by KD Robichaux
He towers above me, between my legs, and I tilt my head back, back, and back farther, so I can look into his eyes. “Naughty little minx,” he practically purrs, and it sends chills down my neck. He takes a step back until he’s no longer between my thighs, and it takes everything in me not to pout like a princess who didn’t get what she wants. “I need to feed you. Come on.” He holds out his hand, palm up, an offering even though his words were a demand.
I lift a brow, looking from his expectant face that’s tinged with the slightest bit of hope to his hand, my heart racing over the fact that not only is he calm—no anger in sight that I went against his wishes and came—but he’s asking in his own bossy way if I’ll have breakfast with him.
I lightly slide my fingers across his wide, steady palm before resting it in the center, my core clenching at the sight of how much bigger his hand is than mine, and his fingers close over mine.
When we reach the kitchen, just like last night, he sets me on the counter to keep me close while he fixes us fried eggs, toast, bacon, and glasses of orange juice. My stomach is growling loudly by the time he moves me to the breakfast nook next to a beautiful bay window that overlooks an overgrown garden.
Before I know it, I’m speaking my thoughts out loud. “I’ve always wanted to try gardening. They make it seem so peaceful on TV and in books. But I’ve never had the chance in the city.” I munch on the bacon, my eyes not leaving a patch of pink flowers that look like they’re close to being smothered by what I can only assume are weeds. I have no idea if the vine overtaking everything was once planted there on purpose and has just gotten out of control, or if it’s something that blew in with the wind.
His deep, quiet voice is a soothing balm when it should make me run in fear. “What’s mine is yours now, Bella.” My eyes turn to his at this new nickname. Is he just shortening my name, or is he calling me beautiful? “If you want to learn to garden, I’ll buy you every book on the subject and hire someone to teach you. As you can see, it’s not my forte.” A hint of a smile as he looks out the window.
“Where did the flowers come from? And you’re obviously loaded. Why not just hire a gardener?”
“That was my mother’s garden. I have a groundskeeper on staff, but he was instructed years ago never to touch Mom’s special oasis. And I’m afraid that might’ve been a mistake, because I think I might’ve ruined all of her hard work by not allowing anyone to keep it up after she passed away,” he confides, and the sad tinge to his tone has me reaching out to grip his hand that rests on the table.
“I’m sorry” is all I say, because emotion clogs my throat when I realize he just told me that I could take over his mother’s beloved garden if it’s what I desired. A garden he hadn’t allowed anyone to touch since she died. When I gain control of my voice once more, I tell him, “And it’s not ruined. Or at least I don’t think it is. There are still flowers, see there? The pink ones? I don’t think anything would be blooming if it was a lost cause.”
His sad smile turns warm, and he lifts his hand out of my grasp to run the side of his index finger along my jaw. “Then it’s yours to bring back to life, piccolina.” He sniffs a small laugh but doesn’t say more as he turns to his food and picks up his fork.
“What?” I prompt, curious. When he doesn’t answer, I ask, “What was that laugh for?”
He swallows his bite of eggs and toast with mirth dancing in his eyes. “It’s just funny to me that you can see the tiniest bit of color in that overgrown garden and say there’s still hope for it with such confidence. Yet, when I look at you, I see the same exact thing, but you seem as if you think you’re that ‘lost cause.’” A pause as he sees his words hit their mark in my expression. “Your upbringing and past relationship might’ve tried to smother all your blooms, my little flower, but it’s the hidden buds I see peeking out of the wilted leaves that absolutely captivate me. There’s still hope for you to be happy—here, with me—in life, if you just trust me and let me show you.”
I blink back tears I didn’t realize were forming while he hypnotized me with his voice and words. I swallow thickly, and the sincerity in his expression leaves no room for me to doubt him or reinforce my walls. All I can do is nod, and I glance down at my food, sigh, then pick up my toast for a big, overly aggressive bite that makes the handsome beast in front of me chuckle.
