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Gianna

"Let me out of here!" I can't even say the bad word when I'm kidnapped. It's the politeness I learned as a child. My mother always said never to use that word, no matter how upset I was. But I don't think she ever imagined being held against her will.

On the bright side, I haven't seen my kidnapper since he put something over my face that smelled sweet, probably ether. It happened two days ago, I think, because I've seen two nights pass through the skylight. I woke up with a terrible headache after he grabbed me as I walked home from the bus stop in Palermo. It was late, but there were still people around, until he came out from behind a telephone booth. I'm sure he wore a black mask, had a thick neck, broad shoulders, was overweight, and not very tall. I tried to yell, but whatever was on the cloth he held over my mouth knocked me out right away.

They bring food twice a day, and there's a small bathroom with water, though it's not warm. At least I can wash up and stay hydrated. But I really need a proper shower. And I need to get out of here soon. If I don't, I'll miss my first big performance as the lead in Beauty and the Beast, opening in two days in Palermo.

I bang on the door again. "Let me out, you... you... jerk." Is that the best insult I can come up with? Who even says jerk anymore? I do, I guess. I heard Sister Mary use it once when she didn't know I was listening. This situation is nothing like what I learned in school. My wrists ache, and my palms are sore from hitting the door. I notice one of my nails is chipped. Ugh, I hate when that happens.

My mom always said, 'Your nails show what kind of person you are.'" We didn't have much money, but my mom made sure my nails were always neat. No nail polish, because of the nuns, but that didn't stop her from taking me to the nail salon whenever she could. When money was tight, we took turns pampering each other at home. Now that I'm stuck in this room, those memories feel distant.

At least they didn't tie up my arms or legs. I should be thankful for that. There's a bed with a decent mattress in here, but it's cramped and there's nothing to do.

"Let me out of here... Please!" I cringe. Did I really have to say please?

I bang my fist on the door, and it suddenly swings open. A big man is shoved towards me. He's so tall that I have to look way up to see his face. He crashes into me, and I smell dark chocolate, coffee, and a strong manly scent.

"Hey—" I start to say, but he slumps against me, pushing me down. I manage to move out of the way just in time so we don't both fall. The door slams shut behind us.

"Come back!" I free my arm from under him, rush to the door, and pound on it. "Let me out of here. You can't keep me locked up without explaining. People are looking for me, you fools. What do you want? Let me out, and I won't tell the police when I get out." My voice breaks, and I stop. No one's listening. Whoever pushed him in here is gone—

Oh, wait. They pushed someone else in here... into my already tiny room. I turn to see the huge guy still hasn't moved. Not good; this is bad. I step over his feet and walk up to stand near his face. His cheek is pressed against the floor. I poke his massive shoulder with the tip of my boot. No response. He doesn't even stir.

"Hey, mister," my voice echoes in the room. "Hey!" I poke him harder. Still nothing. Is he breathing? Yes, I hear it now. I kneel down and touch his shoulder. No reaction. I touch his hair. It's soft and springy. I run my fingers through the thick strands, and a strange warmth tingles up my spine. Um, no, it's just hair. So what if it's attached to a particularly impressive body? His black jacket fits snugly on his shoulders, stretching across his broad back that narrows at the waist. His black silk shirt has ridden up due to the fall, showing a bit of skin above his dark pants. I reach towards the exposed skin but stop myself. What am I doing, touching this guy without his permission?

I refocus on his head. He has thick, dark hair that brushes the collar of his jacket and falls over his forehead. The back of his head is matted with blood. I wince. Did they hurt him? They must have, which explains why he's unconscious. I look at his face—thick eyelashes, strong nose, square jaw with stubble that looks touchable... High cheekbones and defined features. My breath catches. Whoever he is, he's incredibly handsome. I might have called him a fallen angel, but his dark beauty reminds me more of the devil. He's the kind of handsome that belongs on the big screen, maybe as the lead in a Godfather remake—though that would be a bold move in cinema history. I reach out and push the strand of hair away from his forehead. That's when his eyes snap open.

Bright blue eyes, like summer skies or freshly melted snow. He reaches out a hand. I scream, scramble back, but he grabs my ankle and pulls me closer.

"Let me go!" I yell.

He tightened his grip on me. I tried to pull his fingers away, but he held on tight, staring at my face like he couldn't look away.

My heart pounded fast in my chest, and my ears throbbed with my pulse. "Please," I managed to say, "let me go." A tear rolled down my cheek and fell onto his face.

He furrowed his brow and loosened his grip on my leg. I moved back as he reached out towards me.

"Angel," he whispered, "don't cry." His voice was deep and rough, sending a shiver through me. I hesitated, wanting to touch him, but he closed his eyes again and his arm dropped down.

I relaxed a little, sitting back against the wall.

Looking at his face, I wondered if he was hurt when he fell. Was the blood on his head serious? Had he been drugged like me, making him pass out? It would have taken more than one person to overpower him. Did he fight back before they got him here?

Why was he dressed so formally? Had he just come from a wedding or a party, or did he always dress like this? His appearance suited him, but couldn't hide his true nature. His intense blue eyes, even while sleeping, showed his strong presence that filled the room, making me dizzy.

Deciding not to move him, I got a sheet to cover him gently. Sitting back against the bed, I watched him until I fell asleep with my knees pulled up. When I woke up, his eyes met mine, still piercing and intense.