Kira
Once the guards leave me in the bedroom, I limp over to the bed and lie down. My ankle is aching terribly, and I wish I had some painkillers. I rest back on the bed and stare at the ceiling, trying to ignore the throbbing pain.
I won’t be able to try to escape again if my ankle is sprained because it will stop me from running. I need to come up with another plan to get out.
Miguel is probably my only way out. Perhaps if I can convince him to take me somewhere outside the house, I could slip away and get a message to my cousins. Maybe I could seduce Miguel. If he ever had real feelings for me, that could work.
I groan as I get up and limp to the bathroom. I splash water on my face before I hunt down a pen and paper. I need fresh clothes and toiletries. If I’m going to try something, I can’t smell like soil and sweat.
I rummage around the bedside table and find a pen and paper. I sit down with my leg propped up and begin to scribble the things I will need while I’m being held captive. Maybe I can lull them into a false sense of security if I play along for a bit.
I hobble to the door and open it, looking at the guard.
“Don Rossi said I could give you a list of what I needed. Here it is.” I hold out the paper to the surly-looking man, and he takes it.
He doesn’t move, though, and I notice another guard on the other side. Even if the surly one takes the list to Miguel, there’s still someone else watching the room.
I shut the door and hobble back to the bed, exhausted now from the effort. I crawl under the sheet, leaving the duvet to the side. Too much pressure on my foot, and I feel like I might die.
I don’t remember falling asleep, but the next thing I know, my door is swinging open, and a woman talking loudly comes in.
I sit bolt upright and wince as my ankle twinges.
“Who are you?” I demand to know, glaring at the woman. I don’t know what Miguel is up to, but I don’t trust anyone he sends.
“Hello, sweetheart. Don Rossi said that you hurt your ankle. I need to take a look at it.” She sets a medical bag on the chair beside the bed.
“Why? What are you going to do to me?” I ask, trying to shuffle away.
She reaches out. “Try not to move. You could make it worse. I’m a doctor, and I just want to see how badly it’s hurt and set it if I have to.”
I eye her out. I don’t trust any of Miguel’s people, but if this woman is going to help or at least give me a painkiller, I’ll let her. Then it dawns on me that maybe she will help me further.
I shift my weight to sit up with my legs extended in front of me. She lifts the sheet and pulls it down to reveal my legs. She sits at the bottom of the bed and gingerly takes my foot in her hand. She moves it slowly, and I wince.
“How bad is the pain?” she asks, although she’s staring at the opposite wall as though she’s daydreaming.
“Not terrible now. I can hobble long around the room.” I wince again as she moves it slowly. “I’d love a painkiller, though.”
The doctor smiles graciously at me. “I think that’s all you need. Some painkillers and a day of rest, and you should be fine. It doesn’t seem to be anything serious.”
She starts to rummage in her bag, and I whisper, “Can you help
me?”
“I’m here to help you,” she says, looking at me confused.
“No, I mean. I’m Kira Sorvino. I’m being held hostage here. I need to get a message to my cousin Alessandro Sorvino. Can you help me, please? Please! They might kill me.” I look at her with pleading, wide eyes.
She looks shaken, and my hope slowly rises, but she quickly pulls a bottle out of her bag and hands it to me. “Take two every four hours. I have to go.”
“Wait,” I call, “please!”
The doctor hurries out of the room, and I groan and fall back into the pillows. I’m not alone long, though, as the door soon opens again, and Miguel walks in carrying a food tray.
“I thought you might be hungry,” he says, though there’s no trace of warmth in his voice. I shift my legs so he can set the tray on the bed. “Eat it while it’s hot.”
“I’m not hungry, actually,” I say, trying to keep my distance.
“You need to eat if you want to take the painkillers the doctor gave you.” He reaches for a pitcher of what looks like orange juice on the tray and fills the empty glass beside it.
It would be a tender moment if he weren’t so rigid and cold.
“I’m having a dress and shoes sent up for you. I picked a pair of flat ones because of your ankle. You’re to dress and join me for dinner tonight. Perhaps we can arrange some comforts for you while you stay with us.” He stands up. “Don’t be late. I don’t like to be kept waiting.”
He walks out and shuts the door behind him. This isn’t the boy I knew from university. There’s no passion there, no fire and love for life. This is a man molded after his father. Every last emotion has been beaten out of him.
For a brief moment, I wonder if it’s my fault. If it’s because I left. Surely not. Our love was passionate but brief, and we both knew our families would disapprove.
