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It’s the most unusual collection. Classic literature. Philosophy. Finance. Chemistry textbooks. Several tomes on human anatomy, with one in particular focused solely on the cardiovascular system. The twelve-volume set of The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. Even several books on horticulture and botany. Those really made my eyebrows rise. I’d never have pinned Rafael as a man interested in gardening, but he obviously is, since huge sections within these texts are highlighted, and the hardbacks seem well used.
There are also a few dozen novels. I would love to get lost in a book and alleviate some of my stress through a good story, but most of Rafael’s books are in Italian. The only two I stumbled upon that are in English are murder mysteries, and considering my situation . . . Yeah, no thank you.
Mm-hmm . . . Now that I think about it, Rafael hasn’t actually threatened me directly. My family, yes. But not me. There were zero mentions of physical harm—no beatings, chopping off of fingers, or threats of death if I didn’t do his bidding. Instead, he personally carried me upstairs, treated my wrists, and removed my shoes and socks before tucking me into bed. In his own bedroom, which he seems to have surrendered for my use. All of that after I tried to slice open his throat. I cringe, remembering his bandaged arm. I wounded him in self-defense, but I still feel bad for hurting him.
Rolling up the sleeves that have unwound once again, I pick up the empty plate from the lunch the maid brought me and head out of Rafael’s office.
Just like earlier, the house appears completely abandoned. No creatures stir as I pass by beautifully decorated rooms. It’s eerie as fuck, yet I can’t help but stop every once in a while to admire the rustic elegance of the decor. Even as someone with zero knowledge of interior design, I can clearly see that every piece of furniture and every accent was chosen to complement the mansion’s understated grace.
Every room has enormous French doors or windows that open wide and let in the warmth and intoxicating scents of the Mediterranean, making it feel like the house itself is a part of the natural landscape. Still, it’s an odd sensation to be inside such a gigantic space, entirely alone. Each time the wooden floorboards creak under my bare feet, I startle.
The vast kitchen greets me with haunting silence. There’s no sign of the maid who delivered my meal. The girl seemed utterly terrified as she tiptoed into the office and found me cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by stacks of thick hardcovers. She gaped at me for a few moments before leaving the plate on the pile of books and hurrying out as fast as her feet would carry her.
Maybe she thought I was crazy. Can’t blame her if she did. I doubt it’s normal behavior for a hostage to sort her captor’s books instead of trying to find a way to escape. But running is not an option for me. I’m certain Rafael was serious when he threatened to kill my family if I tried to get away. I could hear it—crystal-clear—in the tone of his voice.
He also said no one will bother me here, which has proved true so far. With that, I’m daring to believe that he’ll let me go after I fix the mess I’ve made. I’m still not certain how that actually happened, but whatever. I just want to get on with it and get it done as fast as possible so I can go home.
And I would do that if only “his tyrannical ass” would appear already. It’s ten in the evening! Goddammit.
I’m stuffing cold grilled zucchini into my mouth at the kitchen island when the sound of a car door being shut brings me out of my reverie. I rush toward the window that overlooks the driveway and lean over the sill, catching a glimpse of a huge male shape stepping inside the house.
He is finally back. Rafael. The almighty tsar of this outlandish prison.
Anger and irritation swirl inside my chest as I hurry across the kitchen toward the entrance hall. That son of a bitch spewed his malice, threatened to hurt my family if I don’t do his bidding, but then left me to worry the entire day, rotting in paradise.
When I reach the entry hall, Rafael has already ascended to the second-floor landing.
“Nice of you to finally show up!” I call after him.
He stops and slowly turns to face me. Even though he’s shrouded by shadows since the upper floor’s lights are off, I know he’s looking right at me. I know it instinctively—like a prey that can sense a predator’s deathly focus, realizing too late that some fates are impossible to escape.
“Eager to start fixing your handiwork?” His low, throaty voice fills the space between us.
“Extremely.”
“Go get my laptop from Guido. I’ll be waiting for you in my office.”
I watch his retreating form as he disappears around the corner, then curse and head toward the east wing, to what I’ve discovered is his brother’s apartment.
* * *
“This is a mess,” I mumble, staring at the laptop screen. Getting rid of the code I changed took less than ten minutes, but the catastrophe of missing strings and wrong commands I’m looking at can’t be the result of that. “It didn’t look like this the last time I visited your network.”
“Visited? Nice euphemism for breaking the law by hacking into an unauthorized system, Miss Petrova. My company isn’t a gallery exhibit.”
I look beyond the screen, my eyes focusing on his imposing frame leaning back in the recliner on the far side of the room. Other than the small desk lamp beside me, every light in the office is off. The faint glow that does reach him allows me to see that he’s in a three-piece suit again, but little of anything else.
“Says the guy who kidnaps women off the street,” I comment, then go back to inspecting the code.
Rafael was already lounging on that chair when I came in carrying the laptop. In his gruff voice, he told me to take a seat at the desk and get started. Since then, he’s remained nothing more than a dark shape. Silent, for the most part.
Is he brooding?
Planning my demise? Watching me?
What is he hiding?
“Do you have rabies, Rafael?”
“I don’t believe so. Why do you ask?”
“You sure?” I glance at him again. “No fever, muscle spasms, hallucinations?” I briefly pause to give him time to respond, but he remains mute. “Because you seem to be experiencing sensitivity to light. Should I be concerned that you might pounce? Try to bite me?”
A deep laugh thunders from the shadows, rich and velvety, filling the space. My fingers hover above the keyboard as that sound swaddles me, like a thick, warm blanket.
“If I start experiencing those symptoms, I’ll let you know.”
Ugh. Not only does he wear suits and smell amazing, but he can also take a joke at his expense. It’s as if the universe got a hold of my “perfect man” checklist and started ticking off all the boxes. Too bad Rafael is a kidnapping, blackmailing bastard.
Still, I’m curious to know what he looks like.
“I’ll do what I can from here, but I’ll need to check your main server at some point. Is it in the house?”
“It’s at my corporate building, in Taormina.”
“I’ll need access to it.” My eyes dart to him over the laptop’s edge. “And I’ll need clothes. Your cleaning staff seem to have taken away my things. I want them back.”
“Yet, you appear to be handling that situation rather well. That’s my favorite shirt, by the way.” How he says it, with a hint of amusement in his tone, makes me wonder if there isn’t some hidden meaning behind his words.
