Chapter 3 Viviana
"Like hell we are."
The words tumble out of my mouth before I can stop them, pure panic making me bold and stupid at the same time. I spin away from him, trying to push through the crowd, but his hand shoots out and catches my wrist.
His grip is like a steel trap. I might as well be a toddler trying to break free from an adult.
"Let go of me!" I yank against his hold, but he's already moving, pulling me through the dancing bodies as if I weigh nothing. "Help! Someone help me!"
My screams get swallowed by the bass and the crush of people. A few heads turn our way, but in the dim lighting and chaos, it probably looks like some drama between a couple. Maybe a boyfriend dragging his drunk girlfriend outside. Nobody moves to help.
The music pounds in my ears as I dig my heels into the floor, trying to slow him down, but it's useless. He's twice my size and clearly doesn't give a shit about making a scene.
"Stop fighting me," he says, his voice low and rough near my ear. "You're going to hurt yourself."
"Good!" I swing my free hand at his face, but he catches that wrist too without even looking. "Let me go! I don't know what you want, but—"
"I want you alive," he interrupts, still pushing through the crowd. "And if you keep fighting me, that will be more difficult to guarantee."
"I don't believe you!" My voice cracks with panic. "You're lying!"
We're almost at the back door now. I can see the neon exit sign getting closer, and my heart is hammering so hard I think it might explode. This is really happening. I'm about to be kidnapped, probably killed, and it's my own stupid fault for ditching my protection.
"Tony!" I scream, looking wildly around for my bodyguard's familiar bulk. Maybe he followed me. Maybe he figured out where I went. "TONY! HELP ME!"
The stranger's grip tightens on both my wrists. "Your boy Tony's not coming."
Something about the way he says it, flat, matter-of-fact, terrifies me. "What do you mean? What did you do to him?"
"I didn't do anything to him." He pushes through the club's back door, dragging me into the cool night air. "But someone else did."
"No." The word comes out as barely a whisper. Tony's been my bodyguard since I was fifteen. He taught me how to throw a punch, how to spot trouble, how to get out of a car quickly if things went wrong. He's like a big brother who happens to carry a gun.
"No, no, no." I shake my head frantically. "You're lying. Tony's fine. He's probably looking for me right now."
The bass fades behind us, swallowed by the dark. I stumble on my heels as he pulls me around the corner and slams me against the brick wall.
“Let go of me!” I shove at him, fists flying, but it’s useless. His body’s a wall of muscle, his hand a vice around my wrist.
“Do you know how fucking stupid you are?” His tone is low and furious. “Dancing in that club like no one knows who you are?”
“I was having fun!”
“You don’t get to have fun. Not when your last name is Bonacci and your family’s bleeding out three blocks away.”
That makes me freeze. “What?”
“Your bodyguard is dead. You were next.”
I blink, stunned. But only for a second. Then I’m shoving him again. “You think I’m going to believe that? You’re some psycho who’s been staring at me all night—”
Before I can finish, he slams his hand against the wall beside my head and leans in close. So, close I can smell the smoke on his jacket. The whiskey on his breath. The heat rolling off him in waves.
“I was watching,” he growls, “only because you looked like a fucking problem.”
“And you look like one big mistake,” I shoot back.
“Maybe.” His gaze drops to my mouth. “But I’m the only mistake standing between you and a bullet right now.”
His leg slides between mine, pinning me in place. I let out a soft gasp. Not from fear this time.
From heat.
“You think I won’t hurt you?” he murmurs, brushing his mouth along my jaw like he owns me already. “I won’t. But I will make you wish you’d listened sooner.”
“You’re insane,” I whisper.
His fingers slide up my thigh, high enough to make my breath catch. Not touching, just threatening.
“No,” he says. “I’m in control. And you’re shaking.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
I hate how right he is. I hate how wet I am.
Then he leans in, lips brushing my ear.
“You’re lucky it was me who found you tonight,” he whispers. “Because someone else would’ve taken you. Used you. Broken you.”
His thigh presses between mine.
“And I’m already having a hard time promising I won’t.”
For a second, everything inside me goes still. No club. No music. No danger. Just the burn between my legs and the heat in his eyes and the fact that I want him to ruin me.
Instead, he jerks back like he’s caught himself. “You’re coming with me.”
I hesitate.
His eyes darken. “Now.”
A black SUV idles at the curb, engine running, windows tinted so dark I can't see inside. Another man in black stands next to the passenger door, tall, thin, with dead eyes that make my skin crawl.
"Boss," the thin man says, opening the back door. "Are we good?"
"We're good, Tommy." The stranger, the one who knows my name, who claims to be saving me, starts pulling me toward the open door. "Let's move out."
"Wait!" I plant my feet, trying one last time to break free. "Wait, please! I don't know who you are, but this is a mistake. I'm a nobody."
"You're Viviana Marie Bonacci," he says, and hearing my full name makes me pause. "Eighteen years old, private schooled at Sacred Heart Academy. You live in the big house on Maple Ridge with your father Roberto, your mother, and your two brothers."
He knows everything about me. Everything.
"Your favorite color is blue," he continues, still pulling me toward the SUV. "You speak four languages. You play piano. And you've been sneaking out of your father’s house for the past six months."
"How do you—" I can't finish the sentence. My throat feels like it's closing up.
