Tears continued down my face, and my mind kept spinning in a thousand different directions at once. What did they plan to do me?
Would they kill me? Torture me? Hurt me?
Did my family even know I was missing yet?
Thinking of my mom, my dad, my brother, and how they quite possibly might not even know what was going on had me shaking as more tears streamed down my face. For the first time since I decided to leave home, to go to New York to get away from my family, I regretted it. If I had stayed home like my dad wanted me to, they would have known I had been kidnapped. But because I was a stubborn girl who tried to survive on her own without being labeled as William Linscott’s daughter, I might never see my family again. I might be dead by the time they realized I was missing. And since I wasn’t exactly good at checking in with them as often as I should, it might be days before they started to suspect something was wrong.
My body ached, my lungs pleading for air while my tears choked every last breath out of me. It wasn’t like I wanted to cry. I hated crying. I cried for weeks after I thought Carlo had left me. I couldn’t believe I was so heartbroken over a guy I didn’t know for even two months. It wasn’t like we were on the brink of getting married or anything. We only had sex a few times, for God’s sake. But I was so in love with him, and somewhere deep inside my heart, I convinced myself that Carlo was the one. He didn’t seem to know who my family was and didn’t seem to care, which was a big bonus for me. Guys tended to swarm around me because of my surname, associating me with bank accounts filled with millions, expensive tropical vacations, trips around the world, and multi-million-dollar yachts to play on every fucking day. But Carlo, he was the first guy who didn’t seem to give a fuck about who my dad was, and that was probably why I gave him my heart so soon and why I spent hours, days, weeks crying over a guy I thought left me…a guy I didn’t know.
Carlo was there one day, whispering sweet words in my ears, and gone the next. I thought he had moved on, that he never really loved me to begin with, yet I never could come to understand what the hell happened.
Now I did. Castello made it clear what happened. Carlo was dead…and Castello thought I had something to do with it. It was absurd.
The pain, the hurt that stabbed like a thousand knives through my chest, caused more tears and sobs to erupt from my body.
Fuck!
I didn’t even know if Castello was telling the truth. Why would he lie, though? It was clear as fucking daylight that he was, in fact, Carlo’s twin. How else could the remarkable—or freaky—resemblance between them be explained?
Up until now, I tried to convince myself this was simply a sick joke and that someone would come through that door and say, “You’ve been punked, bitch.” But that goddamn finger on the other side of the bed confirmed this was not a joke, and what was happening right now was as real as it got.
I’d been kidnapped, and judging by the cold look in Castello’s eyes when he stared at me, he truly was convinced I was responsible for Carlo’s death.
Carlo’s death…
The mere thought that Carlo was dead, that he hadn’t left me like I thought, was enough to make my chest feel like it was being cracked open from the inside.
My body slid down against the wall, and I landed on my side, still crying into my arms. Shaking and cold, I couldn’t stop the fear and pain from pulsing through my veins…the grief.
More crying, more sobs.
I had no idea how long I lay there crying, thinking about all the horrible things that were probably going to happen to me. Castello and his family held me responsible for Carlo’s death—why, I didn’t know—but thinking about what they had in store for me had me shivering like it was minus twenty fucking degrees in this God-awful room.
I wasn’t a naïve person. I read the newspapers, watched the news. It was a big, cruel world we lived in. Girls got stolen and sold into slavery, and women got kidnapped, raped, and murdered every day. I just never thought I’d be one of them. These kinds of things always happened to other people, not to me, or at least that was what I thought.
For the first time in my life, I felt thankful for my father’s wealth, his power. It meant there was a much better chance for them to find me with all the resources at his disposal. But that brought forth the most important question. How long before they realize I’m gone?
An image flashed in my mind, and I lifted my head, staring at the bed. The box was still on the mattress, but I knew the finger rolled off the other side. There was something on that finger, something like the image in my head.
I pushed myself up, wiped the tears from my face, and continued to stare at the bed. Dear Lord, please don’t let it be what I think it is.
“Get a grip, Tatum,” I muttered to myself, pulling my fingers roughly through my hair, which was one tangled, dirty mess. I bent my knees, steadying my feet beneath me while I remained crouched down, pushing my palms flush against the wall behind me. I needed the support in case I was unable to keep myself up.
My heart was thrumming behind my ribs, the rush of blood causing a pounding ache in my head. Even my goddamn ears were ringing while I struggled to take a breath, feeling like my stomach and my heart were both vying for first place up and out of my throat.
I still couldn’t get that one image out of my head, and I needed to know if that was what I saw on that finger.
Slowly, I pushed myself up, my back scuffing against the wall. This was one of those situations where you could only take one step at a time, afraid the earth beneath your feet might evaporate at any moment, sending you plummeting to a big, black hole of nothing but darkness.
While putting one foot in front of the other, my heartbeat echoed in my ears as fear spread through every bone of my body. I could swear I had never trembled this much in my life.
I lifted my feet, trying to stretch myself a little higher to see if I could catch a glimpse of what I really didn’t want to see lying on the other side of that bed. I wasn’t sure my stomach would be able to handle a full front row view of a human fucking finger.