I eat lunch, and with some difficulty, I move the tray to the chair so I can lie down again. I look out the window. I can see the blue skies from where I’m resting, and I wonder if I can keep my snotty attitude to myself long enough to convince Miguel to take me out.
I just can’t get over the fact that he kidnapped me. I know he meant to take Arianna, but he got me and could have let me go. We both know that. He knows that. He chooses not to.
Suddenly I’m angry again. Raphael needs me. I think about how scared and confused he must be that I’ve suddenly disappeared. I have protected him from the kind of life that my family lives. He won’t understand why I just didn’t come home. He might think that I’ve abandoned him.
All because of Miguel.
Now the Don of the Rossi family wants me, his hostage, to dress up and entertain him over dinner? He can get knotted. That’s not going to happen.
When they bring me the bag of clothes and toiletries after lunchtime, I pretend to be asleep so no one speaks to me.
Around five, though, the guard shakes me, and I can’t pretend to be asleep any longer.
“What?” I snap.
He points to the chair where a beautiful dress rests. “Don Rossi says not to be late for dinner.”
“I’m not going,” I say, glaring up at the guard. “Tell him I’m his hostage, not his entertainment. I won’t do a thing he tells me to.” I turn my back to the guard and curl up.
“Don Rossi doesn’t like being crossed, ma’am. For your own safety, I would suggest you get up, get dressed, and go to dinner before the Don loses his patience.” The guard stands there waiting, so I snap.
“I said to tell him it’s not happening. I’m not his fucking toy to play with. You tell Miguel that I don’t have to abide by anything he wants just because he kidnapped me. Now fuck off.” I pull the sheet over my head and hear the guard retreat.
As soon as he shuts the door, I get up. I toss the dress and pumps into the trash can in the corner, and I hobble to the bathroom and shut the door, locking it behind me.
Miguel
I sit at the table, waiting. I told her not to be late, so my patience is wearing thin. I cannot stand how defiant she is. I remember how passionate she used to be, but I also remember how reluctant she was initially to break the rules, especially family rules. We both may have taken that too far, but we were young.
I look up as Jarred comes into the dining room.
“And? Where is she?” I ask, sighing. “Is she really in that much pain that she’s walking so slowly?”
“No, Don,” he says, averting his eyes. “She says she won’t join you.
She then locked herself in her bathroom.”
I clench my fist and stare at the plate of pasta in front of me. It’s a family recipe, something I thought she might enjoy. I’ve never been one to show kindness, but the protocol is to treat other families respectfully.
But honestly, I’ve had enough.
“Go back upstairs and lock her room,” I snap at him, causing him to take a step back. “She’s not to receive meals in her room anymore. Unless she’s willing to dress and come downstairs and eat with me, she will starve.”
I pick up my cutlery and start to eat without another glance at him. I hear his retreating footsteps. I stab at my food, angry at the insult. When a Don tells you to eat at his table, you eat at his table.
My mind wanders as I eat, still hyper-focused on her.
Thirteen Years Earlier
As the bell tolls for the end of the period and the end of my test on politics, I get up and shove my stuff into my bag to race out. Pardoning myself as I bump into irritated people, I get out into the sun to see my frat brothers waiting for me outside. I pump my fist in the air. “Freedom!” “Freedom!” they yell, and we dive into a massive group huddle.
It doesn’t last for long because people start complaining loudly that we’re blocking the way, so we all break away and walk toward the courtyard.
“Is everything in place?” I ask Jeremy.
“Ready and set. Good luck.” He grins.
They break away from me, but I know they’re not going far because they want to know what the outcome is going to be.
I’ve been trying for days now to get Kira to go on a date with me, but it’s been a no-go. From flowers to expensive perfume to one of the music students serenading her. She hasn’t liked any of it. I know she said not flashy, but dammit, I didn’t know what to do.
Until today.
I know I’m going to get her today.
I stroll up the path toward the table where she sits every day studying. There’s a tree nearby which is key to the program.
I stroll toward the bench and sit opposite her, closest to the tree.
“Afternoon, Kira. How did your classes go?” I ask with a genuine smile.
She glances up. “Miguel.” She goes back to her book almost immediately, but she does respond, “They were fine, thanks. What is it today?”
“I realized I’m going about this totally wrong,” I say, giving her a cheeky grin. “I get that you don’t want to go out late at night with a guy you barely know, especially a desperate one like me.”
