The Woman in the Trunk

by Gadziala, Jessica

  In a way I was trying to convince myself I no longer wanted. You know, with him being a bad guy and all.

  On a sigh, I made my way to the door, into the hall, the living room.

  In the kitchen, Lorenzo was unpacking breakfast, little round foil packages that smelled like eggs.

  Breakfast sandwiches, I guessed.

  My stomach churned, but I didn't reach for one.

  "Eat," he demanded, waving a hand to the assortment of bagels.

  When I didn't immediately fall into line and reach for a bagel, his gaze cut to me for a moment, making my chin raise, defiant. It was a pathetic stance to take, but it was all I had in the moment.

  His hand grabbed a bagel, moving around the island. "It takes thirty days to starve yourself to death, hellcat. I don't think you have that kind of discipline. Eat the fucking sandwich," he demanded, slamming it down in front of me. "Or do you want me to shove it in your mouth?" he asked, innuendo clear in his voice, in the glint in his eye.

  "Try it," I dared him, head dipping to the side a bit, a challenge. "I'll bite it off," I told him, watching as his lips twitched.

  "Thought we covered this, Gigi," he said, head dipping a little to get more in my face. "You'll get it when you beg for it."

  "That's never going to happen."

  "Pretty sure you thought that last time too."

  "Yes, well, that was before I realized what an evil bastard you are," I told him.

  "Oh, you knew exactly what kind of evil bastard I was all along, babe. You just don't want to admit to yourself that you're turned on by that. But you'll come around," he said, giving me an infuriatingly smug smirk as he moved off into his bedroom.

  I took the sandwich that Lorenzo had put in front of me, taking a few bites as I made myself a cup of coffee. My gaze went to the unmanned elevator. Hinting at freedom it wouldn't give me now that a guard was stationed full-time at the bottom.

  At least he was out of this space. At least no one else was around to witness these interactions between Lorenzo and me.

  I heard the shower turn on in Lorenzo's room, and it took actual effort not to imagine his naked body climbing in there.

  I don't know how long I stood there, some strange thought niggling me at the back of my mind, something that wanted to be acknowledged, brought forward.

  But it escaped me for a long time before I finally remembered.

  I had broken out of the building.

  And I had looked upward when I turned down the side street.

  All the way up.

  To Lorenzo's apartment.

  Where there had been a fire escape.

  A fire escape that I hadn't seen outside any of the windows in the apartment.

  It had to have been in Lorenzo's room, though, based on the placement. Not the bathroom. That one had a solid obscured glass window. Not the large windows over his bed, either.

  What did that leave?

  "Oh my God," I hissed, placing my mug on the counter, trying to gauge how long I had before he would get out of the bathroom.

  Maybe long enough.

  For me to sneak into his closet, find the window, open it, and climb out.

  A patient, rational voice told me to wait, to see if he left, to try it then, when maybe I wouldn't be seen.

  But I had no idea if I was going to be given the same freedom as before, if I was going to be locked in my room when he left.

  If he locked me up at night, despite the guard at the bottom of the elevator, chances were I wasn't going to be allowed to walk around the apartment anymore.

  It was now or never.

  On that idea, I ran through the apartment, going into the closet, cringing as I carefully clicked the door closed, as though he would hear it over the water slapping against the tile in his shower.

  The closet was as big as my bedroom at my apartment, built-in wooden units lining both sides, suits and shirts and slacks hanging, gleaming leather shoes lined up on the lower shelf, expensive watches in a tray at eye-level alongside an impressive assortment of cuffs-links. There was no way windows were on those sides, with the one wall butting up to the bathroom, and the other lining the hallway.

  So it was the small wall directly forward.

  With another built-in there.

  And an assortment of random items.

  My hands went frantically for each of them, pulling, then putting them back into place, knowing one of them had to be false, had to be a lever to unlock the false back, to expose the window.

  Desperation was a snake coiling in my belly as my hands fumbled, nearly dropping one of the boxes there before I finally found a lever near the back, and when I pulled it. It let out a hissing sound as the lock released.

