No Going Back
Evelyn
I’d been blindfolded for the entire drive to the safehouse, but that didn’t mean I was clueless. Two hours north on the interstate, followed by winding back roads and crackling local radio stations, gave it away. I figured we were somewhere upstate.
Rocco might be an effective enforcer, but he wasn’t the brightest candle on the cake.
When we crossed into a new county, the radio station shifted, which meant a new traffic report, weather alert, the occasional high school football score.
It obviously never occurred to him that I might be listening.
The second the SUV stopped crunching over gravel, Rocco hauled me inside with all the gentleness of a linebacker. Without a word, he removed my blindfold and left me there.
Great. Now what?
I looked around, taking in my new surroundings. The cabin wasn’t what I’d expected. For one, it wasn’t a dump. It was… nice. Not cozy, not homey, but clean and well-maintained. Comfortable in that impersonal way that told me no one lived here full-time.
I surveyed the large living area, which led into an open-plan kitchen. A short hallway led to two bedrooms, both sizable and fully made up.
Maybe this was a weekend fishing cabin.
Except there were no photographs, and no clutter. What kind of fishing cabin didn’t have old magazines lying around, or fishing tackle or games for rainy weekends? There were no mismatched throw blankets or half-burnt candles or any other signs of life.
This place contained only the essentials. A couch, a fireplace that hadn’t been lit in months, and a kitchen stocked with canned goods and not much else. At least the bathroom had hot water.
With a little TLC, it could be so much nicer.
But that wasn’t the point. I was stuck here. A prisoner. This cute, rustic cabin was my cage.
I couldn’t escape through the front door, since Rocco was standing right outside, hands on hips, eyes on the horizon. He had his back to the door, his gun lodged in his waistband. I could see him through the kitchen window.
I toyed with the idea of sneaking out, grabbing it, and turning it on him. The only problem was that I didn’t know much about guns, and if I messed up, which was very likely, he’d squash me like a bug.
So I abandoned that idea. For now.
The windows were locked tight and made of reinforced glass, although they did open—just not wide enough for me to climb through.
That bastard Dante had thought of everything.
I found a small shelf of books in the living room and scanned the titles. Mostly classics. There was Hemingway, Orwell, and a battered copy of The Count of Monte Cristo. I laughed out loud. How appropriate.
I picked it up and sank into the armchair to read.
Not because I wanted to, but because I didn’t know what else to do.
My heart was pounding way too fast, my hands trembled, and I wanted to scream in frustration.
But Rocco would hear, and the guy was a sadist. I’d seen it in his eyes.
No way I was giving him the satisfaction.
So I tried to read. Somehow, I managed to get through three chapters before the words swam in front of me.
Stifling a yawn, I closed the book. Dante had woken me up around three in the morning, so I’d hardly slept. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, I couldn’t keep my eyes open.
It was so quiet. No traffic, no sirens, no buzzing phones. Just the rustle of trees, and the ever-present weight of Rocco’s shadow shifting past the window like a phantom.
My eyelids grew heavy, and I leaned my head back and closed my eyes.
The next thing I remembered was the sound of tires crunching on the gravel outside. I froze, my eyes flicking open. How long had I been out? Without a watch or my phone, it was hard to say. I’d lost track of time.
I stared out of the window. The sky was a deep indigo, which at this time of year meant it was around seven or eight o’clock.
A car door slammed, and then there were footsteps. Lighter than Rocco’s. This stride had purpose. Authority. I knew who it was.
Dante.
And he was alone.
I sat up and stared at the door, heart pounding as I waited for it to open. I heard Dante speaking in hushed tones with Rocco, who grunted in response, and a short while later, the SUV I’d been driven here in was leaving.
I was alone with Dante.
Was that good? Or bad?
My breath caught as the door creaked open. His dark figure filled the space as his gaze immediately settled on me. “I hope you’re comfortable.”
