Chapter 11
SOPHIA
When Luca’s man throws me into the Escalade, I instantly scramble to the door handles, but there are none.
Yelling in frustration, I scoot back and kick the partition. There’s not even glass there. It appears to be made out of something like steel. Maybe it’s bulletproof. This is clearly a custom-made vehicle, custom-made to kidnap people.
God, what was I thinking? Why did I do this? I should have listened to Scott. He said I needed backup and he was right. I was just so sure that Luca wouldn’t be there. He never showed up to Nico’s fights, according to the dossier.
Why had he been there? And how was I stupid enough to get caught?
I think I recognized the man who threw me into the backseat. Diego Conti.
Juvie record, small potatoes. Simple assault after getting in a fight at a basketball court, grand theft auto for joyriding.
Marine Corp, Green Beret. Two tours in Afghanistan and Iraq, respectively, in his youth. Honorable discharge but with a caveat, he was thrown in the brig two days after his last mission. Stayed there seventy-two hours.
Even the Chicago Police Department couldn’t get past the red tape to find out why, though.
I’d seen the military documents, mostly blacked out in the name of national security. The interviews with his former brothers in arms, short, stilted. I even remember some of what they said about him, all praise and hero worship.
The bravest man I ever knew.
A real pitbull.
Best soldier the Marine Corp ever had.
When asked about why Conti was thrown in the brig, they all said something similar. No comment.
But the military discharged him just shy of his end of service, so it was suspicious.
Then Conti returned home…back to the fray.
By then, Chicago was a cesspool of mobsters, having a resurgence as the last generation started to age out.
He’s never been arrested, not since he returned, but that’s because he’s as slippery as an eel.
I’d screamed, kicked, pleaded with him. He hadn’t said a word. It was like he was barely breathing, silent, cold.
Scary.
But it’s not like Luca is any different. I should be terrified of him, not aroused by him.
My legs start to ache from being cramped up and kicking. I’m sweating and panting by the time I give it up. I try the window, but I’ve lost both my heels and in my bare feet I can’t kick it hard enough.
I slump back into the leather seats.
There’s nothing I can do. I’m trapped. I’ve been kidnapped by my daughter’s father. That makes me think of Rosa, back at home waiting for me to pick her up the next morning, and tears start to stream down my face.
Dammit.
I wipe them away angrily. I hate crying. When I was in the police academy, I always rushed to somewhere private if I knew I was going to do it. If any of my male coworkers had seen me…
And now I’ve fucked up my one big shot at going undercover. I guess that doesn’t matter so much, though. Who knows if I’ll even make it out alive?
There’s no record of Luca being violent against women, but that doesn’t mean it never happened. Besides, he may have just ordered Nico to do it. God knows Nico has enough violence against women on record to choke a horse.
I squeeze my eyes shut and more tears stream out. I don’t know if I’ll ever see Rosa again. Despair threatens to wash over me. But I have to get it together. I have to try. I have to fight like hell to get back to her. My Rosie girl.
I take in a ragged breath and the car suddenly stops. It feels simultaneously like it’s been six minutes and sixty minutes, so I have no idea where we are. The windows are too tinted to see through.
The door jerks open and I expect Luca or Diego, but instead it’s a man I don’t know, one with curly dark hair and brown eyes. His lips are pressed together thin as he reaches down to grab me.
“Tell Luca he should do his dirty work himself,” I spit, and the man grunts in response as I writhe, pulling my arms behind my back.
I can’t hit him, can’t scratch at him.
“You can tell him yourself,” he mutters.
He twists me around, facing me toward Luca and Diego, a cottage set behind them.
Fairy lights, dim and warm, line the top of the cottage, and there’s a small bed of roses next to the steps. It’s probably the most cozy place I’ve ever seen, and it’ll probably be where I die.
I stumble as the man pushes me forward. Luca and Diego walk in front of us, heading for the front door. I don’t have much time.
I go limp, dead weight, and he struggles to hold me up. He curses in Italian, distracted, and I come back to life and stomp down on his instep as hard as I can.
He yelps and lets me go and I take off, barefoot on the gravel of the driveway, running toward the small road which will eventually lead me to the freeway.
The footsteps pounding, the panting of the man behind me—which one, I don’t know. My heart races and I can’t breathe, a stitch burning in my side. I’m athletic, I have to be for work, but I’m not exactly a runner.
Strong arms grab me around the waist, pulling me back against a hard chest. Hot breathes pant by my ear.
“You’re not going anywhere, not until I know what you know.”
“I don’t know anything,” I plead, and I’m not exactly lying. I only know what the rest of the Chicago Police Department knows. I was trying to find out more, but now I’m just trying to stay alive. “I told you; I’m not on the force anymore.”
“You’re lying,” he growls, and I hate that how tight he’s holding me is making my body hum with excitement.
“I’m not!”
He doesn’t respond, just dragging me back into the yard. He hands me to Diego, who locks his arms around me tight. I don’t even bother trying to struggle. I’m exhausted already, and I know I won’t make it far even if I do escape.
Luca stalks over to the curly-haired man, who is hopping on one leg.
“I think she broke my fucking—”
Luca punches him in the face. The man’s nose spurts blood and I gasp, shocked.
“You let a little girl incapacitate you,” he scoffs. “Remind me why you even work for me?”
“I’m sorry, Caputo,” the curly-haired man says, his voice strained and nasal as he holds his head back, pinching his nose shut.
The display of violence shouldn’t surprise me, but I can’t help but feel like the blood is draining from my face. If he’s this violent with his own men, what chance do I have?
Luca spits on the ground in front of his man, clearly pissed off, and grabs me roughly at the elbow, pulling me from Diego’s grip and into the safehouse.