  Carefully, I grabbed the edge of the cabinet, pulling it away, back and all, exposing another of the apartment's massive windows, but this one with a sill that lifted.

  Close.

  So damn close.

  I pulled the window up, feeling the humid summer air slap me in the face as I glanced outward, making sure the fire escape was there, intact, usable.

  As a whole, I wasn't afraid of heights. I'd grown up in high-floor apartments for most of my life. But not penthouse high, that was for sure. My stomach felt wobbly as my hands grabbed onto the slatted metal bottom of the fire escape.

  I wasn't entirely sure how I was going to make it down in a rush without tripping, then possibly falling to my death, splattering on the pavement below, but I knew it was my only choice.

  My knee lifted as my hands moved further out, trying to grab the rungs.

  Just as I was hauling my body weight up and out, a hand closed around my throat, hard enough to cut off my air, making my stomach pitch, my leg falling instinctively.

  He hadn't made a single sound.

  Or maybe he had, but I had been deafened by the pounding of my own heart.

  "You're one hell of a fighter, I'll give you that," Lorenzo said, pulling my back flush against his bare, hot chest. I could feel the remnants of his warm shower through my clothes, making a shiver course through me as his other arm anchored around my lower stomach, holding me completely captive.

  I wasn't sure I had ever felt smaller than I felt in that moment.

  "How did you know?" I asked, defeat a sinking sensation inside. I'd never get another chance now. I was fully at Lorenzo's mercy, at my father's mercy, at Arturo Costa's mercy: all these men, not one of which had my best interest at heart.

  What an awful, helpless feeling that was.

  Awful enough that the impossible happened. Tears burned my eyes, making me close them tight as a humiliating, pathetic strobe-like gasping sound escaped me, a surefire tell.

  "Hey," Lorenzo said, releasing my throat, his other hand sliding toward my hip, turning me, pressing me back against the wall at my side. "Look at me," he demanded, snagging my chin, forcing it upward.

  "Fuck you," I snapped, keeping my eyes shut.

  "Look, I'm not mad," he said, voice a little hopeless sounding as a traitorous tear slipped out between my closed lids, trailing down my cheek. "I'm impressed, actually."

  "I don't give a shit if you're mad," I snapped, eyes opening, glaring at him.

  "Like the fire more than the water," he said, his thumb moving out to wipe the stray tear off my cheek.

  "Gee, I'm sorry that my complete and utter helplessness is so distasteful to you. I can't say I am a fan of it either."

  "Look, hopefully this will all be over at the next meeting."

  "And if it's not?" I asked, feeling my jaw start to tremble. "What then? I start having parts of me cut off? I get my throat slit? A bullet to the head? What happens when my father can't pay, Lorenzo? Because, honestly, if that's my fate, you might as well just let me go. I think I'd rather swan dive off that fire escape than have one of you kill me."

  "I'm not going to kill you, Giana," he told me, conviction clear in his voice.

  "What then? Your father? Emilio? Chris? That guy who was originally supposed to
kidnap me, the one who is more vicious than the rest of you? If your father orders it, I know someone will jump to carry through with it.

  "No one is going to kill you, Gigi."

  "You don't know that. You can't say that. You don't run this family. You don't get to make the calls."

  "I make a lot of calls, baby. They might not be as flashy as the ones my father makes, but trust me when I say that when it comes to your life, I can find a way to spare it."

  "By what? Sacrificing my father? Indebting me for my entire life? Gee, what a wonderful future I have in front of me."

  "Oh, Gigi. You're too fucking young to be so hopeless. We'll figure it out."

  "And I'm just supposed to trust you on this?"

  "Have I lied to you? I've been as up front with you as possible. You haven't been blindsided by anything yet."

  That was true to a point.

  Thus far, the only surprises that had come my way had been ones I had brought upon myself.

  For a kidnapper, he had been overall pretty decent except when I had provoked him. And even then, he hadn't actually hurt me.

  "Making sure I have food and clothes to wear isn't exactly in the same league as pleading for my life," I reasoned.

