Page 113 of Trapped

Luca bagged the groceries and handed the bag over the counter. “Have a good day.”

Santino took the bag but didn’t move. “Do you know who I am?”

Luca’s pointed glare drifted to me. “I have no idea.”

“Okay, Luca.”

Luca completely ignored Santino, taking his time closing the register. His attention darted to the security camera angled above the counter, then back to Santino.

A man in the back shouted in Russian. “Are they done? What’s taking so long?”

Luca tensed. “They’re asking for directions.”

Santino leaned in closer. “Luca, what the fuck?”

“You need to go.” Luca pointed toward the door. “Now.”

Santino’s jaw worked. “Do you remember me?”

“Sir, I think you’re confused. I’m just trying to work here. Please leave the premises before I call the authorities.”

I grabbed Santino’s hand.

Reluctantly, he let me lead him outside. As we exited the store, the door closed with a soft jingle. I looked over my shoulder as we reached Santino’s car, but Santino kept his gaze forward.

“He acted like he didn’t recognize me. Something is very wrong. He seemed tense and wary of the cameras, the surveillance…I’ve never noticed that with him before.”

Santino glanced at the store again. “Fifteen years, he’s been in my backyard.Alone. Enduring God-knows-what. Did they torture him?”

“I-I don’t think so.” Part of me wanted to say that my dad wasn’t capable of that, but honestly? I wasn’t sure anymore. “Luca was just a kid when he was taken.”

“I need to figure this out. I can’t leave him in this situation.”

“We won’t.”

I intertwined my fingers with his, and the tension in his jaw softened.

“This will change everything with your father. My boss will want him dead. We have to get him out of town.”

“You’d do that for me?”

He smiled wryly, and a lightness fluttered in my heart. “You don’t want his blood on your hands, principessa. That’s not something you can walk away from. If I have to keep him alive for you, then that’s what I’ll do.”

“I don’t want you to risk your life for my father.”

His eyes blazed with black fire. “What do you want?”

“You,” I whispered. “Just you.”

He stared at me, the harsh lines of his face softening. He broke into a small but beautiful smile. He reached out, his fingers trembling slightly as they brushed against my cheek.

A harsh cough echoed through the quiet.

We looked over. Standing outside the entrance of the grocery store were Luca and several other burly men, each with a gun pointed at us.

THIRTY-NINE

DELILAH