Zach Romano, With a Smile

The first breath that filled my lungs tasted like metal. Cold and sharp.

My eyes opened slowly, blinking a few times before focusing on the unfamiliar interior. Leather so smooth it felt unnatural, soft lights hidden in the seams of the car ceiling, the engine barely making a sound.

This wasn’t something I rode in just to get around. And I was sitting… on a leather couch facing another couch.

Facing him.

The man from the garden. The one who didn’t touch me. Didn’t say my name. But made me feel like I was already stripped bare under his stare.

He sat casually, one arm resting on the back, legs crossed. Still wearing the same black shirt from last night, fitting far too comfortably on his body.

His eyes lifted when I moved, then dropped to my feet. “You’re awake,”

I instinctively leaned back, my spine hitting the side of the car door. “Who are you?” I asked, my voice hoarse.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. He offered it to me.

I didn’t take it. “I don’t need that.”

He placed it on the seat between us. “The blood on your temple says otherwise.”

I touched my forehead. Wet. Stinging. Warm. My head throbbed. But there was no time to be in pain. “Did you kidnap me?” I tried to keep my tone steady and sharp.

‘Don’t lose control ‘– my father’s words echoed in my head.

He glanced out the window briefly. The streets outside were still dark. A city I didn’t recognize. Old buildings, dull yellow streetlights passing one by one.

“If I kidnapped you,” he said calmly, “you wouldn’t be sitting across from me. Talking.”

I scoffed. “Oh, sorry. Forgot to say thank you for dragging me out of the party by suffocating me like an animal.”

“I didn’t suffocate you.” His eyes locked onto mine. “That was Jared. And he did it because we didn’t have time.”

I stiffened. “Jared works for you?”

He didn’t respond. But his silence said enough.

“Take me back,” I ordered. “Right now.”

And when he leaned forward slightly, still within polite distance, but somehow too close, the atmosphere shifted. Not because of the volume of his voice. But because of that deadly calm. Like a predator that didn’t need to roar to strike.

“Sit down,” he said.

One word. Flat. But enough to make my heart jump. But I… never liked being told what to do.

“I don’t know who you are,” I muttered, reaching for something on the floor beside me. My stiletto, one of the ones I lost when I was struggling.

“And I don’t care.” His eyes narrowed. But he didn’t move.

“If you think I’m going to sit here and wait for you to explain everything like some dumb girl in a movie, you’re dead wrong.”

And before my thoughts could catch up with my actions, I swung the shoe toward his head. The sharp heel hit his temple with a small, sharp thud. He flinched slightly. His left hand instinctively came up to his head. But he didn’t get up. Didn’t lash out. Didn’t even curse.

I stood up. Almost lost my balance from the speeding car, but I stood. “Open the door,” I demanded. “Right now, or I—”

His hand moved. Not fast, not rough. But enough to grab my wrist and pull me back into the seat with strength that balanced control and dominance.

“One,” he whispered. His breath was close now. “One more time you touch me like that…” His eyes locked onto mine. Dark. Blue. So blue, but filled with shadows and unfamiliar walls. “…and I’ll make sure you won’t be able to hold anything with that hand again.”

I stared back. My heart pounded like war drums. But I didn’t look away. We stayed silent for a while. Long enough to feel like we were the only two people left in the world. In this elegant prison of a car.

“You don’t scare me,” I hissed.

Something in his face shifted. Just a little. But my body was already too tired to keep up the tension. My head pulsed, and the world tilted halfway. The air felt heavy.

Then everything went dark again. This time… no sounds. No yelling. No resistance.

Just… darkness.

And the scent of luxury leather pressed against my nose was the last thing I remembered.

…

I woke up with a heavy head and a tongue dry like leftover coffee grounds. It felt like I’d been thrown out of a dream too dark. No grip, no clues.

The ceiling above me wasn’t mine. Too high. Too clean. A glass chandelier sparkled with a cold elegance my home never had. The air in the room was cool, but soft like an expensive room built to hide cruelty behind comfort.

