Diavolo

xliii

PRESLEY

I'd watched countless crime shows and movies about a loved one being held hostage and negotiation, and in this moment, they all seemed so trivial. Insignificant.

I could almost hear the thump of my heart inside my chest, pounding, rushing, and roaring with blood as I kept my gaze focused on Silvio.

He'd been knocked out by the assailant who held a gun against my head earlier and shot in the shoulder.

And even as I watched him now in the dim light, I could barely keep myself from wanting to rush over, and make sure he was still breathing—that he even had a pulse.

Memories of earlier rushed into my mind; I heard the door slam shut and the flicker of the lock after Silvio left only to hear the same flicker a few second later.

I knew I didn't stand a chance when I saw it was a class-duo of idiots. Two fucking men. Perhaps if it was only the scrawny little one, I could have made a run for it.

My gaze narrowed at the young man bent down in front of me, tying the knot around my legs and wrist in an intricate knot.

I winced slightly when he pressed his thumb against my pulse, jerking away from his touch.

His sheepish brown eyes widened. "Shit. Did I hurt you?"

"Don't touch me." My voice was cold, almost frozen over and coarse. "If you're going to kill me, do it."

"Kill you?" He was taken-back by my choice of words, glancing down once more to adjust the tied rope around my wrist. "Why would I do that, Pres? I love you. I would never hurt you." The words were nothing but short of a mumble.

My jaw clenched of their own accord at the nickname that was only reserved for close friends and family. "Then let me go."

"Rufus!" A deep, masculine voice called out from the door. The boy immediately jumped to his feet, jerking back like he'd been slapped in the face.

Fear gripped his entire body, his head tilted to the side to lock gaze with the man. "You're not supposed to talk to her, you know that."

"Just making sure she won't run anyway, Marco." He responded with a small nod, shot me a quick glance, and smiled.

The man supposedly named Marco didn't say anything, only grunted in response and disappeared towards the front door. I didn't understand why they hadn't killed me off by now or Silvio. If that was even the plan.

I knew Marco shot Tommaso and stuffed him into the closet and this Rufus guy was supposed to watch us while Marco went off to do something else. I recognized this dynamic duo of Rufus being submissive in this group and Marco being dominant and in control of this whole operation.

I glanced back a bit to look at him, pondering the thought of him being a familiar figure. I couldn't remember where I'd seen him, but he looked familiar—almost like we'd passed each other briefly but I couldn't figure it out for the life of me.

"You changed your hair again." Rufus' low voice murmured all of a sudden. I inhaled a sharp breath as we locked eyes. Those eyes. Cold, dark, and familiar.

The same eyes I'd seen watching me from a distance. The same dark eyes that I encountered that day in the dressing room.

And now, he was standing here in full glory and even with a ski mask on, I couldn't shake off the paralyzing feeling that gripped me and took control of my body's defense systems.