12
Marcello
“Where the fuck is my daughter?” I yell, bursting into my son-in-law’s office, the door slamming against the wall. And the little fucker jumps up from his desk, tucking himself back into his pants before zipping and buttoning them.
He clears his throat. “Marcello, what are you doing here, sir?”
I ignore the woman who crawls out from beneath his desk and scurries out the door. “I’ve been trying to call my daughter for over twelve hours with no response, when not a day goes by that she doesn’t answer on the first ring. Where. The fuck. Is she?”
“I… I…,” he stutters, getting on my very last nerve. “I haven’t seen or spoken to her in a day or so. I’ve been busy with meetings and—”
“I just saw what you’ve been busy with, stronzo,” I remind him, calling him an asshole. “Now I want you to get on your phone and try to call her right this very instant. And if she doesn’t answer, then you and I are going on a little trip to her apartment. Together.”
I watch the blood drain from his face and already know he knows something.
But he picks up the phone anyway and hits a button that speed dials my daughter’s number. Just like when I’ve called her, it now goes straight to voicemail, signaling that she let the cell die or has it turned off—something she’s never been allowed to do, and hasn’t, since we gave her the first one when she was ten. There are all sorts of monitoring programs and location apps installed for her safety, so she knows never to let it get lower than thirty percent battery life.
My daughter is nothing if not obedient, so for her to be out of contact is concerning, putting it mildly.
I give Ferro a dark look that brooks no argument. “Let’s go.” I spin in my Italian loafers and don’t look back, knowing he’ll follow if he knows what’s good for him.
We climb into the back of my awaiting car, and the nervous energy coming from Ferro is undeniable. It puts me on edge, my gut telling me to take whatever he may say in the next hour with a grain of salt. He’ll lie to me if he knows something has happened to my little girl, do anything he possibly can to save his own ass if he allowed a hair to be harmed on her beautiful head.
When we arrive at her building, we take the elevator up to her floor, and already my hackles rise.
“Where are her guards?” I bark, seeing Ferro jump slightly out the corner of my eye as we stride into her apartment. “Even if she isn’t home, two guards are supposed to be posted at all times for when she arrives to see she gets in safely and to make sure no one breaks in while she’s gone.”
“I—” he starts, but he cuts himself off as I walk over to the island in her kitchen and look down into the grande plastic Starbucks cup sitting there. The coffee drink has coagulated, a sign it’s been here for at least a couple of days—something else that would never happen if it were up to Arabella. She’s a clean freak, and that’s putting it lightly. Has been since she was little and would like her toys and dolls just so.
I turn and stare him in the eye as I pull my cell from my pocket and hit a button.
“Marcellooo! What’s up, homie?” the chipper male voice asks from the other end, and even while I’m secretly terrified out of my mind right now for my baby, I notice my blood pressure lets up a little when Seth answers.
“I wish I was contacting you on better terms, but I need your assistance locating my daughter. Her phone is either dead or turned off, and it seems as if she hasn’t been home in a couple of days,” I tell the computer genius who’s been on my payroll since he was fourteen.
Concern immediately tinges his voice as he questions, “How did that happ
en? She’s never—”
“I know,” I interrupt, watching Ferro fidget where he stands. “I need you to check all surveillance footage in and around her home for the past week, and check all phone activity and anything else you can think of that will help me find my girl.”
“Will do, boss man. Where’s hubby dearest? Has he seen or heard from her?” Seth asks, and my eyes narrow on the fucker in question.
“Negative. Says he’s been busy. Too busy to worry about his own wife’s whereabouts when he was entrusted with her life. And as such, one of the stipulations of the betrothal contract was to keep her safe at all times, and if not, punishments would be doled out by The Ruin.” My stare never wavers while I say this, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen an olive-complected man turn so pale and still have a heartbeat before.
