Chapter 3
Chapter
Three
ROISIN
M y head feels like it’s stuffed full of cotton wool, and I have the sensation of flying.
At first, I think I’m half-dreaming, half-waking from a particularly deep sleep, but then my memory kicks in, and I start kicking and struggling in an effort to get away.
Well, in my head I’m kicking and struggling. In reality, I’m lethargic and slow, and couldn’t knock the skin off a rice pudding.
“Shh… don’t worry, you’re safe. Well, as safe as I can keep you, anyway,” a deep male voice tells me.
The unexpected words cause me to still my pathetic attempts to break free from the strong arms that are carrying me as if I weigh no more than a feather. Maybe that was his plan.
I look up into a pair of dark, fathomless eyes that feel like they’re pinning me in place with just the sharp intensity of his gaze. For a few moments, confusion sets in. This isn’t one of the men who captured and chloroformed me.
I might have been his little princess, but Da made sure I understood the dangers of the world around me. One of the first lessons, when I was still a child, was if anyone tried to use an airborne substance to knock me out, I should feign unconsciousness immediately, then use the advantage of surprise to get away before I was put into a vehicle.
Of course, while it works great in theory, in practice, two burly thugs will almost always have the upper hand.
The second was to catalog as many details as you could. And that’s what I did.
As much as I want to fight, my head is pounding, and I feel like I want to throw up. My mouth feels like all the moisture has been sucked out of it, and for a few pitiful seconds of utter patheticness, I close my eyes and burrow into the surprising comfort of the solid, sheltered chest of the man who is carrying me.
Just for a minute, I promise myself. Just until I get my equilibrium back and can make another effort to extract myself from whatever hell I’ve tumbled into.
Of course, I never get the chance. Before I’m ready, I find myself set carefully on a bed, and I blink open my eyes to find myself in a lavish room which I nevertheless know is a prison.
“I need you to listen to me, Roisin.” My unlikely protector come jailor calls me by name, so I know this isn’t some random abduction. I suppose I should feel scared, but I simply don’t have it in me right now to do anything but listen.
And wait.
“You were brought here at the Viper’s demand…”
Okay, I lied. A deep shudder trembles through me. I absolutely do have it in me to feel the terror that name evokes.
Whoever this guy is, he notices, though why he cares, I can’t fathom. “It’s okay…”
Easy for him to say.
“You’re as safe as I can make you.”
“You could let me go.” I aim for sarcasm, but my voice comes out like a husky croak, ruining the effect.
He gives me a wry look. “Unfortunately, that’s not my call.”
My heart plummets. At least he’s honest, I suppose.
“But I promise, I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“Don’t write checks you can’t honor,” I say tartly. Like anyone in my position, I have a passing knowledge of the key players in all the other organized crime rings in Manhattan. And since I don’t recognize this guy, I know he’s not in charge, so whatever he says and thinks, I know better than to take it at face value.
I expect him to be pissed that I’m calling him out. Probably not my best move, but my brain still isn’t functioning fully, and I’m not known for my filter at the best of times.
And this is nowhere close to the best of times.
But then he astonishes me when his grim face twists into something altogether different with a burst of laughter.
“You’re a feisty one, aren’t you?” he chuckles. “And what I meant is Mika Rossi himself has declared you’re not to be touched.”
Yeah, like the Viper will listen to his nephew.
A wave of dizziness swamps me and I blink my eyes. “Damn, you’re pretty when you smile. You should do it more often,” I tell him absently as my eyes become heavy once again.
There’s a weighty silence, and conversely, it’s that which wakes me up again. Shit! Did I just tell the scary Mafia dude who has me under lock and key that he was pretty?
Yes. Yes, I did.
I screw my eyes shut and feign oblivion. Seems like the best course of action right now.
Of course, he doesn’t allow that. Thirty seconds later, a hard arm behind my back is coaxing me into a sitting position.
“Here, drink this.”
He must think I’m stupid. I shake my head without even opening my eyes.
“It’s sealed,” he tells me, as if reading my mind. “But it’ll help you feel better.”
Since my mouth still thinks it got lost somewhere in the Sahara, I open one eye and focus on the bottle of cool, delicious water.
