What? My head spins. “This is a bad way to ask someone out on a date.”
He finishes tying my arms and moves to my legs. “What can I say? Our courtship is evolving.”
“It’s not a courtship. It’s kidnapping.”
When he stands, he brings his lips close to my ear. “And yet you seem to prefer this to being sent home. Want to tell me why?”
Tension blankets my body. “No.”
His big hands cover my biceps. “If you tell me, I’ll untie you.”
I chomp down on my bottom lip. He wants to know all of my secrets, but I can’t give him this one. My past with Lazaro has nothing to do with Martina, and if I tell him about the things I’ve done, I doubt he’ll feel any obligation to keep his promise. Whatever affection he might still feel for me will disappear in a heartbeat. “I said no.”
He pulls back. “One way or another, I’ll get it out of you eventually,” he says with dark conviction. Then, he wraps an arm around my waist and tosses me over his shoulder as if I’m a sack of potatoes. “Behave yourself when we get up there.”
I don’t think twice before starting to buck against him. “Put me down!”
His grip on my waist tightens, and he slaps me hard on the ass. I yelp.
“If you want to be conscious for dinner, stop moving now,” he bites out.
“I’m not hungry!”
He carries me over to the stairs and sits me down on the third step. “You’re going to pretend like you are and eat whatever my sister’s warmed up for us.”
That makes me freeze up. “Your sister’s having dinner with us?”
“Yes,” he says as he digs for something in the back pocket of his jeans.
A vision of her curled up on that cold floor in my old house, so small and fragile, flashes inside my mind, and it sends a chill down my spine. Thank God she managed to get to safety.
“Open wide.”
“What the-mphhf!” My words are cut off as he stuffs something in my mouth.
He rolls his eyes at my muffled outrage. “It’s a clean handkerchief. Relax.” Then he hauls me over his shoulder again and scales the steps.
Does he really plan to present me at dinner like this? Tied up and gagged? As he carries me through the house, I try to take in as much of my new surroundings as I can, but it’s a bit tricky when I’m hanging upside down. We pass through what I think is a large living room and enter the dining room. He deposits me in a chair.
I have my answer.
Ras and Martina are sitting across from me, their dinner plates heaped with food. Martina’s jaw drops. Ras hikes a brow.
“Valentina is joining us,” Damiano announces as he takes his seat at the head of the table.
There’s a very long awkward silence as my eyes flit over the three of them.
“We’re having roast chicken,” Martina says finally.
“Thnkff ouu.”
She gulps and shoots a worried look at her brother. “She can’t eat like that, Dem.”
My captor is already digging into his food, completely unruffled by this scene. Nothing seems to ruin his appetite. “If she promises to keep her tongue in check, the gag comes off.”
Martina slowly moves her gaze from her brother to me. “Will you promise?”
I glance at Damiano. He’s not even looking at me. He’s so absorbed with his damned chicken. “Mhm.”
“She said yes…I think,” Martina says.
Ras makes a move to get out of his seat. “I’ll get that out of your mouth.”
“I’ll do it,” Damiano snaps. He reaches over and jerks the cloth from between my teeth, and Ras sits back down.
I start to cough.
“Give her some water,” Martina pleads, and Damiano pours water in a glass in front of me.
My arms are still tied behind my back. “I can’t reach it.”
He curses under his breath in Italian, picks up the glass, and brings it to my lips. “Drink.”
I take a sip. He’s staring at me so intensely it makes goosebumps erupt over my skin. “Tilt it more,” I say.
When he does, some of the water spills out of the corner of my mouth and drips down my chin. I pull back and lick the water off my lips. He zeroes in on the movement, and a slither of something warm passes through my belly. The moment suddenly feels entirely too intimate.
I turn away and collect myself.
Ras and Martina return to their plates, but every now and then I catch her shooting me curious looks.
It takes her a few minutes to work up the courage, but then she says, “I want to thank you for helping me.”
I give her a weak smile. “I’m happy you made it home safe. Even if you have to live with a don for a brother.”
The temperature in the room drops, as if someone turned on the AC at full blast. Damiano’s lips flatten.
What is it? Is he not the don? He hasn’t said it explicitly, but it was a safe assumption to make after what he told me about his father.
It’s Ras who deigns me worthy of an explanation. “Damiano isn’t the Casalese don. He’s the capo of Ibiza.”
Maybe here these things don’t get tied to one’s bloodline like they do with the Garzolos. Still, I can’t help but feel there’s something Ras has left unsaid.
“You’re probably hungry,” Martina says.
“I’m all right.”
“No need to be shy,” Ras says, taking a sip of his wine. “Have a bite. I’d offer you some of this Tempranillo, but it seems like it might be more hassle that its worth.” He gestures at the half empty cup of water Damiano left in front of me.