Saviour

Chapter 7

The next two days were spent in varying degrees of insanity trying to find a way out. Yes, maybe one of the most insane things was running away from a massive mansion owned by a gorgeous man with an Italian accent, but I'd lived too long to end up jailed for mafia connections just because a guy called me beautiful.

My first attempt had been to try and run out when the servant brought me breakfast but of course Castello had been right outside the door ready to hike me up over his shoulder and lock me back in the room once more. The second was in the evening of the next day when I'd (rather over-dramatically) sharpened a shiv out of one of my heels and threatened a maid with it. Definitely not my finest moment.

It hadn't been more than five seconds until I heard Castello's gravelly voice as he wrenched the shiv from my hands. He didn't even need to carry me back this time. As he got to work calming down the maid and sending everyone from the room, I simply flopped down on the bed defeated.

Silence filled the room for a few minutes as I traced the bedsheets with my hand, until he finally spoke.

"This is the third time you've tried to escape Kara. And the third time you've failed. How long will you keep this up?" He was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and mouth downturned as if he were a disappointed teacher.

"That depends" I replied, "how long will you keep me captive?"

"Kara" he sighed, "you are not a captive here". He looked tired. His shirt was unbuttoned, and his tie undone, hanging loosely around his neck as he ran a hand down his face. I almost forgot how pissed off I was while I contemplated what could be stressing him out this much. "Castello" I glared, "if this isn't captivity then what is? You took me from the hotel, locked me in a room and consistently carry me back kicking and screaming whenever I try to leave. Is that not the very definition?"

"But it doesn't have to be that way bellezza. If you would just stop running away"

"What is wrong with you?" I yelled, "Of course I'm going to keep trying to escape. You kidnapped me! What other way could there be?!"

He paused a moment and looked at me, shifting as if I were a skittish animal he'd have chase down any second. "You could marry me."

"Ugh" I sighed, "Look bossman, that joke wasn't funny the first time you told it, so if you could get your head out of your ass and start giving me useful suggestions on how I can not die or be a prisoner forever, that'd be just great." I'd expected him to laugh or at least look a bit pissed off but his expression stayed deadly serious as he looked at me.

"Oh you've got to be shitting me, you're actually serious." I breathed, "Why the fuck would either of us want to do that?!"

He laughed, "You really didn't have to hurt my pride like that bellezza"

"Well sue me for being surprised but any normal person would have just killed me by now"

"You have an interesting definition of normal people, don't you?"

I levelled a glare at him. "Ok, ok" he chuckled, "If you marry me, you've got the protection of an entire mafia behind you so you won't have to worry about your little run-in at the Marchetti hotel. And if I marry you, I can use you to help take down the Romano Mafia."

There was a weighted silence as my throat closed jarringly, trapping an incomprehensible jumble of words inside it. It took me a moment to regain the power of speech and also my death stare, but when they were both securely back in place I spoke again. "I'm sorry. Have I gone absolutely crazy or did I just hear you say something so stupid that even Ghandi would make fun of you?"

"Well, my mother raised me to never call a woman crazy... But-"

"Castello" I snapped, "How the hell am I going to help you take down a fucking MAFIA?!"

"Bellezza you should give yourself more credit. I've done my research; you're an amazing journalist in one of Britain's leading news companies, you're smart, you're quick with a lie, you're beautiful. All we have to do is collect evidence on those bastards and you can get the word out in the UK. The Romanos have got the Italian police and journalists wrapped around their fingers, but if we got word out in a different country maybe it'd be different. Plus it means I wouldn't have to kill an entire Mafia family by hand."

For a moment I just gaped at him. It was absolutely insane. Completely ridiculous. But I was pretty much out of options. "How long would it last?"

He ran a hand through his hair, "It depends how long it would take to ruin them so you wouldn't be in danger anymore. A year, maybe longer."

I sighed, "Shit". His only response was a breathless laugh as he watched me, waiting for an answer. I cleared my throat awkwardly, shifting under his unrelenting gaze, "Sure, let's do it. Till the Romanos' death do us part, I guess. Their metaphorical death that is" I corrected quickly, "seeing two dead bodies is already two too many".

"Then I guess we've got some work ahead of us"

He smiled, slowly, hungrily, and began to walk over to my place on the bed with almost predatorial stillness. I watched as his eyes dragged up and down my body, my breath catching as his gaze seemed to heat every inch of me it observed. He felt even taller now, towering above me where I sat, and yet I wasn't intimidated. Instead all I felt was an insatiable hunger, so strong it was like I'd drown without his hands on my skin. It was all I could do not to reach out and touch him, to feel his chest beneath my hands or his hair between my fingers.

But this was the man who kidnapped me, I reminded myself. This is the protagonist in a plethora stories of violence and hate and cold blooded murder. How could I feel his hands on my body with such exhilaration, when they were covered in the blood of dozens?

He was so unlike the fallen angel I'd encountered on the bridge that day, whose vulnerability and fear had shattered my very being in an instant. This man before me was no injured person. Even as stressed as he seemed, every part of him was calculated and put-together. Like the heroes in Greek myths, he stood tall, invulnerable and beautiful, with no room for pain or weakness or even love. This man was never afraid, and it was infuriating. He was a different person entirely, and one I couldn't understand at all, whenever I was with him all I wanted was to tear off the mask to find the man underneath. But I thought, as I looked up at him, is there even a man to be found anymore?

As if reading my thoughts, he sighed gently, "Mia bellezza, you don't have to be afraid of me. Our wedding vows won't be like those you may have dreamt of, you are not asking for my heart, so instead I promise you my body, to shield and protect you for however long you need me and longer. I have never forgotten that day on the bridge for a second Kara, the umbrella you placed above my head to shield me from the rain, the fabric you used to bandage my wounds, the simple words of safety that woke me from such a deathly sleep. I will be all of those things for you and more Kara, every part of me is yours for the taking, you need only ask."

His words were like a hurricane in my already shattered brain. Every declaration caused a swirl of confusion, mixing the different sides of him into a jumbled jigsaw I couldn't sort through. Yet each jigsaw piece was still stained with a blood-red colour that I couldn't ignore and so I knew what I had to do.

Shutting off my heart, I schooled my expression into neutrality and spoke simply, "I'll ask for nothing from a murderer".

He flinched away as if I'd hit him and, ignoring the pain in my stomach, I continued, "Maybe I've been joking around with you a bit, so I'm partly to blame, but it doesn't change the facts. We are not friends, I am not your 'bellezza', you are a Mafia Boss and I am the person you kidnapped. I will give you no promises and ask none in return so expect nothing from me other than a good performance in public. And I am not afraid of you. Do you understand me?"

He took a slow step backwards, "Perfectly". A heavy silence followed until he spoke again, his voice cold and sharp, "We'll be married in a week, you won't have to see me until then. Do me a favour, don't try to escape this time".

And then he was gone, leaving me trapped with the echoes of my own fearful words.

It was true that I wasn't afraid of him. I was more afraid of the unyielding and senseless attraction I had for him. And what kind of person I'd be if I completely gave into it.