  "I won't have to plead for shit," he said, rolling his eyes at the very idea. Because big bad millionaire mafiosos never had to plead for anything, I guess. "I would appeal to my father's strongest desires."

  "And what desires are those?"

  "Fear and money," he said, immediately, not needing to give it any thought. "The more people shitting themselves at the mention of his name, the happier he is. And killing you two won't do anything for his bottom line. Keeping you on the books and squeezing you for more cash, that will."

  "We don't have more cash, Lorenzo. I don't understand why that is so hard for you guys to grasp. I guess because you've never had to borrow from the food bill to pay the light bill. But there is nothing to squeeze out of us. There's almost nothing left."

  "We'll figure it out."

  "I'm sorry but that isn't much of a reassurance. And there is no we. You and I, we are not a we. I will be in this on my own. You will be living in this ridiculous ivory tower, while I make myself cozy in a cardboard box behind the bakery."

  "That's not going to happen."

  "Oh, my God. Yes, it will. The only way I could pay you more would be if I stopped taking a salary. This is not rocket science. There is no more fucking money."

  "Well, maybe you will just so happen to find yourself a wealthy client who has very expensive eclair tastes, and is willing to pay well for it."

  "You're out of your mind," I said, rolling my eyes. "What? I'm supposed to believe that you are going to be my silent benefactor in some backhanded plot behind your father's back? What? For forever? Get real."

  "Nothing is for forever, Giana. Someday, that position my father holds will be mine. And when it is, you have my word, that I will set you free from this family."

  "Your word," I snorted, shaking my head.

  "Hey," he growled, snagging my chin again, this time, his fingers nearly bruising they held on so hard, as he forced me to make eye contact. "I stand by my fucking word. You can doubt plenty of things about me, but you don't doubt my word. I wouldn't give it if I didn't mean it. We will work out our temporary fix. Until I can give you a permanent solution. You want it in writing, we can get it on paper."

  "Right," I said, laughing. "Because some scribbled note from a mafia prince to some nobody baker will stand up in court."

  "I don't like that."

  "Being called a mafia prince?" I asked. "Well, too damn bad. I hate to break it to you, but that is exactly what you are."

  "I don't give a shit what you call me," he said, shaking his head. "But don't call yourself nobody. You're a somebody."

  "Really, in the grand scheme of things, I'm kind of not. I'm not bitter about it. But it is what it is."

  "It is what it is," he repeated, gaze intense.

  "Yeah. Why are you looking at me like that?" I asked, brows pinching together, unable to read the look on his face.

  "I didn't have you pegged as stupid," he said, his words making me jolt back.

  "Stupid?" I repeated, letting out a humorless laugh. Stupid? Who the hell called anyone stupid outside of a schoolyard?

  "Yeah, stupid. I didn't see that coming. A hard worker? Sure. A smartass? Yep. A royal fucking pain in the ass? Absolutely. Someone who would go down swinging before she'd ever beg for mercy? Damn fucking straight. But stupid? Yeah, never knew that was part of the whole picture."

  "What the hell are you talking about?"

  "Well, if you think you're a nobody, that people don't see you or don't appreciate you, you're a fucking idiot, kid. Truth hurts. Deal with it," he said, moving away to close and lock the window again.

  "Um, excuse you, but who the hell do you think you are to call me stupid? I'm not stupid. I'm a realist. And the reality is, that if I was shot by some mafia boss and thrown into the ocean, hardly anyone would notice. Like it or not, that is how it is. You don't know me. So you can't pretend to know more about my importance than I do."

  "Gigi, for fuck's sake. You've been in my house a week. And I can't get you out of my fucking mind. So all these other people, these ones whose lives you've touched on a daily basis, they give a shit. You're important to them. Saying otherwise just makes you insecure, not a realist."

  "What did you just say?" I asked, hearing a strange airlessness in my voice.

  "That you're insecure. I know. That one stings. No woman likes having that thrown in their face. Even if it's the truth."

  "No," I said, shaking my head. "Before that," I clarified, gaze holding his.

