Dark Redeemer by Raven Scott
6
Angela
I’ve been sitting by the window all day, getting up only to use the toilet, or to stretch my legs, or to drink some water from the tap. While I haven’t eaten, I remember reading somewhere that a person can only last maybe three days without water, and it’s a terrible death, so I force myself to drink. But starving, it’s something that comes easy to me. I never really did have a big appetite, and in the past I’ve often forgotten to eat when I was absorbed by a book or movie, or learning a new song on the piano.
I sigh, thinking about my pianist days. It’s been so long since I’ve even touched a real instrument. Papa sold the baby grand ages ago: said it reminded him too much of Mamma…
It’s dark outside now and I watch the crescent moon shimmer on the ocean waves. I’ve left the room light turned off: I don’t want to be reminded of my prison. I’d rather be surrounded by darkness.
My door bursts open and I turn around as the light flicks on. My well-built kidnapper stands in the doorway, carrying a plate of what looks like risotto. He’s wearing his usual balaclava, but he’s swapped his black outfit for a long-sleeved white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled back. His forearms are covered in dark tattoos. For some reason I’m reminded of my Massimo hallucination at the Ippodromo, I guess because in my vision, Massimo had tattoos as well. They were obviously very different than these, however.
The front collar is open in front, and I can see more ink rising up from his chest, complex curlicues reaching for his throat. Even his hands are tattooed, which partially explains why he wore gloves earlier: fewer visuals to identify him with. I have a hunch he got them in prison, because I’ve only ever seen ink like that on a few of my father’s henchmen, guards who did some serious time.
I take a deep breath, preparing to enact my plan, but something seems off about him. He looks angry enough to kill, like one of my father’s Rottweilers left hungry too long. A Rottweiler… I think of the dogs my kidnapper sicced on me, and shiver.
He doesn’t seem to have any weapons though, and there’s no sign of a gun, so there’s that going for me. Maybe I’ll be able to do this after all.
His eyes descend to the uneaten tray of food and he scoops up the pasta plate angrily. He throws it into the hallway behind him and the plate shatters loudly when it hits the floor, making me jump. When he turns his gaze back upon me, his eyes are no longer his own. They’ve been replaced not by a Rottweiler’s, but a wolf’s: icy, blue, and full of hunger. Or rage, one of the two. With him, they seem almost one and the same. The question is, what is he hungry for…
But I already know.
He slams the door behind him and crosses the room in two long strides. He brutally shoves the plate into my face.
“You will eat,” his voice is barely above a whisper, but I can hear the danger in his tone.
I smell the risotto and my mouth waters. Despite myself I reach, trembling, for the plate. But then I snap my hand back as if I’ve been stung.
“No,” I say, my voice coming out a mere squeak. I’m trembling like crazy.
He lowers his arm, then shakily sets the plate down on the nightstand. I have the impression he was a hair’s breadth away from smashing the meal to the floor like the other plate, and the only way to stop himself was by setting it down.
“Why?” When I don’t answer, he steps back, seemingly with great effort. When he speaks again, his voice returns to its normal volume, though it still has that false tone to it, like he’s purposely dropping it an octave. “I don’t really care. It’s your choice if you want to starve to death. Don’t drink the water either, if you want. I’m happy to see you suffer.”
“Why do you want me to suffer?” I ask. “I thought you wanted to ransom me off? Have to keep the package in good condition…”
“Because all of this is your fault,” he tells me. “All of it.”
I shake my head, utterly confused. “What are you talking about? You’re the one who kidnapped me!”
“And so I am.” He looks me up and down, the hunger in his eyes rising above all else, becoming a glint of obvious lust. Of sheer want. I shrink involuntarily from that gaze, but then remind myself I can use it to my advantage.
Before I can act upon my thoughts, he sighs and retreats to the bed, sitting opposite my slipper chair. He’s calmed down.
I suppose now’s the time to act. I can go to him, initiate my plan.
But I can’t bring myself to do it.
I’m not ready.
"Has my father made an offer yet?" I ask in an attempt to delay the inevitable.
"He has not,” the big man replies gruffly.
I narrow my eyes. ”Does he even know I’m still alive?”
My kidnapper shrugs.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” I tell him.
His balaclava shifts, and I imagine he’s baring his teeth in a cruel smile underneath it. “What? Torturing your father, driving him crazy with worry? You bet. We sent him a finger with the kidnapping note. I’m sure he’s assumed the worst by now.”
“You’re a cruel bastard,” I tell him coldly.
The big man nods, seeming satisfied. “That I am. And don’t you forget it. Just imagine what I’ll do to you if you disobey me. Maybe I’ll send him one of your fingers for real.”
I shudder, looking away from those mocking eyes. In that moment, I believe him. Completely.
Still staring at my hands, I ask the same question I did earlier, one he didn’t answer. “Are you working for the Rizzos?”
He answers. “No, I’m not working for the Rizzos.”
