07

Behind her, there is a hallway. I see two men, dressed in formal suits, enter an office. I storm past the secretary, who immediately jumps to her feet, and stride down the hallway.

I’m ready to enter the office when I hear voices talking, low, harsh.

« The Angel is looking for something now, » says one. Deep, rich. « I want to know what it is, and I want it first. He can’t have it. »

« Sir, I’m doing my best, but I’m worried she’s going to catch on― »

It sounds familiar. It sounds like Dante Rosso’s voice.

Before he can say more, the secretary grabs my arm. Her face is red, fearful, and I don’t protest as she drags me back to the front.

« The most I can do, » she says in a quivering, trembling tone, « is to give you an appointment with Lunetta herself. »

I nod quickly, but I’m still thinking of the voice I heard.

They were talking about Angel. The last Falcone, Vittoria said. Whoever he is, he must be powerful, if those men wanted what he had.

But the second voice . . . Dante’s.

No, it couldn’t be. Dante would still be in class. Now, I know I’m hearing things that aren’t true.

But still I can’t forget.

My phone gives a sharp, short buzz. I look down.

Unknown number

Leave your hair down. I like it better that way.

Sent at 11 :27 a.m.

MY FOOTSTEPS ARE LOUD against the cobblestone.

As far as I can see, I’m the only here in the square. The West part of this city is empty, Vittoria told me―except for the mob. The only people that come here are the Mafia, and . . . well, me.

Could Violetta and Dominic be part of the Mafia ? One of the three families ?

They’re barely older than I am, but Dominic’s brusque treatment, his cold distrust―could that be a hint ? The Mafia are fiercely protective of their own, but anyone who’s a stranger is worthless. But then I think of Violetta, and how could she possibly be part of a group that bloodthirsty, that cruel ?

The West Fountain isn’t on. In fact, it looks as though it’s been depleted for years. But I sit down next to it. I can’t help checking my phone.

11 :55 p.m.

I remember the text message from earlier. Wear your hair down. I like it better that way. That subtle flirting―could it really be Violetta ?

She must have meant it in a friendly way.

I wait for the clock to tick closer to midnight. My hands are shaking, but I steady them by clutching the hem of the shirt. I didn’t respond to any of the text messages, but I am wearing my hair down―so she knows I got them.

For a moment, I wonder at the secrecy. Why couldn’t they met me in broad daylight at a cafe ? What would have been suspicious ? But I don’t blame them for the extra protective measures. We robbed the museum twice.

The thought of the money, the fifty percent cut Violetta promised, is enough to make my heart race. If I didn’t need Nathan anymore . . .

But I don’t have it yet. And it can’t be that easy. Nathan and I―severing that tie―it would take much more than money.

Don’t think you can run, he whispered. Wherever you go, I can find you. I’ll always find you.

I shake my head, and the thought of Nathan disappears. The clock ticks. 11 :59 p.m.

Breathe, I tell myself.

At midnight, nothing happens. I grip the edge of the fountain, and the weathered concrete digs into my palms.

Where is she ?

Relax. I heard her talking to Dominic. She hadn’t known I was listening, but she’d still defended me. She wouldn’t leave me here, after telling me where to go. Could Dominic have convinced her otherwise ?

I check my phone again. 12 :01 a.m.

It’s the last thing I see before darkness is shoved over my eyes.

« Hey ! » I shout, my voice muffled against a thick fabric. A bag―someone must have stuffed a bag over my face. « Hey ! Stop ! »

My arms are twisted roughly behind me, and I double over. Arms snake around my waist, thick, strong arms. I’m lifted off my feet.

I can hear a car door open. Slam closed. I’m thrown onto a seat, and it smells like leather even though the bag.

My heart pounds wildly against my chest. Trap. Trap.

Was it Violetta ? Could she have known ?

My screaming is harsh, but it’s not loud enough. The air in the car is cool, and I hear the tires squeal against the cobblestone as we take off through the city.

The Mafia-infested side of the city.

My heart squeezes in my chest. If the Mafia have me, I’ll never be free.

This time, I try a different tactic. « Violetta ! Violetta ! »

The rough, harsh men’s voices fade into silence. Are they surprised ? Shocked ? I struggle harder, and I even try shouting, « Dominic ! »

Is this doing anything ?

But then a hand clutches my hair through the bag. « I’m right here, » Dominic breathes, his whisper hot against my neck.

I lash my head back, and I hear a sickening crack and a groan.

« She broke my nose, » he mutters. His fingers clench my hair, tight, but he releases me. My head thuds back on the seat.

Dominic is here. Dominic betrayed me.

But no. There was nothing to betray. Dominic had never liked me from the start, and I was stupid enough to trust him. Or, at least, I trusted Violetta.

She must be here, too. She must know about this.

I can’t cry now, but I can feel the hot press of tears. I didn’t tell anyone where I was going, not even Vittoria.

But then I remember my phone, in my back pocket.

If I can get a message to her, she’ll find me.

The moment isn’t right, though. I can’t see anything, and if I reveal my one card, it’ll be gone. But this involves waiting. Waiting until they take me to their destination.

What’s the number one rule of kidnapping ?

Never let your attacker take you somewhere else.

But I can’t play my card―not now.

Helpless, I sink deeper into the seat. Screaming won’t help me, but―

Can I listen ? To where we’re going ?

I missed the first ten minutes of the trip, but I silence myself now. The car swerves―right, I think. Straight. I can hear the sound of cheering.

The car makes a sharp turn. Right again.

This time, gunshots.

Next is left.

« The Angel is waiting for her, » says a low voice. « Drive faster. »

« I know what I’m doing. »

The car makes a sudden stop. But it continues, accelerating the speed.

I make a mental note in my mind. Right. Right. Left. Right. Left . . . straight, straight, keep going straight . . . right. Left. Stop. Left.

When the car makes a sudden screech to a halt, I hold my breath.

The car door slides open, and I’m dragged out. The rough arms encircle me, tight around my body. I start to flail, thrash, scream, but the bag is ripped off my head immediately.

« Sweetheart ? » I’m looking into Dominic’s face, the chiseled edges, the dark eyes. « Buona notte. » Then he presses a rag over my mouth.

It smells bittersweet. A cloying perfume.

I may be an art major, but the scent of chloroform is something I can never forget.

My eyes widen as I realize what he’s trying to do. I gasp―realizing too late my mistake. I breathe shallowly against the cloth, trying to shake my head, buck my body backwards.

But as the darkness beckons, sweet fingers cool against my skin, I look up.

I can see nothing but Dominic’s narrowed eyes. And the night sky above us, violet and speckled with dimmed stars.

It was a trap, I think. It was all a trap.

My eyes close.