The other men stay outside, and that scares me.
“Luca, please, I told you I don’t know anything. I’m not a cop anymore. I’m nobody.”
He doesn’t respond. It’s like he didn’t even hear me.
It’s a small house, maybe two bedrooms or a one-bedroom with an office. Why would a mobster like Luca have a place like this? Is it just for interrogations? Maybe a safehouse?
He shoves me into the room and I think he’s going to leave, lock the door maybe. Then I can maybe find a way out. Instead, he walks in behind me, shutting the door with his foot.
I recoil back until I hit the full-sized bed.
“Don’t,” I plead. “Stop.”
I think he’s going to ask me again, about what I know, about why I was there, but he just clenches his jaw, green eyes not quite focused on me.
“What’s your boyfriend’s name?”
“What?”
My voice is incredulous and I’m sure my eyes are wide with surprise.
He steps closer and I tremble. He puts his hands on my arms and looks into my face.
“Sophia.”
The way he says my name makes the hair on my arms and back of my neck stand up—and it’s not entirely because I’m afraid.
“What’s his name?”
“Who are you even talking about?” I look up at him, genuinely confused.
He growls in the back of his throat, clearly frustrated. He shakes me, but not hard, almost gently.
“The man in the car. That lanky asshole who drew his gun on me.”
My mouth clamps shut. I can’t give him Scott’s name. Not ever.
“He’s nobody. Some guy I called to pick me up. What do you care?”
He’s gritting his teeth, a muscle in his jaw jumping.
“Because he pulled a fucking gun on me.”
“He was just trying to protect me.”
His bold eyebrows raise.
“But he’s just some guy? I hate a liar, pixie, and I think you know that.”
“How would I know that?” I shoot back. “I don’t know you. We spent one night together three years ago.”
He draws in a sharp breath.
“Give me his name,” he says firmly, but his hands start sliding down my arms, skating down the sides of my curves.
I shiver. “No.”
“If he’s just ‘some guy,’ then why, pixie? Tell me why.”
I don’t answer and his hands go to my hips, holding on to them, pulling me closer to him. He presses his forehead against mine, breathing deeply. I can’t breathe myself. I feel like my throat is full.
“It’s because you’re fucking him, isn’t it? Does he love you? Do you love him?”
His words are soft, calm, but his grip on my hips gets tighter.
“If I give you his name, you’ll kill him,” I say, and I hate the way my voice shakes.
He glares at me but doesn’t answer, his full lips thinning.
“It’s late,” he says finally, as if I’m a child he’s got to put to bed.
Anger washes over me.
“Yeah, that’s because you fucking kidnapped me at midnight, Luca.”
“It’s not like I can let you go,” he answers idly, and fear replaces the anger. If he can’t let me go, doesn’t that mean he’s going to kill me?
His hands are still tight on my hips, his forehead still pressed to mine. He’s so close, so intimate, and when he moves to wrap a hand around my throat my body and mind are at war.
My mind is telling me to try and run, to kick out the small window in the room if I have to, but my body is heating up my skin, making heat pool in my lower stomach.
He’s going to kill me and I’m wet.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
“I could snap your neck for lying to me,” he murmurs, and fear and arousal in equal parts wash over me.
“You wouldn’t,” I whisper.
“And why not?” He squeezes his hand, cutting off my air, and I try to gasp. He lets loose and I draw in a deep breath. “It’d be so easy.”
“Because you don’t kill women,” I rasp out, breathing hard from fear and from excitement. The hand that isn’t still on my throat moves to cup my breast, thumbing across a nipple peaked from the cool air outside.
I have to fight not to moan.
He tilts his head. “And how do you know that?”
Fuck.
“Because I looked you up, after that night,” I lie. “You’re famous in this town, at least in certain areas.”
“Looked me up, huh?” His voice is still soft, calm. This is the strangest interrogation I’ve ever been a part of. “I could make an exception.”
“You won’t.”
“Is that so?”
His hands move to sweep up my back, and since my dress is backless his hands on my bare skin make me arch. I shouldn’t want him. Shouldn’t shouldn’t shouldn’t.
When he speaks it startles me out of my thoughts.
He smirks. “Aren’t you scared, pixie?”
“Of course I’m scared.”
“You don’t look scared.”
“I used to be a cop. Got used to hiding it,” I retort, and he takes a single step backward, letting me go.
My knees feel weak, like I’m about to drop down on the bed, but I remain standing, looking up at him.
“Used to be,” he repeats, and I know he doesn’t believe me. God, I wish I had a better poker face. “What makes you think I won’t make an exception?”
I tilt my chin up, trying to ignore the hot feeling between my legs, the racing beat of my heart.
“Because you want me,” I say softly, hoping to appeal to his arousal for me. I know he wants me. It’s as plain as the Roman nose on his face.
He gives me a half grin, showing a dimple that might have made my knees even weaker in a different situation. Hell, it almost does now.
“You want me too, pixie. You can’t deny it.”
“What I want is to go home,” I say flatly, huffing out a breath and blowing my bangs out of my face.
He looks down at me for a moment longer.
“You’ll tell me what I want to know. All of it. Or else.”
Then he walks out of the room, leaving me alone. I hear the deadbolt lock click closed, and I know I can’t escape that way.
My shoulders slump but I pad in cold, bare feet to the window, trying to force it open. When that doesn’t work, I punch at it, kicking it with my foot until I’m breathless and sweaty.
Nothing.
I’m trapped here. Maybe forever, with a man I’m equally terrified of and aroused by. A man I have a secret daughter with.
Will I ever see my Rosie girl again?