answered the call and spoke Italian again. His voice was alarming, angry and commanding. As his eyes fixated on mine, I replayed in my head the moment he killed that man. Diverting my gaze toward the door, I contemplated escape.
“I wouldn't do that if I were you,” he warned as he hung up the phone.
I swallowed and spared him a deep frown.
“I saw you eyeing the door, tesoro. And while it would amuse me to chase you, I have to warn you it’s pointless. There is nowhere to go.”
“Where...where am I?”
He ignored my question and stepped closer, sitting on the edge of the bed. The memory of what happened refused to cease playing over and over. His proximity too much to bear, I avoided looking his way. But he rebuffed my attempt to hide, and caressed my cheek with his index finger before raising my face, willing me to meet his dark gaze.
“Do you know who I am?” His voice was calm.
I reddened and nodded.
“Well?” he demanded.
“A-Alessandro,” I stammered his name, and fought to compose myself. “Alessandro Damiani.”
He snickered as though amused by my awkwardness. “How do you know?” One inquiring brow rose with brutish curiosity. “I don't remember telling you my name.”
I reddened even more and confessed softly, “My boss told me.”
He smirked. “Did you ask him or did he tell you?”
“He told me.”
“And what else did he say about me?” There was a clear note of danger in his voice.
I swallowed. “Nothing.”
Alessandro nodded, and suddenly turned very serious. “Do you know why you’re here?”
A shiver passed through my body. I inhaled a breath but it wasn’t enough and wrested another and another. Drowning in fear, I closed my eyes and nodded.
He tilted my chin, forcing me to open my eyes and look at him. “I want a verbal answer,” he said somewhat harshly.
“Yes,” I confirmed in a voice barely audible.
“Why?” he demanded.
An unbearable lump formed in my throat, and I couldn't control my shaking. “Please...”
“I asked you a question, Olivia,” he said in that cold tone again. “I expect a reply.”
“My...my father's debt,” I spoke incoherently.
“What about it?” Alessandro prompted me to say it.
My shoulders sagged, and I peered at the floor, forcing the words out through the heavy lump in my throat. “They said I have to repay it, but I had nothing to do with it,” I mumbled, then pleaded with my eyes. “You have to believe me.”
“I believe you,” he said quietly. “Tell me...how far did it go?”
My forehead wrinkled with tension, and something flashed in his eyes for a split second.
“Have you been with a man, tesoro?” he clarified what he meant.
I gasped so softly. He asked if I had been violated. The flashback of that old, brusque man kissing my neck made me flinch. To think if I had stayed in that room, my answer might be much different now. I blushed fiercely, shaking my head. He raised his eyebrows, reminding me he wanted a verbal answer.
“No,” I said in a strangled whisper.
Those dark eyes closed briefly, and he released a long, soft breath. Was he...relieved? Both mentally and physically exhausted, I must surely be imagining things.
“Anything else I should know?” he demanded.
“No,” I repeated.
“What about the doctor?” he probed in a tone that rang with a hint of anger. “Did he do something?”
I shook my head. “He was just rough w-when—”
“Okay,” he interrupted as my voice shook. “No more.”
For a while we sat in silence, and then I collected the courage to speak my mind.
“Please,” I implored through chattering teeth. “Please let me go. I promise I won't say anything to anyone. I'll repay the money.”
“Do you really think I have a need for your money?” His tone was condescending. “Besides, your father's debt has nothing to do with me. The man he owes to is dead—as you well know—because you saw me kill him.”
I was about to crumble under the pressure of the realization I had been a witness to a murder.
“Please, let me go. I swear, I won't contact the police,” I declared in a small, hopeful voice.
When I mentioned the police, he laughed condescendingly and gave me an incredulous glare as if he couldn't believe I actually thought he'd feel even a bit threatened by that possibility.
“And where would you go, Olivia?” His question held a sardonic bite. “Back to your parents who sold you into slavery?”
Slavery... He said the word like it meant nothing to him. Who exactly was Alessandro Damiani, and what did he do for a