It wasn’t a question. I knew it wouldn’t matter even if I wasn’t. But I nodded anyway. His suit was black, with sharp lines, almost identical to the one he’d worn the night of the gallery showing. The guy probably had an endless supply.
The crisp white shirt clung annoyingly to his broad shoulders, the top few buttons undone.
That wolf tattoo peeked over his collar.
I wondered what the significance was, but I wasn’t going to ask.
The top of his tie hung out of his pocket like he’d pulled it off mid-drive and shoved it in there.
He must have come straight from work, wherever that was.
I didn’t stand up, didn’t speak. He wasn’t carrying a weapon that I could see, but really, where was I going to go? Even if I could get past him and make it to the door, we were in the middle of nowhere. Plus, it was dark outside. Only a fool would go wandering around in the woods after dark.
“Why are you here?” I asked, after a long beat had passed.
He shrugged. “Rocco needed some time off. Plus, I wanted the opportunity to talk.”
I snorted, adding a hefty dose of derision. “Haven’t we done enough talking? If you didn’t get what you wanted when I was tied up in a dirty warehouse, what makes you think you’re going to get it now?”
He studied me. “Are you admitting you have something to hide?”
I tensed. “No, I’m saying I don’t. So there’s no point in my being here.”
He walked over to a vacant armchair and eased himself into it. I bristled as he stretched his long legs out in front of him. Had he locked the front door? I wasn’t sure.
“I don’t know how much you know about my family,” he said in a deep voice, “but we’re not known for our goodwill.”
“I think I figured that one out.”
He smirked, and the line between his eyes eased. “So if there is anything you want to tell me, now’s the time.”
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “How many times do I have to tell you? I didn’t know about your shipment.”
He said nothing.
“Did you speak with Mikhail?” I asked, to fill the gap.
“I told you, that’s not an option.”
“Why the hell not? He’ll clear everything up.”
“No, he won’t. He won’t even take my call.”
I saw his lips tighten and knew he regretted giving me that last piece of information. “Because the Malakovs are enemies of the Marcellis?”
He grunted. “Now you’re getting it.”
I surveyed him for a moment. Those silver eyes were hard and unreadable, his stance tense. My eyes were drawn to the ink on the back of his right hand. A single rose, beautifully done, its thorned stem twisting down into the body of a snake that coiled around his wrist.
Above it, climbing into the sleeve he hadn’t bothered to roll down, I caught the hilt of a dagger driven through some kind of military badge.
The rest disappeared under his cuff, but I’d seen enough to know every piece meant something.
Dante didn’t strike me as the type of man to have tattoos just for decoration.
I forced my gaze back to his. “Why would they ambush your men?”
“That’s not your concern.”
Ugh. He was insufferable.
“Fine, but Malakov doesn’t even live in New York.”
“He has an apartment in Manhattan.”
I shrugged. “Well, I only ever deal with Mikhail.”
I got to my feet. I’d been left to my own devices all day with nothing to occupy my time, only to be asked the same dumb questions as before.
He immediately did the same.
Ignoring him, I paced up and down. Now I knew how a caged animal felt. Tension coiled through my muscles, and I wanted to lash out, to hit something, to pound at his chest, but I knew it wouldn’t do any good.
Eventually, I turned to face him. “I don’t know what you want from me. I can’t make up stuff just to satisfy you. I don’t know anything about your business, your mobster family or your beef with Malakov, and quite frankly, I don’t want to. I want to go home.”
His voice dropped. “I can’t let you do that.”
I’d had enough. Storming over to the door, I wrenched the handle. He was on me so fast I hadn’t even taken a full breath when his hand enclosed over mine.
“Let go, Ophelia.” His growl was laced with steel.
It didn’t open anyway. The darn thing was locked, as I suspected it would be. He must have the key on him somewhere. Jacket pocket, maybe.
“Don’t call me that,” I hissed. It was too personal, too intimate.