"How do I know?" He stops right next to the open car door and looks down at me with those cold dark eyes. "Because it's my job to know, princess. Same way it was my job to know when someone tried to kill your family tonight."
"What?"
"Your father and brothers were attacked an hour ago," he says. "Professional hit. Military-style weapons, coordinated assault. They survived, but a lot of men didn't."
I shake my head violently. "You're lying. Papa's at home. He's fine. They're all fine."
"Your bodyguard, Tony, age thirty-four, found shot twice in the head in the alley behind your house." I put my hands over my ears as if that will stop his words. "Frankie, shot in the chest while manning the front gate. Another guard, killed trying to get to the weapons room."
"Stop." Tears are streaming down my face now. "Stop it. I don’t want to hear anymore."
"And three more men whose names I don't know, but who died tonight trying to protect your family." He leans closer. "While you were in there shaking your ass for pathetic college boys."
The guilt overwhelms me.
Tony is dead.
Tony, who never missed one of my recitals, who brought me chocolate when Papa was being impossible. Dead because I wanted to go dancing.
"I didn't know," I whisper.
"Course you didn't know. You were too busy being a brat." His tone hardens again. "Now for the last fucking time, get your ass in the damn car."
"No." I try to back away, but there's nowhere to go. Tommy moves to block my path, and I'm trapped between them and the SUV. "No, I want to go home. I want to see my family."
"Your family thinks you're dead or kidnapped," the stranger says. "Right now, they're probably gearing up to go to war with mine. You want to see them alive again, you get in the fucking car."
"Who are you?" The question comes out as a sob. “I don’t even know your name.”
"Name's Damon Lombardi." He says it like I should recognize it, and after a second, I do. "And right now, I'm the only thing standing between you and whoever wants your family dead."
The Lombardi family.
Papa's sworn enemies.
The family we don't talk about, don't acknowledge, pretend doesn't exist even though everyone knows they do.
"You're one of them," I say. "You're the enemy."
His laugh is harsh. "Enemy? Princess, if I was your enemy, you'd already be dead. This?" He gestures between us. "This is me saving your spoiled ass."
"I don't believe you."
"Don't care." He grabs my arm again, not gently this time. "You can get in this goddamn car willing, or I can throw you in there myself. Your choice."
I look around desperately, hoping to see someone who might help, but the street is mostly empty. A few people stumble out of the club, laughing and drunk, completely oblivious to what's happening right in front of them.
"My family will look for me," I say, trying to sound braver than I feel. "When they realize I'm gone."
"They already know you're gone," Damon interrupts. "Your bedroom window was wide open, curtains blowing in the wind. Took them about five minutes to figure out you'd snuck out."
Heat floods my cheeks. Even in the middle of this nightmare, I'm embarrassed that Papa knows about my secret escapes.
"They'll find me," I insist.
"They'll try." Damon's smile is cold. "But right now, they got bigger problems. Like figuring out who tried to wipe out their entire bloodline tonight."
He's right, and I hate that he's right.
If what he's saying is true, if my family really was attacked, if Tony is really dead, then they're not going to waste time looking for me when they're fighting for their lives.
"Why should I trust you?" I ask.
"Because I'm here talking instead of shooting," he says simply.
"Because if I wanted to hurt you, you'd already be hurt.
And because right now, I'm the only one in this fucking mess who knows where you are.
And we need to keep it that way if you want to stay alive.
Every damn second I waste arguing with you is another chance for them to take you out. Permanently."
The thin man, Tommy, clears his throat. "Boss, we should move. Cops will be here soon."
Damon nods and looks back at me. "Last chance. We can do this the easy way or the hard way."
I look at the open door, then at his face, trying to read something, anything, that might tell me if he's lying. But his expression gives nothing away. He looks like a man who's made more difficult decisions than this and lived to tell about it.
"If you're lying," I whisper, "if you hurt me…”
"If I'm lying, sweetheart, you got bigger problems than me hurting you."
I take a shaky breath and climb into the backseat of the SUV. Damon slides in next to me, and Tommy gets behind the wheel.
As we pull away from the club, I watch the club disappear in the side mirror. An hour ago, I was dancing and living my best secret life.
Now I'm in a car with the enemy, and my bodyguard is dead.
"Where are you taking me?" I ask as Tommy navigates through the late-night traffic.
"Somewhere safe," Damon says, settling back in his seat like he owns the world.
"Safe from who?"
"That's the million-dollar question, isn't it?" He turns to look at me, and in the passing streetlights, his eyes look almost sympathetic. "Someone wants your family dead. And until we figure out who, you're staying with me."
I press myself against the door, as far from him as I can get in the confined space. "My father will never agree to this. When he finds out you have me, you’re a dead man."
"He won't find out. Not unless you do something stupid."
"This is kidnapping."
"No, it’s protective custody. Your daddy's got enough to worry about without wondering if his precious daughter is going to turn up in pieces inside a garbage bag."
The casual way he talks about violence, about death, alarms me. This is what Papa tried to protect me from. This world where people get shot in alleys and daughters disappear in the night.
"I want to call him," I say. "I need to tell him I'm okay."
"Can't do that."
"Why not?"
Damon looks out the window as we turn onto the highway. "Because the people who tried to kill your family tonight? They're still out there. And the minute you make contact, they'll know you're alive."
"So?"
"So, princess," he says, turning back to me with that cold smile, "sometimes being dead is the safest place to be."