Chapter 4 Damon
The safe house sits forty minutes outside the city, tucked away in the hills where nobody asks questions and the nearest neighbor is three miles down a winding dirt road.
I bought it two years ago through a shell company, just another property investment that happens to have bulletproof windows and enough weapons stashed in the walls to outfit a small army.
The girl hasn't said a word since we left the highway.
She's pressed against the passenger door like she's planning to throw herself out at the next red light, which would be fucking stupid but probably not out of character for a girl who thinks sneaking out to go clubbing is the height of rebellion.
"Almost there," I tell her as Tommy navigates the last turn onto the private drive.
She doesn't respond, just stares out the window at the dark trees rushing past. Her mascara is smeared under her eyes from crying, and she's got that shell-shocked look I've seen on civilians who've witnessed their first real violence.
Except she hasn't actually witnessed anything yet.
Seems the precious Princess is in for a rude awakening about how the real world works.
The house comes into view through the trees, modern architecture, designed to look like a tech millionaire's weekend retreat. Perfect cover.
Nobody expects a mafia safe house to have floor-to-ceiling windows and a fucking infinity pool.
"This is where you're keeping me?" she asks, confused. "It looks like... a vacation house."
"What'd you expect? A warehouse with chains on the walls?"
She turns to look at me for the first time since we got in the car. "Maybe."
"Sorry to disappoint. I don't do dungeons." I nod toward the house as Tommy pulls into the circular drive. "Three bedrooms, two baths, full kitchen, entertainment system. You'll be comfortable."
"Comfortable," she repeats, like the word doesn't make sense.
Tommy parks near the front entrance and kills the engine. "Want me to do a perimeter check?"
"Yeah, full sweep. Then head back to the city." I turn to Viviana. "Tommy will make sure we're protected out here. Standard procedure."
"For what?"
"Keeping you alive."
I get out of the SUV and walk around to her side, opening the door before she can lock it or do something equally pointless. She climbs out slowly, looking around like she's trying to memorize everything for when she makes her escape attempt.
Good luck with that.
The property is gated, the nearest road is miles away, and I've got motion sensors covering every approach. She could run, but she wouldn't get far.
"Inside," I order, placing my hand on the small of her back to guide her toward the front door.
She jerks away from my touch. "Don't touch me."
"Fine." I drop my hand but stay close enough to grab her if she bolts. "But move quickly."
The front door is heavy steel disguised to look like wood, with a biometric scanner hidden behind a fake doorbell. I press my thumb to it, and the locks disengage with a soft click. Viviana watches the whole process with wide eyes.
"Fancy security for a vacation house," she says.
"I like my privacy."
The interior is all clean lines and neutral colors, designed by an expensive decorator who charged me a fortune to make the place look "welcoming but sophisticated." Whatever the hell that means. All I cared about was that it didn't look like a bunker.
Viviana steps inside cautiously, taking in the open floor plan, the modern furniture, the massive flat screen mounted on the far wall. "This is really where you're holding me to keep me safe?”
"This is where you're staying until we figure out who wants your family dead." I close the door behind us and engage the security system. "House rules; don't try to leave, don't try to contact anyone, and don't do anything stupid."
"Define stupid."
"Anything that gets you killed."
She wraps her arms around herself, suddenly looking very young and very scared. Without the club lighting and the confident moves she was making on the dance floor, it's obvious she's barely eighteen. Still a kid, really, despite the curves and the attitude.
A sexy kid whose bodyguard died tonight because she wanted to go dancing.
"I want to call my father," she says.
"Already told you why that's not happening Don’t ask again."
"Just to let him know I'm alive. Please." Her voice breaks on the last word. "He must be going crazy thinking I'm dead."
"I’m sure he is, but a phone call won't change that.
" I move past her into the living room, checking the windows out of habit.
"Phone records can be traced. Text messages can be intercepted. You make contact with your family, and whoever hit them tonight will know exactly where you are. And then you’ll be next on the list."
"I'm supposed to ... what? Stay here forever?"
"Yeah, until it's safe for you to leave."
"And when will that be?"
I turn to face her, taking in the way she's standing there in her ridiculous club clothes, short black dress, high heels, makeup smeared from crying. She looks like what she is, a sheltered rich girl who's in way over her head.
"When whoever ordered the hit on your family is dead," I say simply.
The color drains from her face. "You're going to kill someone?"
"People are already dead. The question is whether we find the ones responsible before they finish the job."
She sinks down onto the leather couch. "I can't believe this is happening."
"Believe it. Your family's been living on borrowed time for years, and tonight someone decided to collect."
"What does that even mean?"
I study her face, looking for any sign that she knows more than she's letting on. But all I see is genuine confusion and fear. Roberto really did keep his precious daughter in the dark about the family business.
"Means your daddy's got enemies. Lot of them."
"But you said you didn't do this. You said someone else did.”
"I didn't do this." I sit down in the chair across from her, close enough to read her expressions but far enough away that she doesn't feel cornered.
"My family has no reason to hit yours right now.
We have a good thing going, you stay on your side of the city, we stay on ours, everybody makes money. "
"Then who did this?"
"That's what we need to find out." I lean forward, elbows on my knees. "But until we do, you're staying put."
Viviana looks around the room again, probably calculating distances to doors and windows. "For how long?"
Jesus Christ. She’s wearing my patience down.
"However long it fucking takes."
"Days? Weeks?"
"Maybe."
