Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 130310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 652(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 652(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
Dante was trying to save me. Dad and Danilo would be searching for me as well. And Samuel, my Samuel, would look for me. If we were still on Outfit territory not all hope was lost.
CHAPTER 3
SERAFINA
I woke in a car, curled into myself, half tangled in my dress. Fabiano was in the backseat beside me but didn’t look at me. Instead, he was checking the rear window. Another man sat in the front behind the wheel and beside him was Remo.
I wasn’t sure if they’d given me another tranquilizer or if my body had trouble fighting the effects of the first injection. I hadn’t eaten all day and hardly had anything to drink. A low moan slipped past my lips.
Fabiano and Remo both looked down at me. Remo’s dark eyes sent a shiver of fear down my spine, but Fabiano’s gaze didn’t offer any consolation either. I closed my eyes again, hating how vulnerable I felt.
I wasn’t sure how long we’d been driving, but the next time I woke we were in a helicopter. I struggled into a sitting position. The strip with hotels and casinos spread out below, and my stomach constricted as the helicopter started its descent over Las Vegas. I didn’t say a word to either Fabiano or Remo, and they didn’t talk to me either. The tension was still palpable in the helicopter, but they had escaped from the Outfit and now I was in Las Vegas. In Camorra territory. At their mercy.
The moment we landed, Fabiano helped me out of the helicopter while Remo talked to someone on the phone. I needed to wash my face and clear my head so I could think straight again. I had been in my wedding dress for almost twenty-four hours. I felt sticky and sluggish and exhausted. And underneath it all a terror I had trouble containing throbbed inside of me.
I was pushed into another car, and eventually we pulled up in front of a shabby strip club called the Sugar Trap.
Fabiano gripped my arm again as Remo went ahead without a single glance at me.
“Fabi,” I tried, but he tightened his hold. “I need to go to the bathroom and wash my face. I don’t feel good.”
He led me inside the deserted strip club toward the ladies’ room and followed me inside to wait at the washbasins. Remo had ignored me mostly, but I had a feeling that would change soon.
I went to the toilet, hating that I knew Fabiano could hear me. There was nothing I could have used as a weapon, and even if there were, how would that help me surrounded by Camorrista? I dropped my skirt when I was done, breathing deeply, trying to hide my emotions.
“Serafina,” came Fabiano’s warning voice. “Don’t make me get you out of there. You won’t like it.”
Straightening my shoulders, I came back out, feeling shaky from dehydration.
I bent over the washbasin and washed my face then drank a few gulps of water.
“You can have a coke from the bar,” Fabiano said. Before I could say anything, he gripped me by the arm and dragged me out. My bare feet ached. I must have cut them on the forest ground. My eyes flitted around the room. It wasn’t deserted anymore. As if drawn out by the commotion, several scantily clad women had gathered at the bar.
They avoided looking at me, and I realized I couldn’t hope for their help. Not a single person in Las Vegas would probably risk helping me.
“Coke,” Fabiano barked at a dark-skinned man behind the bar, who grabbed a bottle, opened it, and handed it to Fabiano. The man purposely wasn’t looking at me.
Good Lord. Where had they taken me? What kind of hellhole was Las Vegas?
“Drink,” Fabiano said, holding the bottle out for me. I took it and had a few long sips. The cold, sweet liquid seemed to revive my brain and body.
“Come.” Fabiano led me through a door and along a bare-walled corridor toward another door. When he opened it and stepped inside with me, my stomach revolted.
Inside were two unknown men, both of them Falcones, I assumed. All of them were tall, with hard expressions and this air of unbridled cruelty that they were famous for. One of them had gray eyes and looked older than the other guy. I tried to remember their names, but then my eyes met Remo’s and my mind turned blank.
The Camorra Capo had shed his shirt. There was a fresh wound on his left side that had been stitched up, but there was still blood around it. My pulse stuttered in my veins at the sight of his muscles and scars.
“Your twin almost got me there,” Remo said with a dark laugh. “But not enough to stop me from capturing his beloved sister.” He said beloved like it was something filthy, something worthless.