CHAPTER NINE

ADELINA

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I rest my head against the door and swallow.

My throat is so sore. I don’t know why I’m bothering with all this screaming some days. My hope is that one of the staff with talk.

Many of the Baldassare men know my father. Surely he’s looking for me. He must know I’m here if what Dante said is true.

Fucking asshole.

I hate him with every fiber in my body. Every cell. Every...everything.

I hate him.

I hate him.

I hate him.

I’m trying to keep track of the days. I have to get out of here in...I think eight more days, or I will lose everything I’ve worked for.

My escape.

My new life.

My new home and identity in California.

I will not let Dante or my father wreck this because of their stupid mafia rules.

After the first night when I threatened him with the shard of glass, Dante hasn’t been back to see me. His soldiers—three of them, as if I’m some dangerous captive—have brought me clothes, food, and water.

But I know he hears me. I know he can hear me screaming out his name. Telling him I hate him. That I’m going to kill him.

That I will never forgive him.

I know he hears me.

And I know it is getting under his skin.

I’ve known Dante Baldassare all my life—the same amount of time he’s been in love with me. What I don’t know is just how much of a conscience he has.

What does he think keeping me captive will achieve? I’m hardly going to fall in love with him. I have no intention of staying with any of them. The moment I get free, and I will, I’m jumping on a bus to California.

I have all my codes in my head for my bank. I don’t even need my wallet—which I don’t have—nor my phone.

Assholes.

I start banging on the door again, and suddenly the locks begin to click, and I stand back.

Expecting the Baldassare soldiers, I’m surprised when I come face to face with Dante.

“Addy.”

“Asshole.” I cross my arms and glare at him.

“How’s your hand?” he asks, closing the door behind me.

I spot the guard outside. Poor guy having to listen to my screaming constantly. Maybe he should fucking help me then.

I lift my hand and show him the small Band-Aid that replaced the gauze I had the first five days.

“Any nerve damage?” He takes another step and takes my hand.

I slowly lift my eyes to his and an electrical charge sparks inside my chest. I know he feels it, too. As his thumb rubs the side of my hand, I lift my leg.

And knee him in the groin.

“The fuck!” he cries and bends over.

Then I push him onto the floor.

“Try to get out that door and they will kill you,” he moans, cupping his balls. “Jesus fucking, fuck!”

“Liar.” I step over him, knowing it’s very unlikely I will get far, but I have to try.

Shit! Dante grabs my ankle and yanks. I fall to the floor, my head hitting it loudly.

“Are you trying to kill me?” I grab my head and kick my leg until he releases me. “Ouch, fuck.”

We both lay on the ground nursing our wounds and I decide to kick his leg.

“Stop it,” he growls, reaching out and gripping my hip.

His touch.

I hate how my body reacts to his fingers on me.

Jesus, do I have a bump on my head?

The door pushes open, and we both glance up to see Dante’s mother standing there, staring down at us. She puts her hand on her hips and shakes her head.

“Don’t fucking say it,” Dante warns her.

“Can you please tell my father I’m here?” I plead with her. “Your son is insane.”

“I know that dear. Unfortunately, you know I can’t. But I won’t let him kill you,” Angela Baldassare says.

Great.

“For the record, she can’t stop me,” he mutters.

I spin my head and flinch at the pain. “What are you, twelve?”

“Inches,” he replies, moving slowly to a kneeling position. “Or at least, I was.”

I bite my bottom lip, pleased with the pain I caused him, then glance up at Angela.

She winks back at me.

“Well, just making sure you’re both still alive. Keep going,” she says and then makes to leave.

I sit up. “Wait!”

But she doesn’t and now I’m alone with Dante the Monster once more.

I have to convince him to let me go. I have eight days to get my affairs in order and leave for California.

Forever.

I am not going to let him mess this up.

“Listen”—I turn—“can’t we come to some sort of agreement here?”

Dante snorts.

“You are hardly in a position to negotiate. I told you; I’m keeping you safe.”

I’m struggling with that concept, but I don’t have time to argue with him. And I wouldn’t be Carlos Baldoni’s daughter if I didn’t try to negotiate. Plus, we learned negotiation in business school.

“Okay. Let’s say I agree with you. Can you let me out of this room? I’ll stay here until things have smoothed out.”

Dante stands and reaches out a hand. I take it—being a good little kidnappee—and smile nicely.

Christ, did I just flutter my lashes?

“I know what you’re doing. And no.”

Ugh!

“Come on, Dante. I’ll be good,” I plead.

God, I sound pathetic.

He frowns at me, and I try to ignore his full, luscious lips and the way his large frame towers over me. His shirt is askew, so I straighten it as his tongue sweeps out.

Shit, why do I want to kiss this asshole.

Also, I want to strangle him, so I console myself with that.

“Stop trying to play with me.” He grips my wrists firmly and lowers them.

“I’m not. If anything, I’m trying to play nice.” I tilt my head.

He leans in. “Two hours ago, you threw the silver lid off your meal at one of my men.”

I fight my smile, pleased that he heard about that.

“I don’t like meatloaf,” I mumble.

“He needs stitches,” he deadpans.

“I am sorry.”

About as sorry as a fucking death row murderer eager to get out and find his next victim.

Dante studies me, and I think I might be getting somewhere. So I keep going.

“Please. Even just for a few hours.” I try to release my hands and pet him. He’s a man, after all. But Dante doesn’t let go of his tight hold. “I’m going insane in this room.”

With a long sigh, he glances around.

“It’s been six days, Dante.”

He releases my wrists and moves his hand through my hair, yanking my head a few inches closer to his face.

I squeeze my thighs, furious with my body for reacting, and stare at his lips like a hungry woman.

“Kiss me and I’ll let you have some freedom tonight,” he demands.

I want to spit in his face and tell him I hate him. That I would never kiss him again if he was the last man on earth. But the truth is, my pussy is burning with need. I want him to kiss me so fucking bad that I almost press myself into him right then and there.

Almost.

“Three hours,” I say.

“Two,” he replies.

“Two and a half, and I get to go outside.”

His blue eyes shimmer and I know he’s having fun playing with me. That’s okay. I’m playing with him right back. I know this home as well as my own.

Mostly.

All I need is one of them to mess up and I will run, then find a place to hide. Then escape.

“Deal. Now kiss me, Adelina before I throw you on that bed and fuck your sweet pussy.”

I press my lips to his, planning for it to be a completely chaste kiss.

And fail.

My lips part and his tongue sweeps in, knocking the air from my lungs. My legs wobble, but Dante wraps his arm around me, tugging my entire body against him.

I let out a moan as our mouths crush together hungrily and we devour one another. Fire roars through me as our long-held passion flares to life.

I still want to slap him, but if he stopped kissing me, I’d die right now. His hips buck against me and I clench my eyes tightly, as if that would stop the arousal spinning between us.

“God, kitten, you taste like spicy summer fruit.” He moans, sucking my bottom lip.

And you taste like a kidnapper.

My core pulses as I take a step back. I can feel my nipples pressing against the cotton of my white t-shirt.

Dante’s eyes dip to my breasts, then lift once more.

“Be a good girl and don’t put on a show for the cameras.” He smirks while my mouth falls open.

“There are cameras in here?!” I gasp.

“See you at seven,” he says, slamming the door behind him when he leaves.

Cameras?

That asshole, he’s been watching me for a week.