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The air in the room felt thinned out, and all I could do was stare at Vincent in utter disbelief.
“There was even a picture of the culprit going around.” He was staring down at his casserole as he spoke casually about the moment my life had changed forever. “It’s funny, she looked a lot like you. Almost identical. Even had the same beauty mark as you do on your cheek.” He reached for a spatula, sliding it into the pan and lifting a hefty square of casserole. He set it on a plate as I tried to breathe. Those dark, cold eyes met mine once more. “I asked my brother, Enzo, about it the other day. If that girl had ever been caught.”
I was gripping the edge of the table so hard my knuckles were white. Vincent picked up the plate and walked over to me, setting it down in front of me. He produced a plastic fork from somewhere and stuck it in the casserole, then sat in the chair next to mine. He leaned back, linking his hands over his stomach. “He told me they’d never managed to find her, but Angelo Rossi was still looking. Still hunting. Still offering a very generous reward for her capture.”
Static filled my ears as he confirmed every fear I’d harbored for the past eight years. The hope that maybe he’d forgotten about me shriveled up.
“What do you want?” I asked him, my voice strained. “Why are you telling me all this? Are you going to turn me over to him?”
He shrugged. “I don’t want anything. I certainly don’t want to help Angelo. I just thought you should know.” He leaned forward and tapped a finger next to the plate of food he’d put in front of me. “You should eat.”
I didn’t want to eat and I didn’t believe, for a single second, that he wouldn’t betray me to Angelo Rossi.
“Have you told anyone?” I could barely speak, the terror clawing up my throat.
“No. Not yet.” He raised his eyes to mine. “But you should probably—”
I jumped when Cade shouted from down the hall. “Guys! Get the fuck in here!”
Vincent glanced at the doorway, concern wrinkling his brow at Cade’s panicked tone, then pushed from the table and quickly left the kitchen. A thick, heavy dread began spilling through my veins as I sat there, my heart slamming mercilessly against my rib cage.
Why would Vincent tell me that? What the fuck did he want? Did he want me to leave? Did he think I was a threat of some kind? Was he just warning me? It wasn’t out of the goodness of his heart. I wasn’t sure he had a heart.
What had he been about to say? I should probably what? Tell everyone? Tell Court? Was I putting them in some kind of danger? But how would Angelo Rossi ever know I was here? Unless Vincent told someone, then there was no way for him to know.
I wasn’t safe anywhere. How the fuck did I end up in the circle of someone who had ties to the Mafia? This was so fucked.
Slowly, I got up from the table, headed out of the kitchen, down the hall, feeling like I was having an out of body experience.
Everybody was gathered in the living room.
The TV was playing the news.
There was a red banner at the bottom of the screen that read terror in Marion as store gets robbed by masked gunman. But that wasn’t what caught my eye.
Above the banner, there was the picture that Thorne had taken of me the day he hired me. My frazzled hair was pulled back in a bun—I’d thought it looked more professional that way—and my blue eyes were painted with black liner. I was smiling at the camera, looking as innocent as I’d ever looked.
Which wasn’t very innocent.
Underneath my picture were the words kidnapped and beneath that in smaller print, it said if you have seen this woman, call the number at the bottom of your screen immediately.
All the coffee in my stomach threatened to come back up, and I pressed a hand to my mouth.
“We got a fucking problem.”
That was the understatement of the century.
TWENTY-THREE
“Fuck.”
All five of us were standing in front of the TV, watching the breaking news.
That I’d been kidnapped.
By Court.
Which was true in the beginning, if you wanted to get technical. But I was here of my own free will now.