  His chin tucked a little as he ran a hand across the back of his neck. "That I can't get you out of my head," he said. And if I wasn't completely mistaken, I would swear there was almost a hint of, I don't know, vulnerability in his voice. That seemed so wholly out of place with the overall picture I had of this man, but there was no denying it was there.

  "Yeah," I said, voice still breathy. "That."

  "I think I've already explained my reasons for that. Hard-working. I like that. I work hard too. The sass? It keeps me on my toes. The fighting spirit, I respect that. Then there's that face. That ass. Those thighs. Those tits. Giana, if you think you're nothing, you don't have a mirror. Or anyone in your life who can see what you have to offer. Remember that."

  I was supposed to hate him.

  The man had kidnapped me.

  He was holding me hostage.

  He'd spent the last twenty-four hours giving me an attitude.

  He literally held my life in his hands.

  Everything pointed to hate.

  Except the pressure in my lower stomach.

  Except the lightness in my chest at his words, at truly being seen for maybe the first time since my mother's death.

  I shouldn't have needed external validation, but Lorenzo's meant more to me than I cared to admit.

  Any thoughts of hatred evaporated.

  And anything akin to resistance dissolved as well.

  My hands were the ones that rose first, one pressing to his chest, the other going around the back of his neck, pulling, urging.

  My lips were the ones to claim his.

  There was hesitance at first, just a gentle pressure, waiting for rejection, some unsure part of me still not entirely convinced he hadn't been blowing smoke, or simply trying to cheer me up.

  Lorenzo's body stiffened at the contact, his lips still under mine.

  But just for a moment.

  And then, as you might expect of a man as dominant as him, he took over, his hands grabbing the sides of my face, not exactly gentle in their pressure as his lips claimed mine. Hard. Hungry. Demanding. Refusing to accept anything less than full surrender.

  This was not a man who did soft, who did gentle.

  I wasn't sure I was a woman who wanted that, either.

  My nails dug int
o the skin at the back of his neck as my other hand got greedy, tracing up the corded muscle of his arm, across his strong chest, fingers grazing the crucifix hanging from his neck before moving downward, slipping between the ridges of his abdominal muscles, feeling them tense under my curious exploration.

  Emboldened, my hand pressed against the front of his low-slung towel, feeling his hard cock against my palm, my hand closing around it.

  A hiss escaped Lorenzo as his body shuddered.

  In punishment, his teeth sank into my lower lip, pulling until I let out a small, pained whimper.

  His hands moved down, grabbing my wrists, yanking my arms up over my head, pinning them to the wall behind me as his hips shifted inward, his cock pushing against the fabric of my barely-there shorts, making me cry out against his lips.

  And damn if I didn't feel his lips smiling against mine before he pulled back, eyes blazing, watching me as he did another slow, deliberate hip thrust, as my thighs parted for the invasion, as my hips bucked forward to invite more of the sensation as he grazed across my cleft.

  My breath shook through my chest as he shifted his hands, grabbing both my wrists in one grasp, freeing his other hand to move downward, slipping under the hem of my shirt, fingers teasing the skin of my belly above the waistband of my pants before stroking upward. And I swear little fires sparked across my skin.

  His palm closed around my bare breast, squeezing, making a moan escape me as I arched my back, pressed myself against his hand, needing more.

  A small smile pulled at his lips as his thumb and forefinger snagged my nipple, doing a roll that was just shy of painful.

  "Lorenzo," I whimpered, my hips rocking against him, desperate for more, for everything, for complete and utter oblivion, something I knew he could give to me.

  "What do you want?" he asked, voice a gravelly sound that slithered across my skin, sank in, and turned everything inside to mush. "My fingers," he clarified, hand moving down, pressing between my thighs. "Or my tongue?" he asked, giving me a wicked smile.

  "Both," I admitted, not caring how needy I sounded. I was needy. And he knew it. There was no pretending when he saw me as clearly as he did right then.

  A low, rumbling growl moved through him as his hands grabbed the waistbands of my shorts and panties, yanking them roughly down my legs, barely giving me a second to step out before his hand was grabbing my knee, lifting, throwing it over his shoulder.