He pushes it into one of my lax hands. “I’ll let you open it.” I know he’s trying to calm my fears, but unfortunately, my fingers are still uncooperative and it’s like I’m trying to remove the lid with a bunch of bananas.
“You do it,” I finally concede, the thought of a drink eclipsing any of my suspicions. Honestly, it surely must be a result of my recent discombobulation that the sight of this big, burly man holding the bottle out so I can see for myself that he breaks the seal, proving he is indeed just providing something I need without strings or suspicion, hits me right in the feels.
My hand shakes as I try to take it, so he closes his fingers around mine to help me drink. I know I shouldn’t feel the wave of safety that washes over me, but right now, I challenge anyone in my position not to take just a little bit of security from the only person who’s shown them the slightest bit of care and humanity in an otherwise terrifying ordeal.
Is this what Stockholm Syndrome is?
Honestly, I don’t care. This man has become my savior. My champion against the very real terrors of my situation. If trusting in him helps keep me sane, so be it.
And with that in mind, I ask him the question that’s been burning through my mind. “Who are you? And why are you helping me?”
“My name is Dominic Romano,” he replies, easily.
"And as for why I’m helping you?" He pauses, letting go of my unsteady hand to run frustrated fingers through his dark hair. "Because someone has to. Vito’s actions recently are verging on insane. He has us on the brink of war and is courting unwanted attention from the feds. Let’s just say, not all of us are on board with that."
Dominic Romano. The name echoes in my head but brings no recognition. I’m surprised he’s being so honest and upfront. Is it a ploy? A tactic to gain my trust?
But to what end? There’s none I can make sense of.
He watches me as my thoughts fly, and I almost feel like he can read every one. His eyes, however, reflect something familiar — something I can't quite put my finger on. And now, looking at him in the dim light, I feel a strange sense of connection — a feeling that this man is not my enemy. I hope I’m right.
Vito, the Viper, Rossi, though… he’s a different story. My mind whirs with thoughts of escape, but they’re quickly quelled by an onslaught of nausea that has me clutching my stomach. Whatever the Viper wants me for, I can only hope he knows better than to harm me, not that Dominic’s words give me much reassurance. He’s as good as told me the organization's trust has been eroded by their consigliere’s actions. That’s a dangerous place for any operation. It hints at power struggles and in-fighting. A captive in an organized crime operation that’s about to implode is not a good place to be.
Dominic stands up and heads towards the door. "I'm going to get you some food," he says, and I’m pretty sure he’s picked up on my discomfort and is trying to give me a moment.
A moment I don’t want. Instead, panic surges through me at the thought of being alone and without thinking, I reach out after him. "No, wait! Don't leave…"
He turns to face me again, his brow furrowing and mouth set in a deep frown. "I won't be long, Roisin."
Upon seeing my distress though, he hesitates in the doorway before returning to sit on the edge of the bed, keeping a respectful distance. "I'll call for it instead."
He pulls out his phone from the pocket of his sweatpants and dials a number. I watch him as he places the order for food and his demeanor changes entirely, suddenly becoming all business, his voice firm and hard-edged. This is the man used to giving out orders.
After hanging up, he slides the phone back into his pocket and turns to face me, his dark eyes meeting mine.
"Are you alright?" he asks softly, concern etching lines into his forehead.
"Just peachy," I reply with as much sarcasm as I can muster. Despite my bravado, my heart hammers against my chest and my hands clench into fists on the quilt underneath me.
He regards me quietly for a moment before speaking again.
"You know, we're not all like Vito," Dominic murmurs. His gaze doesn't waver from mine as he says this. “I guess deep down, you know that. Your brothers have equally brutal reputations in our world, but I expect to you, they’re simply family.”
While his words are meant to reassure me, they only serve to reinforce the gravity of the situation I'm in. Strange how one can be soothed and frightened at the same time by a single person.
Because the brutality of this world, and of Vito Rossi in particular when I consider Orla's fate, is something I know only too well. And in the scheme of things, she was about as low as it’s possible to be.
Whereas me? I’m at the complete opposite end of the scale. If the Viper wants to start a war, sending me home like he did Orla is a surefire way to guarantee it.
The very thought sends terror icing through my veins, and I can no longer quell the urge to vomit.