Chapter 3 The Debt

I woke up with my head pounding like a bunch of schoolboys were having a drum parade in it, and my mouth was dry as if I'd swallowed an entire desert. My vision swam as I blinked, trying to clear the fog clouding my mind. The ceiling above me was intricately designed, and as I turned my head, I realized I was lying in a massive, luxurious bed covered in silk sheets. This was not Adrian's hotel room.

The panic settled in. My heart pounded against my ribs as I forced myself to sit up, my body protesting as it ached all over. I scanned the room-large windows draped with heavy red velvet curtains, gold-accented furniture, and a crystal chandelier hanging above.

Where the hell was I?

My throat burned for water. Ignoring the dull pain all around my body, I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, the cool marble floor cool against my bare feet. My body wobbled as I tried to stand straight, reaching out to steady myself on the nightstand. My mind was still foggy. What had happened?

Then slowly my brain kept bringing back the memories to me.

Adrian. Walking out of the hotel. The masked men. A hand over my mouth.

A surge of fear and realisation washed over me as the pieces of last night clicked together.

I had been kidnapped.

I, Isla Romano, had been kidnapped, and I had barely even stayed up for four days in the States. If Mamma heard this, she would be thrilled that she was right for me not to leave Sicily to go to college abroad, but then she would proceed to worry herself to death afterward.

I stumbled toward a carafe of water on the nightstand, pouring myself a glass with shaking hands. The cold liquid slid down my throat, soothing and refreshing, but it did little to quench the rising fear in my chest.

Then, a deep voice broke the silence.

"You're awake."

I spun around so fast that I nearly knocked the glass over. A man stood near the open balcony doors, framed by the moonlight. He was tall with chiseled features, jet black hair, and dark eyes that assessed me with an unreadable expression. He was dressed casually in a black Henley and jeans, but it did nothing to enhance his appearance. He still had this sickly, dangerous aura around him.

He flicked the end of his cigar into an ashtray before taking a step toward me. My instincts screamed to run, but my legs wouldn't cooperate. They were overboiled pasta at this stage.

"Who who are you?" My voice wavered. "Where am I? What am I doing here? And why the hell did you kidnap me? Are you going to kill me?" The questions tumbled out in rapid succession as I backed up against the wall, gripping the edge of a nearby table as if that would protect me.

The man merely lifted a hand, silencing me without a word.

"Sit down." His tone was calm, but there was no mistaking it as an order. I hesitated for a second too long, and his gaze hardened. "I won't repeat myself."

With no other choice, I slowly lowered myself onto the bed, my hands curling into fists on my lap.

He walked to a massive bookcase in the corner of the room, and selected a leather-bound folder before making his way to the table in front of me. He leaned on the table, flipped the file open, and began to read.

"Your father," he started, his voice almost amused, "has quite the record." He turned a page, his gaze scanning the contents before he continued, "Let's see... fraudulent business deals, embezzlement, gambling debts... Oh, and this one is my favorite-borrowing money from very, very dangerous people."

I swallowed hard. "What... what are you talking about?"

He ignored me and kept reading. The longer he dragged this out, the more my unease grew. Finally, he stopped, snapping the folder shut before staring at me a glimmer of a smile on his lips.

"Miss Romano, do you have two hundred and five million, twenty-three thousand, and seventy-two dollars to pay on the spot?"

The number hit me like a train. My mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. That was-no, that couldn't be right. My father had debts, sure, but that much?

When I failed to respond, he smirked, standing upright and straightening his clothing.

"No?" he mused, feigning disappointment. "Well, that's unfortunate." He turned toward the door, taking slow steps before then pausing at the threshold.

Then, with a calmness that annoyed me, he uttered the words that would make my hairs rise.

Words that would destroy all the plans I had made for the future, for myself.

"If your family won't give me back my money, I'll take the only thing that's worth having." He glanced at me over his shoulder, a cruel amusement dancing in his eyes.

"You're to be my wife, Isla. We shall discuss this later."

It was as if the air was sucked out of my lungs. I shot up from my chair, my hands slamming against the table. "Excuse me?!"

He didn't answer. He simply stepped forward, then stopped midstride, as if an afterthought had just occurred to him.

"Oh, and one more thing. In return, I won't kill Adrian."

And then he was gone, leaving me standing there, breathless, furious, and terrified all at once.