My dress was still on, now wrinkled, with a faint smear of dried blood on the chest. The cut on my temple still throbbed, slow but steady. One side of the room wasn’t really a wall but a giant window opening out to the sea.

Morning sunlight spilled across the marble floor like a layer of honey. The sound of waves came and went in a slow rhythm that felt almost deceptive. As if this place was too peaceful for anything cruel.

I slowly got up from the bed. A bed far too big for one person, with sheets white as bone. In the corner of the room, there was a small glass door left open, leading to a balcony with a lounge chair and a coffee table made of modern rattan.

Calm. Focus.

I took a deep breath, trying to reset my reasoning. My father’s words flashed through my mind again: “In chaos, those who panic die first. So don’t be the first to fall.”

My hand ran along the edge of the bed, searching for anything I could use as a weapon. But this room was too clean. Too... curated. Like a trap wrapped in an elite architecture catalog.

And when I heard the door open, I froze.

Steps came in slowly, unhurried. That tall frame emerged from the hallway’s shadow. His hair was slightly wet, left messy like he’d just showered. A thin gray t-shirt clung to his body like a second skin, revealing the lines of his muscles. Loose black sweatpants hung low on his hips.

He didn’t speak. He walked in and set down a water bottle and a small towel on the wooden table near the balcony.

Our eyes met. But neither of us said a word. Until he did.

“You can go out to the balcony if you want. But the cliff’s steep. And my guards won’t hesitate to jump after you.”

I lifted my chin. Steady. “Thanks for the heads-up,” I replied flatly. “Now maybe you can tell me… why I’m here? And why you kidnapped me?”

He stepped closer, placing a coffee cup on the wooden table by the wall. Then turned to me. “Kidnapped?” He raised an eyebrow, slightly mocking. “That’s a harsh word. Jared saved you.”

“By choking me and dragging me out of the villa?” I narrowed my eyes. “If that’s your definition of ‘saving,’ you need a new dictionary.”

He stared at me for a long moment. Then sat on the leather chair in the corner of the room, his legs crossed casually.

“Matteo Arriaga,” he said at last, slowly. “Your husband.”

I held my breath.

“He crossed a line. Killed one of my men. Broke a deal that was made years before you even knew him.” He continued, with a cold flatness.

“One of your men?” I took a step closer. “Who?”

He looked at me. Long and hard. His jaw shifted. “My brother.”

I froze. My heart stopped for a second. Then started beating again. Twice as fast.

I wanted to deny it. Wanted to say Matteo would never do that. But… I knew he could. I knew what he hid behind that polished smile and the gold pin on his lapel.

“If that’s true,” my voice barely a whisper, “why me?”

“Because you’re the only thing he can’t control, and you’re his wife.”

Silence.

His voice was calm, but my head felt like it had been struck. Me, as a tool? Bait? A threat?

I gave a small, hollow laugh. “So this is… revenge?”

He stood up. His shoulders shifted, revealing a hint of muscle beneath his shirt sleeve. But his eyes… they didn’t move an inch. “It’s not that simple,” he said. “If I wanted revenge, I’d send your head to his doorstep. But I’m not an animal.”

I clenched my teeth. “But you’re keeping me here.”

“For now,” he replied lightly. “Until I know he realizes what he’s lost.”

“Who are you?” I whispered.

He stepped closer, standing right in front of me.

His eyes dropped to mine. “Zach,” he said. “Zachary Romano.”

My heart skipped a beat.

I knew that name. Anyone raised in certain circles knew that name. A name whispered at parties in tones of fear. A name that made grown men hide their children when the night got too quiet. A name tied to Rome. To ports that were never checked. To dozens of deaths that were never investigated.

I swallowed.

My face might’ve stayed calm. But something tightened in my chest, pulling tight until I could barely breathe.

I stepped back.

His eyes narrowed. He knew the effect. And he let it happen. Let his name hang like a noose around my neck.

Zach Romano.

And I had just hit him with a stiletto.

Shit.

Zach gave a faint smile. But somehow, that smile was more terrifying than a threat.

“I’m not going to kill you, Mrs. Arriaga. I’m just going to… keep you long enough for your husband to feel like the walking dead.”