"I can't stay here for weeks!" She jumps up from the couch, pacing toward the windows. "I have school, I have... I have a life!"
"Not anymore, you don't."
She spins around to face me. "You can't kidnap me and expect me to be grateful about it!"
"I can and I did." I stand up, and she immediately takes a step backward. "And you should be grateful, because if I hadn't grabbed you tonight, you'd probably be dead by now."
"You don't know that."
"Someone killed several armed men to get to your family. You think they'd have trouble with one eighteen-year-old girl who ditched her protection to go dancing? You were in a crowded club, completely unprotected."
That shuts her up.
Finally.
She stands there for a moment, processing the reality of what I'm telling her, and I watch her face cycle through emotions, anger, fear, guilt, despair.
"Tony really is dead," she whispers. “You’re not lying?”
"Yeah. Sorry, he is."
Tears start flowing again, and she doesn’t turn away from me. Another thing daddy didn't teach her. In this world, showing emotion is handing your enemy ammunition.
"He was a good man," she says to the window.
"Good men die every day in this business."
She laughs, but there's no humor in it. "You mean crime. Murder. All the things my family pretends they don't do."
"They don’t pretend shit. They just don't tell you about it."
"Same thing."
"No, it's not." I move closer to her, and she tenses but doesn't run. "Pretending means lying to yourself. Your daddy knows exactly what he is and what he does. He wanted to keep you innocent for as long as he could."
"Well, congratulations. My innocence officially died tonight."
Maybe Roberto's precious princess isn't quite as sheltered as I thought.
Tommy's voice comes through my earpiece. "House is clear, boss. No movement on any of the sensors. You want me to stick around the house?"
I press the comm button on my collar. "No, head back. Check in every six hours."
"Copy that."
Viviana turns around with a horrified expression when she hears the SUV driving away. "He's leaving us?"
"He's got other things to do."
"It's only us? Alone here?"
"You got a problem with that?"
"Yeah, actually." She crosses her arms over her chest. "I don't know you. I don't trust you. And I sure as hell don't want to be alone with you in the middle of nowhere."
"Tough shit."
"What if I scream?"
I laugh at that. "For fuck’s sake! Go ahead, try it. Nearest neighbor is three miles away, and they mind their own business."
"What if I try to run?"
"You'll get lost in the woods and probably die of exposure. These hills are full of wild boars, and you're wearing club shoes."
She looks down at her high heels like she's just now realizing how impractical they are. "What if I fight you?"
"It’ll end quickly."
"You're very confident."
"I'm realistic." I head toward the kitchen, suddenly needing a drink. "You want a drink? Water? Beer? Are you even old enough to drink?"
“I’m eighteen, not that it’s any of your business and I want to go home."
"Can't help you there." I open the cabinet where I keep the good whiskey and pour myself a liberal glass of Scotch. "Kitchen's over there if you get hungry. I keep it stocked with groceries. Don't burn the place down if you get the urge to cook."
"That's it? You're not going to tie me up? Lock me in a room?"
"Why would I waste the effort? There’s nowhere for you to run.
" I settle back in my chair with my drink. "Besides, if you pass out from not eating, I’ll have to deal with dragging your unconscious ass around. It’s better for you to take care of yourself.
Don’t expect me to wait on you hand and foot like a maid. "
She stares at me like she expected something different. "You expect me to make myself at home?"
"The only thing I expect you to do is stay alive, stay out of my way and stop asking so many goddamn questions."
"You're not even going to watch me? Make sure I don't try to escape?"
I laugh at that. “This place is more secure than your daddy's compound. Motion sensors, cameras, locked gates. If you try to leave, I'll know about it before you get fifty feet."
"But you won’t stop me?"
"Why would I waste my energy or time chasing you down in the woods? If you want to feed yourself to the wildlife while running in fuck-me heels, that's between you and natural selection. There’s only so much I can do."
She opens the refrigerator and takes out a packaged sandwich. After peeling off the wrapper, she takes a small bite, probably to prove she's not completely powerless. But once she starts eating, she devours the whole thing like she hasn’t eaten all day.
"Feel better?" I ask when she's done.
"A little." She wipes her mouth with the napkin I provided. "Thank you."
We sit in silence for a few minutes. Viviana keeps looking around the room like she's trying to memorize every detail, and I keep trying to figure out what the hell I'm supposed to do with her.
Now that she’s here, I’m realizing quickly this was probably a very bad idea.
The original plan was simple, grab Roberto's daughter, use her as leverage to prevent a war between our families. But now that I've got her, the plan seems a lot more complicated.
"Damon?" she says quietly.
"Yeah?"
"Are you going to hurt me?"
The question catches me off guard. Not because she's asking it, but because of the way she's asking it. Like she's not sure she wants to know the answer, but needs to ask it anyway.
I frown at her. "No, why the fuck would I do that? Hurting you is not the plan."
"Promise?"
"I don't make promises. But I will tell you this, as long as you're under my protection, nobody else will dare to touch you."
She nods slowly, and I see some of the tension leave her shoulders. "Okay. But I'm a prisoner?"
"You're my responsibility. There's a difference." I finish my whiskey and set the glass down on the table. "A prisoner is someone you want to keep locked up. A responsibility is someone you're trying to keep alive."
"And which one am I again?"
I look at her sitting there in her rumpled club dress, mascara smeared, hair messed up from the struggle at the club. Eighteen years old and probably the most innocent person I've ever had to protect.
"Jury's still out on that one, sweetheart. That’s enough fucking questions for tonight."