“You got it. Should I look into his records and whereabouts as well?” Seth asks, and I tilt my head as my eyes narrow. My thoughts had been too overwhelmed with Arabella’s disappearance that I hadn’t pondered that far ahead yet.
“That’s a very good idea,” I reply, letting Ferro stew on what Seth could’ve suggested on the other end of the line he isn’t privy to.
“Consider it done. I’ll be in touch,” he says, and we hang up without farewells.
“You better speak now or forever hold your peace if you know anything,” I warn Ferro, sliding my phone back into my pocket.
Finally, he straightens his shoulders and lifts his chin, but the pose does nothing to camouflage the fear still in his expression. “The guards informed me she never came home the night before last. She went shopping, and her driver said he dropped her off in her usual spot, but she never made it upstairs. She either snuck away or was taken.”
I feel steam rising out of the collar of my shirt with his every word. “And you didn’t think to call me, inform me my daughter never showed up, so I could immediately help locate her?” I roar, taking a step toward him, my hands curling into fists.
He takes a step back, his hands lifting in defense. “I have all of our people on it. You put me in charge, and I have the same resources you do, so I didn’t want to unnecessarily worry you if she just went off galivanting. I was going to call you in the morning if she hadn’t shown up by tonight.”
He’s lying. I know it in my very soul. I don’t know what about, exactly, whether it’s the part about how he was going to call me tomorrow of that he has our people on it. But what I do know is he doesn’t have all the resources I do. I made sure to keep the very best for myself in case something like this were to ever happen and I needed someone to help me usurp my successor. And that very best was Seth Owens—child prodigy, MIT graduate at age seventeen, and the technological genius behind Imperium Security down south in North Carolina. And while he might be a thousand miles away, if anyone on this planet could find my baby for me, it’s him, using everything from ATM transactions to traffic cameras to sources I can’t even fathom. He once found a missing person through a facial recognition program he designed that tapped into all the elevators’ surveillance cameras in the state of New York.
“You better hope she turns up without a single scratch, stronzo. And even more so, you better pray it was her who gave everyone the slip. She’s my daughter, after all. If she wanted to escape, she could. It’s in her blood. But the fact that you hired guards that let her without even a trace….” I shake my head, letting the sentence hover between us. “Let’s just say you’ll be the one to go missing if it turns out she didn’t just sneak off.”
13
Arabella
“I'm going to get some work done in my office. Maxwell will be on watch, and if you need me, you know where to find me, Bella,” DeLuca says from the doorway of his home library.
We spoke casually over lunch, as if we weren’t strangers at all, let alone captor and captive. I don't know what's coming over me. Maybe it's the freedom from Ferro.
Ferro. He must be looking for me, right? He has to be worried… right? Must be out of his mind.
Right?
What a marriage we have if I’m questioning these things. Real love, I would assume, wouldn't have me wondering these simple questions. If he cared about me, he would have found me by now.
I give DeLuca a curt nod, a small smile at the corner of my lips. Stepping up to me, he leans down to the chair where I'm laid out, reading a Shakespearean romance. Giving me a kiss on my forehead, he then whispers in my ear, “Non corri, bella. Perché mi impazzirò senza di te. Ti darò la caccia, principessa.”
I gulp, aroused yet again, but afraid, knowing—like he just said—that he wouldn't stop until he found me.
Something comes over me then, a single tear falling from my eye as he leaves me. No one has ever loved me. The only love I've ever known is my father’s, and I may never get a chance to tell him that ever again. Would DeLuca ever let me see my dad? Will he believe I won't run from him? Won't I want to run though? Will I?
A pounding ensues in my head, a migraine forming over the whiplash of emotions. One minute, I want to fall into the safety net I hope my captor could provide, then the next, I realize just how insane that idea is. He is a monster, a man who took me in the dead of night and has no plans to ever let me live outside of his reach.
