Guns, Not Roses

~Chapter Eight: Too Illegal to be Illegal~

Savannah's eyes slowly opened, squinting in the blinding sunlight.

Her head was pounding, which wasn't right at all. After all, she hadn't consumed any alcohol in the last twenty-four hours, right?

Yet her head had an internal drill and she felt like shit.

She sat up in bed gingerly, opening her eyes again and wincing painfully.

The sound of seagulls outside was an incessant -

She froze, puzzled. The sound of seagulls? Since when were there seagulls in the suburbs?

She violently kicked the covers off her and stood up, heading for the large, open windows. She already suspected the worst: There, before her very eyes, her worst fears were confirmed. Pale, brown sand and a large expanse of azure seawater met her gaze.

She was on an island. And not just any island: Her father's.

*

"I hate him!" Savannah fumed, pulling on her gown, which had conveniently been placed on a coat rack. "I fucking hate him!"

The rage she felt was bubbling up inside of her like a witch's cauldron. It threatened to eat away at her innards, but she couldn't care less. She needed to feel it; needed to let herself vent. She already had an inkling of what had been done to her. Angelino had probably drugged her; given her a knockout drug. Then she'd been jetted off to this godforsaken island at her father's command. The thought sickened her.

Pulling the door open, she all but flew downstairs, childishly making as much noise as she possibly could in her bare feet. She stomped into the living room, looking for any sign of life.

"Good morning, Miss Ardeur. Are you hungry?" asked a heavily-accented voice.

She spun around, ready to attack whoever it was, but the small, grey-haired woman in the maid's uniform was unfair game. Instead, she sighed resignedly.

"Yes. I'm famished." Her stomach punctuated her response with an audible growl.

The woman smiled. "The dining room is this way." She turned to leave.

Savannah wanted to inform her that she knew where the bloody dining room was, but held her tongue as she followed her. Rudeness, especially to the help, just wasn't her style.

"Is my father here?" she asked nonchalantly, taking a seat at the artfully-spread table.

"No. He left a note for you, though." She paused, handing it to her. "However, Mr. Bianchi is taking a swim."

Savannah read the neatly-penned note and quickly discarded it. She groaned at the mention of her bodyguard.

"Is everything all right, Miss Ardeur?"

Savannah looked up, into the kind eyes of the older woman, and smiled. "Everything's fine... But I don't know your name."

"Ivanka. Enjoy your breakfast, Miss Ardeur." And she turned on her heel, humming to herself.

She was Russian. Or German. Savannah wasn't too sure. Either way, it didn't matter, because she sure knew how to cook. As Savannah dug into the food, she didn't hear the sound of Angelino stealthily entering the room until he cleared his throat. Her head snapped up to look at him.

"Morning, Savannah," he said, as if there were nothing wrong.

"You little bastard!" Her anger was renewed. She flung the nearest piece of cutlery at him: a spoon. It bounced off his chest.

"Try a knife," he suggested, folding his arms across his chest. Savannah could see that his hair was still wet, and dripping onto his shirt.

Standing up, she picked up a mug and threw it at him. It ricocheted off his shoulder. Frustrated, she sat down. "This is kidnapping, Angie! Do you understand that concept?" she screamed. "Or do you just do whatever the hell my father says?"

"This is for your own good, Savannah. To protect you," was Angelino's calm response. "You're safe here."

Savannah snorted. "Safe? Safe from what? I don't need protection! I need some normalcy!"

"Just relax. You're on this beautiful island. Enjoy yourself."

"Enjoy myself. Really? And how am I supposed to do that?" Savannah got up again, feeling slightly dizzy, and pushed her chair aside, enraged. "I'm not a fucking tourist. This isn't a holiday. You drugged me! How the hell - "

"Drugged you?" Angelino tilted his head to one side. "I didn't drug you, Savannah."

"Don't play innocent. I'm not stupid."

"You really don't remember drinking yourself into oblivion?"

Savannah gaped at him. As if on cue, her stomach lurched, and she tasted bile. Pushing past her bodyguard, she headed for the nearest bathroom.

Angelino watched her go, chuckling to himself. He turned back to the rest of the uneaten food and rubbed his hands together, hungry after his swim.

He loved Ivanka's cooking.

After all, she was his mother.