“But you are a mobster, though,” I say into the silence that follows. “In your own right. You wouldn’t own such a beautiful vineyard otherwise. And you wouldn’t have the men to pull off a kidnapping stunt like this.”
His head bobs up and down in agreement.
I wait, not expecting him to say more, but to my surprise he opens up. “You’re going to be auctioned off to the highest bidder in Palermo. We’ve sent a message not just to your father, but all the big families in the city. It’s possible your dear father will come through for you, but also possible, even likely, that you’ll end up with someone else.”
“My father will come through,” I insist. “Whatever you ask, he’ll pay.”
“Oh really?” my kidnapper taunts. “I guess you haven’t learned how the world works yet. Especially not the mafia world. You’re one of those sheltered princesses, blissfully unaware of what your family does?”
“I’m aware,” I say. “I just prefer not to involve myself in it.”
“Are you sure that’s your preference?” he teases. “And not something your father has forced on you?”
I cross my arms. I don’t answer, because he’s hit close to home. My father has always shielded me from the dark side of the family business. I’m not sure if it’s because he thinks I couldn’t handle it, or because he didn’t want to ruin my innocence. Well, in any case, my so-called innocence has already been ruined by this kidnapping. And it will be lost completely after I do what I plan.
Yup, it’s not going to be pretty. But I have to do it.
“Either way,” my kidnapper continues. “Your father will probably be happy to let you go when he sees the starting bid. He’s not going to bankrupt himself to save you.”
“You’re wrong,” I tell him. “For the Amatos, family is everything. Above power, above control, about money. He’ll give it all up to get me back.”
Again, the mouth region shifts as if my kidnapper is smiling. “Oh, I wish you were right. But think about it. He was willing to marry you to Vittorio Rizzo. The Cleaver. Just to stave off a war. At least that’s what I heard on the grapevine. True?”
I nod. “It’s true enough. But that was to protect my family. My brothers.”
“No, it was to protect your business,” the big man says. “Of which your brothers are only a small part. So, it stands to reason that if you weren’t needed to avoid war with the Rizzos, he would have married you off to another family instead. All in the name of the family business. Maybe to form an alliance with the Schieras so he can get access to their seaport. Or perhaps the Balderas, in exchange for their race horses. I mean come on, if a don had offered your papa thirty million Euros for you to marry his son, you think he would have refused? No. Just like your papa won’t pay thirty million Euros to get you back.”
My jaw drops open. “Is that how much you’re going to ask for the starting bid?” I don’t know if my family’s net worth is even that high.
He shrugs. “We’ll see.”
“When does bidding start?” I ask.
“I don’t know.” He glances at the risotto. “Look, what good is it going to do to starve yourself? You’ll just make yourself weaker. You want to keep trying to escape, don’t you? How can you escape if you don’t have any energy? Eat, signorina.”
“Maybe tomorrow.” I look him in the eyes. ”I don't even know your name.."
“Nor will you know it,” he says. “Trust me, it’s better this way.” His voice catches as those latter words leave his lips, as if it’s painful for him to say them. But why would it hurt?
As I continue to gaze into his haunted eyes, I start reciting self-affirmations in my head to build up the courage I’ll need.
I can do this.
Just start walking toward him.
I’m strong.
Just put one foot in front of the other.
I will escape.
I will save my father.
I glance at the tray next to the door. He still hasn’t noticed the missing knife. I was very careful when I took it, well aware that there could be hidden cameras watching. My plan is still a go.
Taking a deep breath, followed by a hard swallow, I stand.
I slowly step toward him, and his eyes follow my every move. When I reach up toward the buttons of my blouse, his gaze seems confused at first. But as I undo the top button, those icy eyes widen with amusement, and I feel a jolt of embarrassment, and my cheeks fill with heat.
He doesn’t want me.
I resist the urge to stop. I want to retreat to a corner and just cry. But I have to keep going. I have to try.
I open the second button, then the third. All the while I keep walking slowly toward where he’s sitting on the bed. I can’t help but feel clumsy as hell. I’ve never attempted to seduce anyone before, and I have no doubt it shows. I mean, who was there to seduce? I’ve only ever kissed one guy in my life, and he vanished shortly after that.
My fingers brush against the pendant I’m wearing, which I revealed by unbuttoning the blouse. I realize he’s staring at it, and the amusement has been replaced by a mixture of sadness and anger. Everything is always about anger with him. The sadness, I’m not so sure about.
I have no idea why some old necklace would have that effect on him, but I can’t have him drifting away on me. I need him completely distracted.
So, to draw his attention away from the pendant, I pull down the open collar of my blouse even lower, so that my bra is bared.
It has the desired effect. His eyes widen and he gazes directly at my chest. I have no doubt my face is completely red at this point, and probably the rest of my body, but I press on.
I pull the collar lower so that he has a good view of my bra, and then I sit right on his lap, shoving my breasts into his face. I should take my bra off, but I can’t bring myself to.
I can feel his hard cock pressing into me once more, and I can smell him… cigarettes, musk, aftershave. His cock, and the lust in his eyes, tell me he’s barely restraining himself, like a dam struggling to hold back a sea of desire.
