Italian King by Zoe Beth Geller
Juliet
Ava was out all day yesterday and is totally enthralled with her date, which from what I can gather included a trip back to his apartment for some hot, sweaty sex. Now, she is in my room looking at the clothes I bought on my mini spree. I’m glad to see that she approves of them.
“I’m in a dry spell. I hope these clothes help.”
Ava picks up the short minidress I bought at a trendy but not too expensive boutique. It fit perfectly, so I had to buy it. I put it on my charge card and figure I’ll get a job in the next few weeks as I managed to fill out a few applications on my way to the shop.
“This is adorable,” she exclaims.
That’s probably her code for ‘it’s so unlike you to wear something like this’, but I’ll take it as a compliment because I can’t remember the last time I had one.
It’s Sunday and the church bells are chiming as a mass is starting around the corner. It’s one of the few things that hasn’t changed in Italy. Thank God something has stayed the same, even if these days the bell-ringers have been replaced by electrical timers. It’s still a comforting and familiar sound.
I’m also sure it’s one of the last things tourists will forget when they get on the plane bound for home, laden with their physical souvenirs.
“I don’t know why I bought this dress, Ava, I have nowhere to wear it.”
“So, we’ll have to go out to a club!”
“All right. We have to be careful though, they can be dangerous.”
“So I’ve heard, but we’ll be together.”
“Yeah,” and I realize I haven’t been out in months and that I need to kick up my heels.
“Well, I’m grabbing a coffee with my date from yesterday, so I’ll be back in a few hours. Ciao.”
“Sure, have fun,” I smile. I love that she has started using ‘ciao’. She’s sweet, and I hope she doesn’t get her heart broken. Italian men do that all the time.
I put my new dress on. I’m not sure why except it’s a shame to spend so much money and have it hang in my closet. I’ll just go walking down the strip and maybe grab a sandwich at my favorite shop. I’ll follow up on the jobs tomorrow.
I take care to apply makeup like I’ve seen Ava do, but not using nearly as much, and I definitely don’t put on mascara to make my lashes appear long and alluring. Mine are way too short.
I do, however, take time to outline my lips before applying red lipstick and am pleased at the difference it makes. Then I strap on my low-heeled sandals, grab my tiny purse and phone, and walk to the courtyard.
I’m in my own head and bump into the gorgeous stranger from the other day as I’m zipping my purse shut.
“Oh! I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Ah, I met you a few days ago.”
“Yes, I remember. Mister . . .” I pause as I’m terrible at names.
“Micheli, but you can call me Dante.”
“Dante.” I let his name roll off my lips like it’s melted gelato. Of course, he would have a sexy name to go with that smoking physique and smoldering eyes.
“Juliet, Juliet Accordi.” I extend my hand as it seems appropriate.
“Yes, I remember. How could I forget?” He takes my hand in his slender one and I notice he has a tan and that his hands are soft. His touch stirs my body in places I’m not familiar with. Now, they’ve suddenly let their presence be known.
“I was just stopping by to see my friend, but I realize he’s probably not here today. I mean, I didn’t call ahead. Would you like to grab a coffee?”
“Sure,” I say, mesmerized, and I follow him out into the street, where he leads the way.
We walk down a street I’ve never been on before. It’s not very populated. The lizard part of my brain says this street and situation might be dangerous, but my body is telling me to follow this man to the ends of the earth.
“Are we almost there?”
“Yes.”
Before I even know what has happened, I find myself with a mesh coffee sack over my head and I’m being stuffed inside a vehicle. I thrash out in full-blown panic, throwing my hands and legs around, trying to kick anyone and get to freedom until I feel a stab in my arm and my eyes grow heavy. I try to stay awake to figure out where I’m headed as my head slumps against the back of the van’s metal wall.
When I come to,I have a blinding headache. As my eyes focus I can see I’m in an amazing wine cellar that looks more like a comfy den than a basement. Even the original cement floor is nicely tiled. I feel zip ties around my wrists, and my ankles are tied to a wooden chair.
As my consciousness tunes in, I can hear men talking behind me softly and I listen, shifting a little in the seat to get more comfortable, but they hear me.
“Hello,” a man says to me as he lifts water to my lips.
I refuse to take it. It could have drugs in it.
He reads me loud and clear. “Relax, it’s only water. I can’t have you dehydrated.”
“I don’t believe you. You already knocked me out once.” My throat is dry, and my voice is still groggy.
“Sorry about that,” he replies, but his face looks incapable of empathy of any kind.
“My body hurts. How long have I been here like this?”
“A few hours,” the man says. He has a greying beard and is calm, in total control. I’m not going to be able to talk my way out of this or make friends with my captor.