A few more steps and I stopped at the side of the bed, still not able to see it. I gently placed my hands on the mattress and eased my legs on as I climbed up, stretching my neck until finally I saw it. A finger.
A fucking finger! Oh God…
My stomach twisted, pushing bile up my throat as I stared at it. But it wasn’t so much the fact that it was a cleanly cut-off finger that made me feel violently ill, but rather the object on the finger—a ring, and not just any ring. I recognized that platinum ring with the silver L in the middle of a black square. It was the same ring my father and brother always wore, the same ring every man in the Linscott family wore.
“No.” I shook my head and pinched my eyes closed. “No. Please, God, no,” I cried as I pushed my face into the scratchy fabric of the sheets.
Is that…could that be my…?
“Recognize the ring?” a low voice boomed through the room.
I jerked up and looked at the part of the wall where I knew the door was, but there was no one there.
“Does it look familiar?”
I recognized that voice.
“What the hell is going on?” My voice sounded shaky between my tears as I searched around the room.
“I bet that tiny little mind of yours is spinning out of control right now, trying to figure out whose finger is laying on the floor.”
I got off the bed and walked backward toward the wall, still searching the room.
“You recognize the ring, don’t you?”
I glanced up at the roof. “What kind of twisted fucking game are you people playing?”
“It’s a game called cat and mouse.”
“And you think I’m the mouse?”
“By the way your body is shivering against that wall, your fear vibrating through every bone…I’d say yes, you are.”
I closed my eyes and turned my head to the side, cursing my own damn weakness. Nothing was as ins
ulting as being seen and insinuated as weak. For most of my life, everyone thought and saw me as weak because of what I did.
“So tell me, little mouse, do you recognize the ring?”
Gathering all my courage, I pushed off the wall and glanced from corner to corner of the room, knowing I was being watched. “Yes, I recognize the ring, you fucking psycho!”
“Good.”
And then the loud sound of air escaping a tube resonated from the wall, and I lurched back, pushing myself against the cold concrete. Suddenly, I regretted insulting that familiar voice.
The door finally opened and revealed the same man I met earlier. The sight of him made my heart ache and my body tremble at the same damn time. It was because he looked so much like him, reminding me of what I’d lost, making me long for someone I was now led to believe was dead. Carlo…
Castello stepped in, looking both bold and debonair in his black suit. His midnight hair was perfectly styled just like before, his chiseled jaw painted with a short, well-groomed beard. Everything about him screamed sophistication, power, and with his dark eyes etched on me…hate. I couldn’t miss the darkness that lay hidden behind that perfect face…a face I knew so well yet didn’t.
He straightened his shirt sleeves beneath his jacket. “Did you like my gift, Miss Linscott?”
“Is that what you call it?”
He smirked. “What would you call it?”
“I don’t know. A token, a memento of torture, or murder.” The words left a bitter taste in my mouth, and the way his smirk remained on his face, he wasn’t fazed one little bit by the fact that I just insinuated he was a murderer…because he probably was a murderer.
He stepped closer, and I tried to move back, but my body was already flush against the wall.
“I’m afraid our conversation earlier didn’t go quite as I had planned. So let’s try again, shall we?” He stopped about two feet away, and his scent instantly enveloped me. For some reason, I expected him to have the same black pepper, spicy scent Carlo used to have, the same smell that used to linger on my sheets after he left in the morning—which was probably why I was caught off guard when I caught a whiff of Castello’s unfamiliar scent. It smelled like a mix of amber, peppermint, and some earthy smell, like cedarwood. The scent would have been good, even alluring, if it weren’t so tainted with the evil reeking from his pores.
Not once did I take my eyes off him, mostly because I couldn’t. The resemblance between him and Carlo was astonishing. It was like he was there, Carlo, standing two feet away and staring at me with his dark eyes. The only difference, there was a hatred in Castello’s eyes as he stared at me, a red hot rage burning like a threat behind those dark irises. It sent a chill straight to my core.
I swallowed hard. “What exactly about our conversation didn’t go as you had planned?”
He tilted his head to the side, his scrutinizing gaze pinning me harder against the wall. “I didn’t expect lies to spurt out of your mouth so easily.”
I narrowed my eyes. “What lies?”
“The lies about not knowing that Carlo had a brother…me.”
“I didn’t know.”
He stepped closer, his tall frame casting a shadow over me. “And the lie about him supposedly pretending not to be a Fattore.”
“That’s not a lie, either. He didn’t supposedly pretend; he did pretend. He told me his name was Carlo Mancini.”
Another step, his gaze grazing across my face. “You’re a liar.”
“I have no reason to lie.”
“Oh, I beg to differ.”
“Tell me what it is I have to gain by lying. You drugged me, kidnapped me, robbed me of my clothes, and left me a goddamn finger in a fucking box!”
I didn’t realize I was shouting until the last word left my mouth. Immediately, I bit my lower lip, and all he did was stare at me, completely unfazed by my outburst. For a moment, I wasn’t sure if I should fear the absolute coolness he was presenting, especially after the anger he showed earlier. Then he took another step, coming so close I could feel his breath on my cheeks.