I rub away the tears and attempt to soothe my temples by sitting up and closing my eyes. It doesn't work. Instead, I grow hot, my skin feeling warm with agitation and an overwhelming need to lock myself in a padded cell.
This is it. I've gone mad.
My life before the past forty-eight hours was so bleak, lonely, and desolate that the idea of being with the man who kidnapped me until I die is the most rational thing I can do.
“Arabella, are you all right?” Maxwell asks from the door, startling me a bit.
“Um, yes, sorry. I just have a headache. May I go outside to get fresh air?”
His eyes show his wariness, and I understand.
“You can come with me. I was hoping to go to his mother’s garden.”
His brows lift, shocked at my statement. “You know of his mother’s garden?”
“Yes, he told me about it today. Can we visit it? I won't run, Maxwell. I'm taking your word for it.” I drop my head, closing the book. “Besides, it's not like anyone from my world cares to have me back.” I don't want pity; it's just how I feel. It is what it is. The only man who would care would be my father, but he wouldn’t know I’m even missing.
“One minute, miss.” He removes a cell phone from his black suit jacket, then with a click of the screen, he calls someone.
“Sir. She is requesting to see the garden. Do I have your permission?” He called DeLuca.
I can't hear what he says. But I assume it’s good news when Maxwell gives him a “Thank you” and “Will do.”
“Let’s go. He approved.”
“Looks like he’s both our keeper,” I tease, standing.
How is a doctor so powerful? Why does he have a henchman? I have to question these things, because truthfully, I only see this type of stuff in The Ruin. Could DeLuca be a part of our world? I stop for a minute, thinking of the possibility he could be.
No, there isn’t a chance. If he was, he would know just how dangerous it would be to steal me away. Especially given who my father and husband are.
“You all right, miss?” I stopped abruptly, gaining the attention of Maxwell.
“Oh yes, sorry. Just my headache. I’m still pretty fuzzy. Continue,” I urge him to lead the way. He looks back at me every few steps until we make it to the back double doors leading out to the garden. The second they open, the smell of nature and fresh air hits me, and I can’t help but take in a lungful. It’s a nice sunny afternoon, but not too warm. Perfect. I really did need this. There is so much going on around me, and a sense of clarity is romantic-sounding at this point.
“How long have you known DeLuca?” I ask him when we descend the first few steps into the garden.
“Seven years, ma’am.”
�
�Enough with the miss, ma’am, and all that. Call me Arabella. Please. It would be nice for some normalcy, given my situation.” I sneak a peek at him. He returns with a nod.
“Why would a man like him, a doctor, need security like you?” I implore, my hands grazing over a mixture of dead and living plants. I plan to make this garden my mission while I'm here.
“He’s a high-profile doctor.”
That couldn’t have sounded more rehearsed if he tried. I scoff out a laugh.
“Really? And I’m not his captive. I see he has you tight lipped.” I pick a single yellow rose that has blossomed amongst weeds. “You said I should trust him. Why?”
“Because I know him well, and I know he has no intentions of hurting you.”
“Then why won’t he just set me free? He’s a handsome man. He could have anyone. Why kidnap someone just to bed them?”
“You will not talk about you in any bed with any fucking man but me, principessa.”
My back stiffens, my core tightening on its own will, captivated by the husky voice that speaks.
“Sir, I'm sorry. I’ll leave you to it.” I hear Maxwell’s fleeting feet, but I have yet to turn around to face the man I know is standing there.
“It was just small talk,” I finally choke out. Intimidated and… God, I’m aroused by him. The fear he instills, the lust he promises. It all makes me so damn needy for him.
“You aren’t making small talk with anyone when it comes to us in the bedroom.”
I gulp, my knees weakening. Damn him.
“I didn’t say anything other than the truth. You could have anyone, so why kidnap me to get off?” I ask, and then add, “Or is there another reason? Is it truly a ransom you want? To use me against my father? Does my husband have something on you? There has to be another reason. You could have any woman you’d ever possibly want.”