Chapter 21 Liana
My wrists are bleeding.
Not a lot—just enough that the zip ties are slick with it, just enough that I can feel the warm trickle down my palms and onto my fingers. The pain is sharp and constant, but I welcome it. Pain means I'm still alive. Pain means I can still fight.
I keep my face neutral, letting fear show through because that's what they expect to see. And it isn't hard to look scared, because I am scared. Terrified, actually.
But I'm also calculating. Planning. Watching for any opening I can exploit.
The man who hit me earlier paces near the door with restless energy. His name is Terzo. I heard one of the others call him that during their earlier conversation.
There are three of them total. Terzo, who seems to be in charge of this operation.
A younger guy, maybe mid-twenties, who keeps checking his phone obsessively like he's expecting bad news.
And an older man with a jagged scar across his eyebrow who hasn't said a single word since they tied me up, just watches everything with cold, dead eyes.
They've been arguing in low voices for the past twenty minutes. About me. About what comes next. About how this is all going to play out.
"She's worth more alive," Terzo says with certainty. "Marcello will pay whatever we ask to get her back unharmed."
"If he comes," the younger one counters nervously. "What if he doesn't care enough? What if he thinks she's not worth the trouble?"
"He'll come. He's already got her father involved. The Costa family won't let this slide. They can't afford to look weak." Terzo sounds confident, like he's thought this through. "Between Costa's reputation and Marcello's pride, they'll both come running."
They know Santino contacted Papa. Either way, someone's coming eventually. The question is whether I'll still be alive when they get here. Whether they'll find me in time.
"What if Marcello calls the cops instead of negotiating?" the younger one asks, his voice rising with anxiety.
Terzo laughs, and it's not a pleasant sound—sharp and mocking. "He won't. Not for this. This is family business, not civilian business. He'll handle it the family way."
Family business.
That tells me something important, something I can use. These men aren't random criminals looking for a quick ransom. They're connected, part of the life, operating within the same world I grew up in.
Which means they have something to lose too. Reputation. Territory. Their lives if they miscalculate.
The older man with the scar finally speaks, his voice gravelly from years of cigarettes. "We should have taken pictures earlier. Sent them already. Proof of life."
"We did," Terzo says impatiently. "I sent one from her phone."
Santino has a photo of me tied up. He knows I'm alive. That was how long ago? Several hours? Time feels strange and distorted in the darkness, with nothing to mark its passage.
"Benedetti's going to want an update soon," Scar says, checking his own phone. "He doesn't like being kept waiting."
Benedetti.
The fucking Benedettis are behind this. I know that family. Papa has mentioned them at dinner, usually with a dismissive tone. So has Santino, though he always gets a certain look when their name comes up—tense, wary, like they're a problem that keeps festering.
They're a mid-level family in the hierarchy. Not as powerful as the Costas or Marcellos, but ambitious. Always trying to expand their territory, muscle in on other families' operations, make themselves more significant than they actually are.
And apparently, they have serious beef with Santino.
"Benedetti can wait for his update," Terzo says firmly. "First, we get confirmation from Marcello that he's willing to negotiate. Then we discuss terms."
"Negotiate what specifically?" the younger one asks.
"Better terms for everything. More territory in the port district. Access to the shipping lanes." Terzo glances at me, and I make sure my face shows nothing but fear. "With her as leverage, we can get anything we want from both families."
The port.
Of course it's about the port. It's always about the port.
Papa controls the port operations. And if I marry Santino, he'll control it too, combining two powerful families' influence over the most lucrative shipping routes in the region.
The Benedettis want in. They've wanted in for years, watching from the outside while other families profit.
And now they think kidnapping me will force Santino's hand, will give them the bargaining power they could never achieve through legitimate means.
"What if he says no to our demands?" the younger one persists, his voice tight with nervousness. "What if he refuses to negotiate?"
"Then we make an example," Terzo says coldly, like he's discussing the weather. "Show him we're serious. Show everyone what happens when you disrespect the Benedetti family."
"By doing what? Killing her?" The younger one sounds genuinely horrified. "That's—that's not what we agreed to. You said we were just holding her for ransom. You said—"
"I said what I needed to say to get you here and participating," Terzo interrupts, his voice hardening with authority. "Now shut up and do your job. Stop questioning every decision."
Silence falls over the warehouse, heavy and tense.
The younger one doesn't argue further, but I can feel his fear radiating across the space. He's in over his head, involved in something more serious than he realized. That might be useful. Fear makes people unpredictable, makes them make mistakes.
"Please," I say, letting my voice come out small and shaky, exactly what they expect from a frightened girl. "I don't understand what's happening. Why are you doing this to me?"
Terzo turns to look at me, studying me like I'm a particularly interesting insect. "Because your fiancé thinks he owns this entire city. He needs to learn he doesn't. He needs to learn there are consequences."
"What did he do to you?" I ask, injecting confusion and innocence into my tone.
"What didn't he do?" Terzo steps closer, and I can smell cigarettes and cheap cologne.