“It would be wise of you to speak to me with respect, little mouse.” He placed his hand against the wall right above my shoulder, leaning closer. “Like you said, I kidnapped you and left you a finger in a box, so what else do you think I’m capable of?”
Shivers ran down my spine, and I closed my eyes, desperate to push back the tears.
He placed his other hand next to my head, casing me in between him and the wall, leaving me with nowhere to go.
“Do not underestimate me during our time together, Miss Linscott. It would only make this experience so much harder for you, and the only thing you will accomplish by underestimating me with your lies is to piss me off. You don’t want that, Miss Linscott.”
I opened my eyes, staring into the black depths of his, the scar above his right eye clearly visible this close up.
“You already seem pissed off to me.” I didn’t mean to whisper. Those words were meant to sound strong, bold, determined, yet they sounded anything but.
He continued to stare down at me, the corners of his lips curling up in a wicked smirk. “Believe me, Miss Linscott, you haven’t seen me pissed off…yet.”
He pushed his hands off the wall and took a step back, allowing me to take a breath. It was like his presence sucked all the oxygen out of the room, making it impossible to breathe right.
I leaned my head against the wall. “Why did you put that finger in a box for me to see?”
“It’s a warning.”
“A warning for what?”
“The better question is a warning to whom.”
I studied his face without saying a word. I wouldn’t fall in his trap by letting him coax me into playing his little game.
One of his dark eyebrows slanted upward when he realized I wasn’t going to ask.
“That ring, Miss Linscott, belonged to the man your father hired to kill my brother.”
I couldn’t stop the soft gasp from coming out of my mouth, and he smiled with pure amusement. “You seem surprised.”
“My father didn’t hire anyone.”
“Are you sure about that, Miss Linscott? How much do you actually know about your father’s business? About how he runs his empire?”
The way he cocked his head to the side, the smug grin on his face, he knew when it came to my father and his business, I knew nothing. I chose to know nothing. All I wanted was my drawings, my art, getting lost in my own world of colors, contours, and my vivid imagination. My father never understood my love for drawing, always trying to sway me to go to college so I could end up working for him like my brother. But when an internship at a huge art studio in New York came my way, there was no way I could say no. So to answer his question, I didn’t know anything about my father and Linscott Resources other than the company made my family millions.
He smiled. “As I suspected. You don’t know a fucking thing. Let me enlighten you, then.” He started pacing leisurely in front of me, rubbing his chin with his fingers. “Your father has an entire legion of men working for him. So while he sits there on his Linscott throne, he hires the more inferior men to do his dirty work for him.” He stopped and turned to look at me. “And in this case, the dirty work was killing my brother. In turn, the hired murderer got a hefty paycheck and a very snazzy ring—as you could see.” He glanced down at the finger before looking back at me.
I shook my head. “It doesn’t make sense. Why would my father want Carlo dead in the first place?”
“That, little mouse, is something I was hoping you could answer.”
“There’s just no motive,” I muttered, more to myself than to him.
His dark eyes moved, his gaze slowly going down my body. “I see plenty of motive right here in front of me.”
“My dad never even met Carlo. So why would he want him dead?”
Castello’s gaze was pinned on mine, and he stared at me, unblinking, like whatever I said made absolut
ely no sense to him. Well, the feeling was mutual, since none of this was making any damn sense to me, either.
He tilted his head. “You really don’t know why, do you?”
I pulled my hands through my greasy hair, biting back more threatening tears. “I swear to God, I really have no idea. You have it all wrong, Castello. My father didn’t have Carlo killed. There’s no motive for him to want to do that.”
“That you know of.”
Silence enveloped us, our gazes locked on one another. It was the heaviest, loudest silence I ever had to endure, the only sound that of my rapidly beating heart.
“You said the finger was a warning for someone. I take it that someone is me?” I asked softly.
“Oh, no, Miss Linscott. Having you trapped in this little room against your will is warning enough for now, don’t you think?”
My heart skipped a beat. “For now?”
All he did was smile, the darkness in his eyes speaking volumes.
“The warning is for your father, Tatum.”
“Then why give it to me?”
He stepped closer—much, much closer—his scent bombarding my senses again. “Who do you think will receive the rest of that hand?”
My stomach fell to the ground, my spine feeling like it was about to fail me, sending me plummeting to the floor.
“My father,” I whispered. That meant my family did know I had been kidnapped, that my dad knew about all this. Besides the fact that this entire situation turned from scary to insanely twisted, there was a glimmer of hope burning deep inside my mind.
My family knows…which means they will come for me…soon.
Castello started laughing. Right in my face, he laughed like a goddamn maniac.
“You think he’s going to come for you now, don’t you? You think your father knows I have you and that he will come to rescue his little princess any second?” He lifted his hand and traced a finger across my jaw. “You see, Tatum, I wanted to make sure I had enough time with you before shit got crazy, which is why that hand won’t be sent for another seventy-two hours.”
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