“My parents will look for me,” I venture, even though they have no idea I’m missing.
“Oh, we’re counting on that,” he sneers as he lifts the paper cup of water to my lips. Drugs or not, I take a drink because I’m thirsty.
“What do you mean?”
The man leaves without another word.
I’m left alone in the cellar. How long have I been here? More importantly, when I will be allowed to move? I try to stay calm. There’s no point in screaming, I’m sure I’m deep enough in the basement that nobody will hear me and all it will accomplish is waste my energy and piss off my captors. I notice the dusty bottles of wine and I can tell this collection is worth a king’s . . .
Ransom. Is that what they’re doing with me?
That makes no sense. My parents aren’t worth lots of money. We get by, but that’s it. They save and work very hard. If these guys want money, they have the wrong girl.
A door behind me opens and I hear the heel of a man’s dress shoe ring against the tile, but I don’t strain my neck to turn. I remain still, waiting for him to reveal himself. My heart beats faster with every minute that passes, not knowing what’s going to happen.
I hate being out of control. I’ve planned out my life and there is little room for things that don’t belong, like being held captive, and I have to assume Dante is part of it as he made no attempt to rescue me.
Then he appears in front of me.
“What the fuck is wrong with you? Coffee and you kidnap me?”
I want to kick him in the nuts, but my legs are still tied, and I’ll only hurt myself.
“Untie me,” I demand, staring into simmering hazel eyes that don’t flinch.
I refuse to look away under his discerning scrutiny, so I zero my eyes in on his. Even though I’m still tired and my body feels like a sack of potatoes, I refuse to look away first. I’ve watched lots of American shows about killers and I know to try to make friends with them, find a way to humanize myself so I’ll have better chance of survival.
“Sorry, can’t do that yet. Do you know who your father is?”
“Of course, I do. He lives in Greve, he’s the town butcher, why do you ask?”
“That’s not your father.”
I let out a grim chuckle. “You’re a stranger and you think you know who my dad is, and it’s not my dad? It doesn’t seem like you did your homework.”
“Oh, that we did. All we need is a DNA test to prove it. The person you call your dad isn’t your father.”
He is completely and utterly sincere. In a flash, it leads me to doubt everything I’ve always known to be true, and I’m confused. Who could possibly be my parents, if not the parents I’ve known my entire life?
“Did you never wonder why you might be an only child?” He pulls a chair from an antique desk in the corner that’s sitting on what I assume is an antique rug, judging by the stitching and colors in it. They don’t make rugs like that anymore.
“No. But my wrists are growing numb and my legs hurt.”
“Sorry about that.” He pulls the chair close to me and turns it backwards so he can straddle it as he leans in, taking a closer look at me.
If he means to intimidate me, he has the wrong girl. However, his presence is felt when he moves. It’s been hours since I was taken, but his suit is fresh and perfect.
Just like his sexy body and handsome face.
“What do you want? My parents don’t have money.”
“Not the people who raised you, but the father who sired you. Now, he has a kingdom and more money than you can imagine.”
“What the . . . sired? You make me feel like a racehorse. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The first man returns and hands him a phone. “Cloned, and it’s clean.”
Fuck. Just when I need technology the most, it’s been wiped clean so I can’t be located by GPS. Clearly, this isn’t their first kidnapping.
“What is it you’re after?” I hope to God this isn’t a sex trafficking ring. That would be . . . I don’t even want to think about it.
“We’re after your biological father. Did you never wonder why your complexion is different than your parents?”
Dante pulls out a family picture of us from a month ago and holds it at the top, dangling it in front of my eyes.
“How did you get that?”
“We’ll get into details later. So, you’re saying you were never told you were adopted?”
My eyebrows come to peaks. “What?”
“Adopted,” he smugly replies, putting the picture back in his breast pocket. He stands up abruptly, flicks the chair back to the desk, whips around to face me, and in three long strides, he’s within inches of my face.
Damn if he isn’t intimidating, yet I fight the urge to turn away.
He peers into my eyes, reading me, and apparently, he’s satisfied. Perhaps I’m imagining it, but I think his tone softens just the tiniest bit as he studies me and contemplates what I know and don’t know.
“You really don’t know, do you?”
“No idea what you’re talking about.” I want to headbutt him because he’s that close to me, but I’m afraid I’d knock myself out if he’s as hard-headed as his attitude. “Now, can you cut me loose and let me go home?”
He nods to the first man, who comes out of the shadows behind me and snips the zip ties. “Nothing foolish or you’ll be back in them for days,” he warns.
The stranger unties my feet, and Dante helps me stand.
The saying is, be careful what you wish for. Sometimes I’ve wished I had a more eventful life, but I never imagined this in my wildest dreams.