"The Benedetti family has been operating in this city for three generations.
We have businesses. Legitimate businesses.
And Marcello comes in like he owns everything, like we're nothing.
Shuts down our operations. Threatens our people. Takes what's rightfully ours."
I don't point out that 'legitimate businesses' in this world usually means the exact opposite. I just look scared and confused, like I have no idea what any of this means.
"I'm sorry," I whisper, letting my voice break slightly. "I didn't know any of that was happening."
"Of course you didn't know. You're just the pretty face in the arrangement.
The bargaining chip." He crouches down to my eye level, and I can see the cold calculation in his expression.
"But you're a very valuable bargaining chip.
So valuable that Marcello's going to give us everything we want to get you back in one piece. "
"And if he doesn't?" I ask, barely above a whisper.
Terzo smiles, and it doesn't reach his eyes at all. "Then the wedding's off permanently, isn't it?"
He stands and walks back to the others, leaving me to sit with that threat. I let my head drop forward slowly, like I'm defeated and maybe crying.
But I'm not crying. I'm not even close to crying.
I'm thinking. Calculating. Planning my next move.
The Benedettis are desperate—that much is obvious now. They wouldn't risk kidnapping the daughter of a Don unless they were backed into a corner, unless they felt they had no other options.
Desperate men make mistakes. They get sloppy, overconfident, careless.
Terzo's already made several mistakes that I've catalogued carefully. He's told me who they are, which family they represent. He's let me see their faces clearly. He's revealed what they want and why they want it.
Unless they're planning to kill me anyway, in which case none of those mistakes matter.
No. I can't think like that. Can't let fear cloud my judgment.
I test the zip ties again, slowly and carefully, using the blood as lubrication. My wrists are smaller than they probably expected when they grabbed ties from their kit. And they're slick now with blood.
If I can just get the right angle, if I can compress my thumb joint enough...
"Stop moving," Scar barks from across the room, his voice sharp with warning.
I freeze immediately, letting all movement cease. "Sorry," I mumble, keeping my head down. "My hands are going numb. It really hurts."
"Good," Terzo says without sympathy. "Maybe it'll remind you to stay still and cooperate."
I let my shoulders slump, projecting the picture of defeated compliance. But my mind is racing, analyzing everything, looking for weaknesses.
Three men. One door—old and probably loud when it opens. One window, but it's boarded up with what looks like rotting plywood.
Terzo has a gun tucked in his waistband. I saw it when he crouched down, the metal catching what little light filters into this place. The younger one probably has one too. Standard protocol for this kind of operation.
The chair I'm tied to is old and metal, but it's been here for a long time. The legs are uneven. I can feel it when I shift my weight. One of them wobbles noticeably.
The warehouse smells like oil and rust and decay. Industrial district, probably. Far from anything residential.
Even if I screamed at the top of my lungs, no one would hear me. No one would come. I'm on my own here.
Santino's coming. Maybe. If he believes this is real after all my games. If he can find me in time before something goes wrong.
Papa's mobilizing resources. But he doesn't know where I am either, doesn't have any way to track me.
And the Benedettis are getting more nervous by the minute, their confidence eroding.
Terzo keeps checking his watch obsessively. The younger one can't stop pacing back and forth. Even Scar looks tense, his jaw clenched.
They're waiting for something. A call back from their boss. Instructions on what to do next.
Which means I have a window of opportunity. A small one, but it's there.
Before the situation escalates further. Before Terzo decides I'm more trouble alive than dead. Before their boss tells them to "make an example" and send my body back as a message.
I need to get out of here.
Not because I'm some damsel in distress waiting passively for rescue. Not because I believe Santino will burst through that door like a hero in an action movie.
But because I'm Dominic Costa's daughter.
And Dominic Costa didn't raise a victim who waits helplessly for men to save her. He raised a survivor. A fighter. Someone who understands this business from the inside.
I close my eyes and take a slow, controlled breath, forcing my racing heart to calm.
Think, Liana. Think strategically, the way Papa taught you.
I've been in business meetings since I was ten years old, sitting quietly in the corner and absorbing everything. I've watched Papa negotiate with men twice his size, turning their aggression against them. I've seen him turn apparent weakness into strength, fear into leverage.
What would he do in this situation?
He'd find the crack in their defense. The weakness in their plan. The angle they haven't considered.
My eyes open, and I study each of them carefully.
The younger one first—still nervous, still pacing, clearly having second thoughts about what he's gotten himself into.
Then Terzo—confident and in control on the surface, but I can see the tension in his shoulders. He's worried about something, maybe about whether this plan will actually work.
Then Scar—the wild card in this equation. Silent and watchful, impossible to read. He could be the most dangerous or the least committed.
Three different men. Three different vulnerabilities waiting to be exploited. I just need to find the right one. The weak link in the chain. But not yet. Not now while they're all watching.
Now, I wait with the patience Papa always said was my greatest strength.
Because when the opportunity comes—and it will come, they always do—I need to be ready to take it without hesitation.
These men are about to find out what happens when you underestimate a Costa.