Chapter 9- Vi

“The boss is a nice man. I'm sure if you talked things out with him, he'd be persuaded to be reasonable.”

“I'm sure we're talking about the same person that refused to release me, knowing I planned to kill you if he didn't,” I clarify. 

The butler blows out a sigh. “He scares me too.”

I finally drop the knife and he scrambles out of the room, making sure to lock me in as soon as he does. Asshole. It's like he's more afraid of having to answer to his boss than he was about losing his life. Our interaction earlier told me that much. But I’m not that upset. It's not like I was going to try escaping anyway because even if I could threaten one butler, I'm sure I can't body the two bouncer-types standing before my door. I sink into a couch and mope, folding my arms across my chest as I try in vain to brainstorm a new plan. 

Three minutes into that, my phone is blinking on with a text. From him. 

Unknown Number: Get some food in your system. That is much better for you than threatening my employees. 

Is he kidding?

Me: I'm freaking kidnapped. You think what is top of my list is breakfast? 

His response is almost immediate.

Unknown Number: And what is? 

Me: To find a way out of here, or at least know what the heck you want with me.

A minute passes before the next text comes in. 

Unknown Number: I desire everything you can give and more. And while I know you haven't gotten used to the idea yet, you are mine. I haven't wanted anything like this before. 

As soon as the message hits my phone, I'm staring for a long moment, trying to understand what this is and when it started. I don't even know him, my brain seems to be screaming at me. And I'm not sure I like what he is proposing either, especially like this. Plus, he's a moneyed jerk, dangerous on top of that and a creep. He might want me, but I don't share the sentiment. I just need to get home, take aspirin and sleep this hangover away. This might be a dream in the end, I remind myself. It couldn’t possibly be happening in real life, and to me. 

Me: Will you please let me go?

His answer comes in mere seconds. 

Unknown Line: I will. Eat first.

I stop short as my phone pings and I read his message. Surprise flits across my vision. Does he really mean it?

*

Some two hours later, I'm at my house with no recollection of how I made it back. And if this morning’s events hadn't seemed like a dream before, well, they do now. Just… the expensive-looking designer jumpsuit I am currently wearing as I slowly rise from my living room couch is definitely out of place. Plus, my embarrassing, vomit-stained clothes are no where to be seen. The asshole decided to keep them after all, not to mention he knows where I stay, is kinda- okay, very- into me, and most definitely drugged me before bringing my ass back to my one-bedroom apartment so I don't end up recognising his stupid mansion- as well as him- much later.

I have no idea what to do. I know I should tell the police- even with very little information on this stranger at my disposal- but they're the last people I want on my case. I'm still trying to avoid them after what happened two days ago. If I file a complaint about my very interesting sets of experiences, starting from what happened at the club, I will be required to follow up on it and I know that sooner or later, I’m going to end up betraying myself, subconsciously revealing things I shouldn't- including but not limited to the details of the murder the other night… Which, obviously, is not the right course of action to take when dealing with people who seem to like to draw too many connections- an activity also known as investigating. Soon, the cops are going to find out that I know something about the congressman’s death and will think my current problems stem from it. 

They do not.

The man who killed Gallo Boiardi is a brutal, merciless mob boss. This one is just some random, self-entitled blueblood from a club who had taken me home for some reason, and then surprisingly had the chivalry to stop at undressing me so I could slip into something more comfortable and not as dirty as my yesterday clothes. It couldn't possibly be Alvarez Italo, the shooter from the other night now, could it?

That ruthless mafia don who hardly anyone has really seen, with no pictures anywhere yet a name that everyone who talks about fears. Phantom-like. A living legend. Some urban myth widely-known to be just as ruthless as he is cold. 

Nope. Not him. And I do need that aspirin. Maybe therapy too. 

As I rise from my sitting position to get the tablets, the front door vibrates with a knock. I head there, open it up and see Dyna. She has such a relieved look on her face and sincerely, I don't think I've ever been this happy to see her. My bear hug says that much. 

“You scared me. Where have you been?”

I sigh. “You're not going to believe this.”

“Try me.”