My heart’s pounding in my chest, not with passion, but fear. I’m doing my best to mask it, and I dearly hope he doesn’t notice.
I touch his hand and I’m struck by how familiar his fingers feel. I shove the thought inside, focusing on what I need to do. I wrap my fingers around his and draw his hand to me, cupping his palm around my breast.
Finally the dam breaks and he loses control.
Before I can react he slips his hand inside my bra and pinches and rolls my nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Despite myself, I feel my nipple harden as my body responds to his touch.
Apparently he takes that as a sign to keep going, because he leans forward, pulling his mask above his defined jawline, freeing his lips; then he takes my areola into his mouth and sucks vigorously.
I’m almost enjoying this. Almost. My confused body certainly is.
I remind myself that I’m his prisoner. I remind myself of the plan. He’s distracted and now’s my chance.
I reach back with one hand and produce the knife from the back pocket of my jeans. I don’t intend to hurt him, of course. Just hold the knife to his throat and swap roles, the captive becoming the captor.
But he’s not so distracted by my body as I thought, because as I lift the weapon to his neck, he catches my wrist.
His teeth still surround my nipple, and he bites down slightly, causing a stab of pain. I’m not sure if it’s purposeful, or an unconscious reaction to the knife.
He lets my breast slide from his mouth, and when his gaze reaches my own, the hunger seems only to have increased, as if what I just did turns him on immensely. I think it’s because of the rage I see mixed in, somehow amplifying his desire. I find myself terrified of what he’s going to do to me.
He squeezes tighter and twists my wrist so painfully that I’m forced to drop the knife onto the bed.
Honestly, I don’t know what the hell I was thinking. Of course I’m not going to be able to overpower a man like him.
Stupid stupid stupid.
I blame it on not eating all day.
Without thinking, I reach out with my free hand and wrap my fingers around the bottom of the balaclava, which rests squarely on his jaw.
“No!” he says.
I yank upward, ripping off the mask.
For a moment, I simply stare at the beautiful man before me. That tousled, short-cropped blond hair. Those chiseled, almost aristocratic features. The shocked eyes, and the amazing eyelashes around them.
I’m looking at a ghost. It can’t be possible.
He let’s go of me.
I blink several times, and when the ghost doesn’t vanish, I drop the balaclava I’m still holding and quickly slide off of him. I back away, distractedly repositioning my bra and buttoning up my blouse.
When the slipper chair hits the back of my legs, I collapse onto it. Hurt and disbelief consume me. So it was him I’d seen in the Ippodromo shortly before I was kidnapped.
“Massimo?” I tell him. “No…” I swallow. “How could you?” I look him in the eyes and I see the shame there. “How could you do this?”
Massimo Moretti. He’s the last person I expected my kidnapper to be. The last.
“I hate you,” I tell him. “With all my heart and soul.”
The shock and shame on his face instantly transform at those words, replaced with fury. “Good. Because I hate you too!”
He picks up the knife from the bed, and stands, towering over me.
I cower beneath him, shivering.
“You wanted to cut me, did you?” he asks coldly.
“No,” I whimper. “I wasn’t going to hurt you.”
“Liar,” he says. “You’re just like your father.”
He takes a step toward me and I shrink back into the chair, trying to make myself as small as possible…
The rage has consumed him, and I don’t recognize Massimo anymore. He’s become someone else. Not the boy I used to know, but the monster who kidnapped me. The monster who’ll hurt me now because I dared lift a kitchen knife toward him.
“Please,” I tell him. “I just wanted to escape.”
“I already told you there is no escape for you,” he says. He no longer tries to alter the pitch of his voice. What’s the point? Still, his voice sounds deeper than I remember it. More malevolent. “I told you every time you try to escape, that’s one more family member you’ll lose. But you not only tried to escape, you tried to stab me. So that’s two family members gone. Plus, you tore off your ankle tracker. Oh yes… you think I didn’t know? So we’re up to three family members. In addition to your father.”
“No,” I tell him, unable to help the tears that fall.
“And I’m going to punish you directly for this,” he says. “Right now. So you remember not to do it again.”
I close my eyes as he brings the knife closer to my face. I just sit there, trembling. He used to be so good-hearted. So beautiful. Now, he’s just evil embodied.
I flinch when his knuckles brush the back of my face. I feel the knife sliding into place behind my ear. I wonder if he’s going to cut it off, or just nick the skin at the top. I hope it’s not too painful. I hope—
And then I feel a tug against my scalp and sense him moving backward.
I open my eyes. He’s cut away a lock of hair.
“Something else to send your father,” he says mockingly. “In case he realizes the finger isn’t yours. But your hair he’ll know.”
He smells the lock and then shoves it into his pocket.
He turns to go, and pauses at the entrance to retrieve the tray. He left the risotto on the nightstand but I’m definitely not hungry now.
When the door closes and I hear the lock click, I slump in the chair.
Oh Massimo, what have you done?