Chapter Six
Caitlin
I was obviously no seasoned, hardened criminal. But I genuinely believed I would have been competent enough not to fall asleep during a hostage situation.
But as I jolted awake on an unfamiliar couch, covered in a blanket I didn’t remember reaching for—didn’t even recall seeing before—it was clear that was exactly what I’d done.
Sure, I’d been running on fumes for a long time. No. Not even fumes. I was steadily on empty, but my engine had just refused to sputter out and die. But how could I go from a complete panic attack to dead asleep like that?
I hadn’t even just nodded off, either.
I didn’t know the exact time I’d drifted off, but it had to be sometime around eleven or midnight. Then I’d jerked awake just before morning.
I’d had half a night of sleep while Gavino Costa sat chained to a chair a few feet away. Likely plotting in excruciating detail how he was going to punish me for taking him as my prisoner.
At least he didn’t know I’d slept.
That would be humiliating.
The sad thing was that even after several hours of sleep, I didn’t feel any more rested or sharp than I had when I’d passed out. And my stomach felt even more wobbly now that it was fully empty.
The coffee probably wasn’t going to help anything, either. But it was grounding in a way. A normal part of my daily ritual that made this insane day feel a little more normal.
Maybe even more importantly, it helped distract me from the way a little shiver worked its way down my spine when this Gavino monster said my name. Twice.
“Caitlin?”
Damn him.
That was three times.
Each with a shiver.
“What?”
“I asked what you want from me.”
Right.
That was the whole purpose of this thing.
My stomach soured, and I placed the coffee cup back down. It was gross anyway. He liked his coffee so bitter that even after an ungodly amount of sugar, it still made me wince.
“Where is he?” I asked. “What did you do to him?”
“Christ,” he said, shaking his head. He looked almost disappointed.
“What?”
“So this is about a boyfriend. I don’t know what to tell you, darling, I didn’t do anything to any of my men. You got the wrong guy.”
“No, no, I know I have the right guy because your name was the only thing in his note app on his phone.”
“Which means… absolutely nothing.”
“No? I bet if I called the only number in his phone, yours would ring.”
A flicker of interest crossed his face at that.
Yeah, asshole, I’m not a complete idiot.
Even if everything that had happened so far didn’t exactly support that theory.
“And who, exactly, is he?”
As if he didn’t know.
I was sure lying was an important part of being some mafia guy, but it was impressive how well he did it.
I lifted my chin and squared my shoulders.
“Daniel Hall.”
“Daniel…” He cut off mid-sentence, his brows pulling together. “Daniel Hall. You’re Daniel Hall’s girlfriend?”
“Ew.” That popped out before I could choke it down. “No. I’m his daughter.”
“The daughter,” he repeated, nodding like everything made sense.
“Where is he?” I demanded.
“I could ask you the same question.”
“Well, seeing as I’m not some member of a criminal syndicate, no, you really can’t.”
“I don’t know where your father is.”
“Don’t lie to me!”
I wasn’t sure I’d ever hit anything in anger before, but my fist slammed down on the table hard enough to make our cups jump.
But Gavino didn’t even flinch. His eyelid didn’t even twitch.
As if I needed more evidence that he was a cold, hard, experienced killer.
“What do I have to gain by lying to you?” he asked, his tone inappropriately calm in the face of my anger. “You’re the one with all the power here.”
“That’s right. I am.” Though, I got this strange, twitchy feeling in my head I couldn’t ignore that seemed to suggest the exact opposite was true. That he had all the power.
But, no.
That wasn’t even possible.
He was handcuffed and zip-tied.
He thought I had a real gun.
I had the power and he knew it.
He was just all bluster. Guys like him were used to being in control, to having people kiss their ring. His pride was probably bruised. So he was acting like he wasn’t my literal prisoner.
I reached for the gun.
“Let’s try this again. What did you do to my father?”
“I didn’t do anything to your father.”
I couldn’t claim to be the patient saint my father was.
I got frustrated by the littlest of things.