His hand was warm and firm on mine, with slight calluses on the palm, which told me he wasn’t a stranger to using his hands.
A low murmur. “I’ll call you what I want.”
I held on, refusing to let go on principle.
“It’s no good, it’s locked,” he said, his lips almost brushing my ear. The hairs on my neck prickled, and it wasn’t from fear. Not all of it, anyway.
With a dramatic sigh, I released the door handle. What was the point? But when I attempted to turn around, he was blocking my path.
“Excuse me,” I said stiffly.
He didn’t move, effectively trapping me between his body and the door. I swear I could feel the heat radiating off him. It enveloped me, sunk into my skin. Made my blood boil.
His eyes lasered into mine. “I can’t work out if you really are as innocent as you make out, or if you’re just a very skilled liar.”
He must have seen the defiance in my expression, because his lips curled back into what I can only describe as a sneer.
“You will tell me what I want to know, Evelyn. One way or another. I will get to the truth.”
“Whatever,” I muttered, narrowly avoiding rolling my eyes.
The silver calm turned stormy. Dante didn’t like my dismissive attitude. All the more reason to use it more often, I thought with a sliver of satisfaction.
He took a step closer until the tips of our shoes were touching. I backed up as far as I could. The door handle dug into my lower back, but it was preferable to the angry daggers shooting from his tempestuous eyes.
“You do know that at this moment I have skilled hackers going through your phone records and your emails. If there are any skeletons in your closet, they’ll find them.”
I glared at him, hating the invasion of my privacy, hating how distractingly hot he looked in that moment. Demonic, but sexy as hell. Like Cabanel’s Fallen Angel come to life. The contrast was messing with my head.
“You have no right! That’s against the law.”
“Six of my men are in the ground,” he growled. “The law doesn’t come into it.”
“They didn’t die because of me,” I snapped, trying to shove him aside. He didn’t budge. Damn his six-foot-three, immovable hulk of a frame.
He raised a hand and I flinched, bracing myself.
“I’m not going to hit you,” he muttered, instead trailing a finger gently along my jawline. His gaze had turned from angry to something unreadable. Something I couldn’t put a name to.
My pulse kicked into overdrive. Damn my body for reacting the way it did. Heat spread through my extremities, heightening all my senses.
My breath caught in my throat. “What are you doing?”
“You like that, don’t you?” he murmured, ignoring my question.
“I’d like to get out of here,” I fumed, but for some bizarre, inexplicable reason, I didn’t pull back.
He chuckled and grazed my cheek until he reached a strand of my hair. I felt him twirling it around his fingers, until he had a fistful. He didn’t pull it, just closed his hand around it, drawing me closer to him.
His eyes glowed in the semi-darkness. “Liar.”
“You’re imagining things,” I croaked, my throat suddenly drier than the Sahara. “You kidnapped me, remember? Why on earth would I feel anything for you?”
“Because you can’t help it.”
“You’re crazy.” I pressed myself into the door. If only it would swallow me whole. Anything to get away from him.
“Am I?”
He released my hair, tracked a finger down my neck, across my collarbone and down to the dip in my cleavage. My heart nearly stopped mid-thump. It definitely skipped a few beats. I felt like he was scorching me with a hot poker.
Turning his hand over, he brushed his knuckles across my breast. It was a casual but intimate gesture. I cursed silently as my traitorous nipples puckered beneath my sweatshirt.
He chuckled. “I think I proved my point.”
And just like that, he dropped his hand and stepped back. My body was still tingling, buzzing with the aftereffects of his touch. I felt weak, hot, and so freaking confused.
But I didn’t have time to dwell on it because he turned his back on me and went to inspect the kitchen.
Legs shaking, I stumbled back to the couch. I was tempted to run to the bedroom and slam the door, but didn’t want to risk him following me there. Besides, there were no locks, I’d checked. Unlike on the front door.
No escape from the cabin, or from the man who held me captive.