Saviour

Chapter 5

I woke up in a large room. The walls were lined with bookshelves, the curtains closed, and sitting in an armchair beside the bed; Marcus Castello.

"Well hello there my little loose end", he purred crossing his arms "I think it's time we have a talk."

I shot up in bed, my heart beating out of my chest. Scrambling backwards until my body hit the bed frame, I kept eye contact as he carried on, his Italian accent adding a musical tone to each word. "It seems you've caused a bit of a problem for me, bellezza. You see, I'm not in the habit of leaving witnesses to my crimes alive".

My eyes darted around the room, looking for any possible exits or weapons. He was sitting beside the only door, but the glinting silver of a letter opener on the desk caught my eye. It was only a few steps from the bed, I just needed to get there first. I slid my eyes back to him, trying to steady my heartbeat so I could hear him.

He continued, his voice low and way sexier than it should've been (I'll sort out that reaction in therapy later, I noted). "So now I need to figure out what to do with you. I can't have you running back to the Marchetti's telling them I killed one of their men, now can I?" I was on my feet before he could finish his sentence. I ran towards the desk, scrambling to get my hands on the letter opener. I grabbed it, spinning to face Marcus who was now on his feet.

"Beautiful but deadly I see" he chuckled, running a hand through his hair. I stalked towards him, holding the blade outstretched. "We're done here" I said simply, thankful for the steadiness in my voice that in no way matched how I really felt. He stepped forward, a smirk still playing on his lips "Bellezza, I'm impressed but I can't let you leave here"

"Does it look like I'm giving you an option?" I asked, drawing on completely fake confidence. I'll just bullshit it until I can run.

"No no, of course not. You and your letter opener are very scary". Dick. He stepped closer, arms out as if to take the blade from me.

"Touch me and you die", I warned raising the blade up to his throat.

His eyes flickered, "Maybe it'd be worth it" he whispered. I drew in a breath, startled by the unexpected sincerity in his eyes as he watched me. The absurdity almost made me laugh, "What the fuck are you talking about?"

But my confusion cost me, my arm falling slightly as I tried to work out why he looked so truthful, and he gabbed the knife from me. With a hand on my waist, he spun us around and stepped forward, pressing my back to the wall as he looked down at me. Slowly he threw the letter opener to the floor away from us, raising a hand up to my face as if to touch it. "If you're going to kill me get it over with, I'm fresh out of fear" I spat out, glaring at him. His hand fell, "Do you really think I'd hurt you?" he asked softly. I narrowed my eyes, "You said it yourself, you don't leave witnesses alive"

"And that's all there is between us? Even after how you helped me on the bridge?"

I reeled back, surprised he'd even brought it up. So he did remember. No. I can't be swayed, he's already confused me once with his fake sincerity. He's not the man I thought he was. Stay calm. "What? Is Mr Murderer feeling a little guilty?" I asked mockingly in my most patronising voice.

"That's all you see me as isn't it? A murderer". His eyes searched mine, as I stood there utterly without a reply. He shook his head, stepping back, his face turned blank and cold. "I'm not going to kill you" he sighed, "but you're staying here with me."

"Like hell I am"

"It's not up for discussion. Believe me, it's in both of our best interests. As soon as the Marchettis find out you saw that body, you're dead, whether you're in Italy or England. And if you go running to your government or writing articles, you could create some serious troubles for me"

"Fuck. You."

"Ohh such nasty words from such a pretty mouth", he laughed.

"I'm not going to be your prisoner"

"No? How about my wife?"

I scowled at him, "You think this is funny? It's not the time for jokes. Get this through your head: I am not staying here with you."

"I never said I was joking" he smirked, "and you are staying here. Get some sleep, there are clothes in the wardrobe, the bed is yours. I'll see you in the morning bellezza, dream of me". And with that, he left, closing the door too quickly for me to get out too. After a click of the lock from the outside, I was left in stunned silence, staring at the door in bewilderment. He's insane.

Yet the ghost of his words danced around me as I stood there. Bellezza. Beauty.

For the first 30 minutes, I obsessed over each word he'd said to me.

For the next hour, I tried not to cry about being a man shot in front of me.

Then, it was time to freak out for another hour about being essentially held prisoner by mafia boss.

Of course you couldn't forget the good 20 minutes of anger about how hot he was (like where did he get the audacity?).

Oh and then it was back to freaking out again obviously.

But finally, it was time to plan an escape.

So 10 minutes after that, sweating in the humid night air, I found myself hanging out of a window clinging onto a duvet sheet for dear life. The grass swayed beneath me as I looked down, still at least 15ft in the air, and debated whether 10 minutes of effort was really enough time to ensure a non-fatal escape. Unfortunately my irrational fear of heights decided it wasn't.

Shaking and, quite frankly, freaking the fuck out, I clenched the fabric of the duvet tightly and wrapped my arms around it. I'm gonna die without ever having learned how to put a tampon in in under 3 minutes I screamed internally (I don't know why that was the first or most important problem that came to mind at the time but we'll move on).

"Shit shit shit" I muttered with every movement of my hands to pull me further down the makeshift rope, trying to ignore the fact that I was still in the dress from the conference and was therefore very much flashing my underwear to whatever poor hedgehogs had come out for a nighttime wander on the grass below.

I was almost at the bottom of the duvet rope when suddenly a light switched on behind the window in front of me and I found myself staring straight into a pair of wide brown eyes.

The poor guy probably looked even more shocked than me. Thick black eyebrows raised almost up to his hairline and a jaw practically on the floor, he stood completely still, a glass raised halfway to his mouth as if he was going to take a drink and then forgot. If there is a god, she fucking hates me. At least 10 seconds passed and no one moved. Only the leaves rustled as I hung there, frozen by the gaze of the bewildered stranger. And then something happened.

An idea formed in my ridiculous adrenaline-drunk brain.

An idea that I decided to execute immediately with no prior consideration.

An idea that, for some unknown reason, the only option was to wave both hands in the air and yell "It's just a dreeaam" at the guy...... Obviously.

The biggest problem; you need your hands to hold on when you're climbing.