“You’re mostly right so far.” She sets her book down to watch me. I’ve piqued her curiosity.
“Well, I propose something different then. Not flashy, not expensive. Something simple and private. I, Miguel, hereby invite you, Kira, to join me for a lunch date.”
She looks surprised. Good. I continue, “So, if you are willing and available, I would love to take you on a picnic in some private gardens not far from here and well within earshot that if you want to scream for help, you can.”
She giggles and shakes her head. “I admit it’s an interesting proposal.” She pauses and sighs. “If I give you one lunch date, would you promise to leave me alone?”
“I swear it on my family’s name,” I say quickly. I would just have to win her over so that she wants another date.
“Fine, when?”
I get up and walk to the tree. Tucked behind it is a blanket and picnic basket strategically placed there by my frat brothers.
“Does right now suit you?” I smile.
She snorts. “Fine.” She gets up and picks up her book bag, carefully putting away her textbook. “Lead the way.”
“Follow me.” I lead her through the campus, not far from the courtyard to a little garden tucked away around a corner. She freezes as I open the short gate.
“This is the Dean’s private gardens,” she says. “I don’t think we’re allowed in here.”
“Don’t worry. The Dean will never find out.” I grin and lead her to a grassy patch strategically hidden among high rose bushes.
I spread the blanket down and kneeled, unpacking the picnic basket.
“We have a sandwich each. A sports drink to keep us hydrated and energized. Some fruit-you look like a fruit kind of girl-and a brownie each.”
Her smile widens. “What’s on the sandwich?” She sits on the blanket next to me.
“This is a Miguel special. Cheese, bacon, mushrooms, scrambled egg, and a secret family sauce.” I hand her one of the sandwiches wrapped in wax paper. “Try it.”
I watch her bite into the sandwich, and she looks at me, surprised.
After she swallows, she beams at me. “This is delicious.”
“I’m glad you like it.” We get comfortable, and around eating my sandwich, I ask, “So tell me about your studies and what you do for fun.”
Kira doesn’t miss a beat. She swallows the bite in her mouth. “My father picked my degree. He wants me to be an accountant. I would have preferred to study to be a chef. I am very food motivated.” “I can tell,” I chuckle, passing her a napkin.
“As for what I do for fun, it’s mostly the usual things. Get my nails and hair done, cook and bake, eat out…things like that. I have a rigid schedule, so I try to use my time as best I can.”
I nod, and she inclines her head to the side. “What about you?”
“Studying business economics because my father wants me to take over the family business,” I say offhandedly, as I don’t want to mention we’re a mob family. She can find out later. “For fun, I like to party with my frat brothers, but honestly, I like quiet activities like reading, stargazing, and eating out.”
“We have something in common then,” she grins as she finishes her sandwich and reaches for her drink. She sips it and then holds her hand out. “Hand over the brownie. Let’s see if it’s any good.”
“It’s great, but it is store-bought.” The admission makes me blush slightly. “I’m afraid you’d have to teach me how to bake actual brownies.”
“They’re easy, but I like brownies with Oreos in the middle. And they mustn’t be dry. I hate dry brownies. They must be gooey.”
I chuckle. “I’d definitely eat those.”
She bites into the brownie and nods, pursing her lips. “Yeah, it’s not bad.”
I grin and bite into my own. “Not bad at all.”
We talk idly about our professors and where our favorite places off campus are to eat. She mentions a bistro on Fifth Avenue. It sounds familiar, but I can’t quite place it. For some odd reason, it seems important to me that I know what this place is.
Once the food and drinks are done, she flips her hair over her should and gazes at me.
“So,” I say, “is there a chance for a second date?”
She shakes her head, and I panic slightly, but a wry smile plays over her lips. “Maybe, I’ll have to think about it. You did a good job today.” She gets to her feet, and I get up quickly too.
“Thank you for lunch,” she says. She leans up and kisses my cheek before she turns and leaves the gardens.
I can’t stop smiling to myself.
Present Day
I glance up as Lyle walks in, he looks worried, and that’s a problem.
“What is it?” I ask, pushing my plate aside. Her plate is still there, on the opposite side of the table. So far away.
“Sorvinos have struck our operation near East New York,” he says hurriedly. “They let our people go but dumped all our cocaine into the
Hudson. They left a message with one of the guards that if we don’t return
Kira, they will hit all our operations.”
I stand and brush off imaginary crumbs from my shirt. “Then we’ll just have to send a message of our own.”