Right, and I guess it’s one way to die. Although doesn’t it take months to die from starvation?
“Everybody out.” It’s a booming and growled demand that forces my attention from the bowl in front of me. Daniele, Leo and the other guy—whose name I don’t know—stand, grumbling as they walk from the room. My focus shifts to Romeo and his cousin who remain. They’re staring at each other, a silent conversation going on before Romeo pointedly says, “You too, Massimo.”
I stand with him, my hand pressing into the table to steady myself as I stumble from my chair. Romeo’s fingers wrap around my wrist and I pray that he can’t feel my racing pulse. He holds me steady, even when I tug my arm, trying to break out of his grip.
“Sit, Aurora.”
I drop back into the chair defeatedly and it’s only then that he releases me. Folding my arms over my chest, I ready myself for whatever he’s going to demand I do. I know that I won’t like it, but I’ll do it if it means I get to go home.
Romeo takes hold of the underside of my chair. The sound of wood scraping on wood is loud in the otherwise quiet room as he turns me toward him. The muscles in his arm strain under the weight and I watch, transfixed at the sight of his veins bulging. With his legs on either side of me and the heat from his body winding around us, I gnaw on my lower lip and fight the desire pooling in my core.
“Eyes up.”
My head snaps up, and when I realize what I’ve done, my eyes shoot daggers at his arrogant face. God, I’m a fucking puppet and he’s the master . He chuckles like he knows the power he holds over me, before turning his attention to my bowl of soup.
Carefully lifting the bowl, he swipes a spoon up from the table and runs it over the top of the red liquid. I expect him to lift it to my mouth, but he puts it in his own, pulling it back out clean. When his tongue darts out, I follow the movement as he wipes up a drop from the corner of his mouth.
I shouldn’t want this man and yet my pussy throbs like it craves to be filled by him again. Well, that is never going to happen again. Crossing my legs, I shift in my chair to ease the ache and to put some space between us.
Romeo’s voice is throaty, his attention on the soup when he asks, “Why are you not eating, bellissima ?”
Brushing off my wholly inappropriate thoughts about what I want him to do to me, I inspect my nails, pushing for an air of nonchalance when I reply, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He huffs out a laugh before dropping the spoon into the bowl and leaning back in his chair. “Really? I have it on good authority that you’ve not eaten any of the meals Alma’s prepared.”
Apparently, Alma is a snitch. Why does he care anyway? Crossing my arms over my chest, I jut my chin out and hold his gaze. The lie falls from my lips with ease. “I don’t know who told you that, but you’ve been misinformed.”
The corner of his mouth lifts and the challenge in his cobalt-blue eyes is clear. “Okay, so eat the soup.”
My response is quick. “I don’t like minestrone.”
“Everyone likes minestrone.” The way he says it is so matter of fact, like whatever he says goes. I suppose in some ways it does, you don’t become a man of his ranking by pandering to others. Romeo scoops up a spoonful of soup, holding it up and leaving me with no choice. I lean forward, closing my mouth around it. At the first hit of tangy tomato on my tongue, I close my eyes and moan. My stomach gurgles, demanding more. I look at the bowl and then to Romeo expectantly.
He clears his throat, shifting in his seat. “Don’t like minestrone, eh ?”
The lightness and teasing in his tone confuse me, and I sit back, a groove forming in my brows. This isn’t right . He shouldn’t be feeding me like we have an intimate relationship. He’s holding me prisoner . I’d be a fool to forget the danger that follows this man. Especially when in the short time I’ve been around Romeo Bianchi, I’ve witnessed more death and destruction than I have in my entire twenty-eight years of existence.
The teasing has gone, replaced with a seriousness that appears to be born of concern when he asks again, “Why have you not been eating, bellissima ?”
Everything fades away and I’m transported back to the restaurant with blood and broken glass surrounding me. Screams fill the air, but this time, they aren’t mine, and I know that this isn’t a nightmare. This is my new reality. Unless I do something about it.
Shaking my head, I force myself back into the moment. Praying he’ll accept my non-answer, I murmur, “I wasn’t hungry.”
His eyes narrow, and I dig my nails into the palm of my hand to keep from squirming. Romeo shakes his head before moving his attention back to the bowl in his hand. My shoulders drop, tension releasing from my body as I watch him skim the spoon over the top of the soup. We fall into an easy routine as he brings spoonful after spoonful to my lips, ignoring my protests when I tell him I can feed myself.
It doesn’t take long before the bowl is empty and the others return. Their conversation is coded, but it doesn’t stop me from observing their dynamic from under my lashes.
What happens now?
I need to find a way out of here. As much as I can try to convince myself that bending to Romeo’s will is the right thing to do if I want to live, the truth is; I don’t know him.
Straightening in my seat, I wrap the hem of my T-shirt around my finger, ignoring the churning in my gut. So what if they kill me trying to escape? At least I’ll have gone out partly on my own terms. Finding a way out of here has to be my priority. What do I know about these men and where I am?
One. They are the mafia. That much is clear.
Two. The place is guarded like a fortress and miles from civilization.
Three. The chances of being shot trying to escape are extremely high.
Four. They want my father and will use me to exact their revenge, even if it means I get killed in the process.
Five. When I am of no use to them, they will follow through on their threats to end my life.
My focus is pulled to Romeo when he leans back in his chair and speaks to Daniele in Italian. I study the features of his handsome face and the way his mouth moves as he talks. I need to be careful.
If I let him, Romeo will get under my skin until he’s a part of my very existence. It doesn’t take a genius to work out that it would be the worst possible thing that could happen.
Especially when he’s going to kill me .