My internet glitching. Not being able to find something I swore I put somewhere.
The batteries going low in my remote just when I sat down to watch something.
The littlest things could get a rise out of me.
But I wasn’t typically quick to outward anger. I was the sort to bottle it all up and implode.
So it was a real shock to me just as much as Gavino when I closed the distance, cocked back, and swung.
“Jesus Christ!” I yelped, pulling my fist against my chest and cradling it with my other hand as the pain exploded across my knuckles, up my arm, and all the way into my shoulder.
Gavino’s tongue flicked out, licking the drip of blood from his lip from where my fist collided into it.
“Your elbow and shoulder need to be lined up before you make contact.”
“What?” I asked, letting out another really embarrassing whimper, but as the adrenaline was wearing off, the pain in my wrist didn’t feel quite so minor. It was throbbing, little thumps in time with my heartbeat.
“Your elbow and shoulder weren’t in line, which made your wrist bend on impact. You took the brunt of that, not me.”
“Are you… teaching me how to throw a punch?”
“Yeah.”
“When I’m punching you?”
His split lip curved up slightly at that.
“Well, I need you to be able to work the handcuff key eventually. You can’t do that with two broken wrists.”
“Do you think it’s broken?” I asked.
I’d never broken anything. I mean, I would have sworn I broke my hand once, but my father told me to wait it out. Sure enough, an hour later, I felt fine. And deeply embarrassed about the fuss I’d made.
I guess you could say I was a little dramatic about pain. The first time I got cramps as a teenager, I was certain I was dying. If I stubbed a toe, my whole morning was thrown off.
So I was probably just being my usual over-the-top self about my wrist.
“Is it swelling up?” Gavino asked, making me stop cradling it to hold it out. Not for me to inspect. Oh, no. For him to.
Because getting medical advice from a guy I’d cuffed to a chair made a whole lot of sense.
“It does look like it’s swelling. Can you move it up or down?”
I tried, letting out a sharp cry at the pain that sliced across it.
“Hm. What about grip? Can you pick anything up?”
I lowered my hand down toward the table, spreading my fingers around the top of his cup, but I couldn’t force them to close and tighten.
“Yeah, I think it’s broken.”
“It’s probably not,” I objected. I couldn’t have a broken wrist in the middle of a damn hostage situation.
This guy was already twice my size and likely ten times stronger.
I couldn’t be one hand down. My good hand at that.
“I tend to blow things like this out of proportion. I pulled a hangnail once, and it was so red and painful I went to urgent care.”
Gavino seemed to be fighting a smile at that. “What’d they say?”
“To keep it clean and only come back if it was swollen, red, and oozing.”
He nodded. “I think two things can be true at once. You can be a big baby. And your wrist can be broken.”
Did I bristle at ‘big baby?’ Yep. But I couldn’t exactly deny it either.
“I think it will be fine. The pain usually goes away if I wait it out. Then I feel like an idiot. I just need some ibuprofen.”
“Primary bathroom closet. There should be some elastic bandages there, too, if you want to wrap it. And you should wrap it. Because you’re being stubborn, and it’s fucking broken.”
I didn’t stop to think about why he was being nice to me. I just left him with his legs and one arm cuffed to the chair and made my way down the hallway.
Without the fear and anxiety overwhelming my senses, I noticed things I’d missed before.
Like the book on the nightstand, a pen stuck between the pages to serve as a bookmark.
The open closet door and the rows of both full suits and casual clothes.
The way the spicy scent that clung to his skin filled the whole space. Hypnotic. Dizzying.
I was a bit of a cologne connoisseur. I had a real nose for it. And whatever Gavino used was subtle, layered, and expensive.
Much better than that cheap drugstore crap my ex used to practically bathe in before he came over. The kind that gave me an immediate headache and made me want to shower the second he left so none of it clung to my skin.
No, this was the kind of cologne one just did one spritz of so women wanted to lean in close, to bury their face in your neck, to peel off clothes just to have the scent all over your skin—a sexy little shared secret to linger long after he was gone.
