7. Tony

The door slammed and the stairs shuddered. Not great construction considering he was in the business. Tut-tut.

He was gone, and the basement was empty without him. But that should’ve been a good thing. Him being with me was when he might exact his punishment.

Apart from a dripping tap in the kitchen, the basement was as silent as… well, a grave.

I rubbed my wrists and got water from the dispenser on the fridge. After gulping one glass and another, I limped around the space holding an ice pack to my face. Being kidnapped was thirsty work. Putting up a snarky facade was hard, and the adrenaline that coursed through my veins decreased, leaving me limp with exhaustion.

Flopping onto the couch, I closed my eyes. Not that I could sleep. The pain from my lip had eased, but my nose and leg were sore, and my mind was racing. I hauled myself up and inspected the rooms, feeling along the walls for any irregularity like people did in the movies. Not that I expected to find a secret door or a mislaid tablet or phone, but I had to do something. The synapses in my brain were still firing.

My desire to avenge my father’s death had overridden all else, including following sensible precautions. Dad always said I acted first and asked for forgiveness later. I doubted the owner of the house was in the business of forgiveness.

My thoughts sidestepped to the more mundane part of my life, the one that didn’t include taunting a mobster while a whiff of desire held me in its grip. My tummy grumbled, and I surveyed the selection of food in the fridge, including salad, lasagna, fried noodles, tuna salad, and crispy chicken. I grabbed one dish, but when it was twirling around the microwave, I couldn’t recall what I’d chosen.

Taking a bite, I savored the fried noodles, but after the first mouthful, my taste buds went on strike. Maybe they were as exhausted as me. After shoveling in the rest of the food, I tossed the dishes in the sink. Tomorrow might be my last sunrise, so I wasn’t going to waste whatever time I had left washing dishes.

A quick shower was next on the list. The bathroom was well stocked with toiletries, and I floated out on a cloud of jasmine and coconut. But when I selected PJs from a drawer, I paused. Was the last person to wear these dead? Dropping them on the floor and stepping over them, I climbed into bed naked.

There was nothing stopping him from coming down here while I was sleeping. I could do the chair-under-the-door trick. Did that work? It would give me a few seconds’ warning so I could defend myself with a pillow? Or a lamp?

Closing my eyes, I allowed my thoughts to wander.

In college, I donated blood and discovered I had a rare blood type. That set me on a path to discover more about my birth father. The more I researched, the more intrigued I was. Dad was evasive when I asked what the guy did for work, saying, “Many different things. He’d get bored and move on to something else.”

When I questioned how he died, Dad told me it was an unfortunate accident at work. Something about a machine malfunctioning. I sensed he was uncomfortable talking about it when he’d avoid my gaze and talk in short, sharp, clipped sentences. I let it go and never spoke to him about his first husband, my alpha birth father, again.

Instead, I set off on my other research journey, sitting in libraries studying old newspaper articles, checking family histories, and traipsing along a street where my father had lived as a child and a desolate space where factories once stood, a place my father had worked after leaving school at fifteen.

It had been a single mention in an old newspaper article of him working for a waste management company owned by Florian Durand that sent me on the path to applying for a job at La Luna Noir, now run by his grandson.

But my eyes grew heavy, and when I opened them, the room looked the same. With no direct sunlight, it could have been mid day or early hours of the morning.

He’d taken my watch, in case it connected to the internet. It didn’t. It was a cheap one, but there was a clock on the microwave, and I tiptoed into the kitchen. I snorted, my shoulders shaking with laughter as to why I was creeping around. I could scream until I was hoarse and no one would hear me.

It was seven. Morning or evening? I blinked and studied the digital numbers again. It was a twenty-four-hour clock, so unless someone had deliberately set it to the wrong time to confuse any basement occupant, it was morning.

The club didn’t open until evening, so he spent his days elsewhere. His business acumen was legendary in the city, his fingers in many pies, including the antique business, real estate, casinos, waste management, and construction. He might have left for the city already.