I mean… other women.
Not me.
I didn’t want to lean in and sniff Gavino Costa. No matter how nice he was being to me.
I moved into the primary bathroom, trying not to grow green with envy over his giant shower niche and a tub so deep, I could drown all my worries in it.
Back at my place, I had one of those shower-tub combos. And no matter how many times I scrubbed it, it never seemed to get clean enough for me to be willing to put my bare body against it.
I sighed, going to the cabinet to find Gavino’s medicine. Then finding myself impressed to find a mini pharmacy inside. Not only medicines—which he seemed to have for every ailment—but a huge kit of first aid supplies.
I guess maybe injuries were part of his trade.
My belly flipped, wondering what kind of injuries my father had. If he was hurting. If he was even still alive.
Right.
Because that was why I was here.
To get answers.
Not get confused about why a guy cuffed to a chair was telling me how to throw a punch.
Of course he wanted me to believe my wrist was broken. Then I would leave the apartment for hours to get it looked at. While he was free to try to get the cuffs and zip ties off without anyone seeing.
That was not happening.
I shook out two pills, using my good hand to cup water and swallow them. After that, I located the elastic bandage, wrapped it around my hand, wrist, and forearm, secured it with the clips, then made my way out of the bedroom.
“Done being stubborn yet?” he asked when I moved into his line of vision.
“It’s fine. It’s kind of numb now.” My fingers, at least.
His brow raised and he shook his head, but he said nothing.
“Alright. It’s your body. Wanna top this off for me?” he asked, pushing his mug further across the table.
“I’m not your server,” I told him. “You’re lucky you got one cup.”
He shrugged at that.
“Put your hand behind your back.”
He didn’t even hesitate.
Why was he cooperating so much?
Even after I punched him?
Granted, I hurt myself more, but I did make him bleed. Wasn’t he supposed to be angry? Uncooperative?
Or was he just smarter than me?
Like all those women and girls I’d heard true crime stories about who tamped down their fear and pain and tried to make their abductors and abusers think they were their friends? Tried to disarm them enough that they either let them go, or got sloppy and they were able to get away?
Was that what he was trying to do with me?
Well, that was just too bad.
I might not be good at this whole thing, but I wasn’t going to let the man who kidnapped my father charm me.
I grabbed his wrist with my good hand, holding it hard even though he made no move to grab me or pull away.
But that meant I had to use my other hand to squeeze the cuff.
I managed to get it closed but cried out and moved away, clutching my screaming wrist as stupid tears pricked my eyes and slid down before I could blink them away.
Gavino watched me, something almost soft slicing across his dark eyes.
“As a fellow stubborn-ass, I respect your dedication to bullshitting yourself. But your wrist is fucking broken. It’s not going to get un-broken because you want it to. You need an X-ray, a cast, and some pain meds.”
I blinked back more tears, my lower lip trembling before I forced it to stiffen up.
He was right, though.
I was just hurting myself more.
I had to go to the hospital.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, shrugging.
Right.
That was true.
I grabbed the duct tape, using the leg of his coffee table to hold the ring so I could unroll it and cut it with my good hand.
I slapped the tape over his mouth.
Then I grabbed the bag of food on the table, frowning at how light it was, but looking at Gavino.
“I’ll be back. And then you’re going to tell me what you did to my father.”
He couldn’t answer, of course, so I grabbed his key ring, then made my way out the door, looking down at the floor where I thought I’d left the garbage bag I’d gotten sick in.
But I guess I’d been in such a state the night before that I’d gotten rid of it without remembering.
I shook that off, closed, and locked the door.
I tossed the light bag of spoiled dinner.
Then made my way out of the building to go to the hospital.
And as I sat for hours in the waiting room with more pressing emergencies ahead of me, I absolutely did not wonder what it would be like to have someone there with me. Talking to me. Reassuring me.
And I definitely didn’t find myself picturing Gavino Costa as that someone.