The bathroom door was open, and I studied the towel I’d dumped on the floor. Last night’s dirty dishes were where I’d left them. Did the basement come with a housekeeper? Unlikely. Dad had taught me to pick up after myself. “I’m your father, not your maid,” he used to tell me.

I sighed. If this was my last day on earth, I’d prefer to be lounging by a pool, eating caviar and drinking champagne, not rinsing dishes. But I stood at the sink, getting rid of dried noodles stuck at the bottom of the bowl I’d used and washing the cutlery and glass.

But as I closed a cupboard, another louder sound reverberated around the basement. The door at the top of the stairs!

“Lights on.” I didn’t need a cartoon speech bubble to tell me the owner of the voice laced with honey.

The lights on the stairs didn’t flicker.

“What the fuck?”

I pursed my lips, telling the giggle to stay where it was.

The honey in his voice vanished and was replaced with fiery-hot chili peppers.

“Lights on.” Louder than the first time and fused with frustration.

The giggle escaped, and I stuffed the dish towel over my mouth. I was enjoying this, Mr. Oh So Freaking Perfect being thwarted by technology. But as my body shook with laughter, I glanced down. Damn, I was naked. I crouched down low and crawled toward the bathroom and the thick terry cloth robe folded on the vanity.

“Lights on,” he thundered.

I stuck my head out of the bathroom. The main room was still lit up, as I’d left those lights on all night, but the stairs were in darkness. He strode halfway down the stairs, one perfectly suited leg after another. “Let me see you.” He wasn’t holding that gun he’d been stroking last night like it was his good luck charm.

Putting my hands in the robe pockets, I sauntered out. And damn, his cologne or maybe body wash hit me, reminding of a strong wind. It teased and taunted me, and I tried to ignore it. Didn’t succeed, though.

“I’ll be back late this evening.”

I almost replied, “Yes, dear, and what would you like for dinner?” but didn’t want to push my luck.

I dithered over whether to tell him I was supposed to deliver a presentation this afternoon. My professor would mark me absent, I’d fail the assignment, but no one would send out a search party. I lived in a house with four other guys, but we were never all at home at the same time.

But it might irk him if I mentioned it.

“I’m due in class after lunch. Attendance is mandatory.” He wouldn’t pick up that I was fibbing. Mobsters didn’t go to college, did they? “They’ll call me if I don’t turn up and then contact my folks.”

He twisted his lips as if he’d tasted something sour. “I’ll deal with it.”

“How?” I regretted mentioning my parents and wished I could stuff those words back in my mouth. What if he asked Emilio to silence them? “Don’t hurt my family, please.”

He studied me, those dark eyes that held so many secrets. “I’ll get a doctor’s certificate saying you broke your leg and you’ll attend class remotely.”

I noted his dark hair curling around his collar and pictured me flicking it back. My body betrayed me again, and I overheated. Sweat dribbled down my spine, and my cock engorged.

For a second, I wished I had the power of a mob moss. He wanted something done and it was. Like the emperors and kings of old. But many of them met a nasty fate. Maybe being head of the mob had its downside.

“But I can’t.” I opened my arms. “No wifi, phone signal, or computer.” I was enjoying his eye twitching every time I tossed a problem at him.

“Fine.” He gritted his teeth. He’d need to see a dentist if he kept doing that. “You’ve been in a car accident and you’ll be in hospital for a couple of weeks.” He added he’d get whatever I needed from my professors and bring me class notes and assignments. Without access to a library, my files, and wifi, I couldn’t do much, but I was done talking.

He planned on keeping me here. But I didn’t come from a wealthy family, nor did I own anything of value. So why was I lingering, not dead and yet not living my life? Stuck in a basement, admittedly better than where I rented.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Wasn’t aware you asked one.” His testy tone and the shadows under his eyes suggested he didn’t get much sleep.

“Last night as you were leaving, I asked about my father.”

He snorted. “That wasn’t a question. You said please.” He had been paying attention. “I did some digging last night.”