EIGHT
RAFFAELE
“Is Celestia your real name?” I began once she ate a fair amount and pushed the tray aside.
“Yes.”
“What you were doing in the club – my club – with a fake ID? And then at the shopping mall the other day?”
“I am not twenty-one, so I made a fake ID. Please feel free to call the police on me.” She narrowed her big brown eyes with long fluttery lashes and glared.
“Drop the attitude, bambi,” I told her good-naturedly. “I am far generous than you deserve.”
“I deserve? You kidnapped me in the midnight of the night, kept me here against my will, and now you want me to sit, eat, and talk at your whim? Are you delusional or plain stupid?”
With every word, her voice pitched higher, and so was my temper. I fisted the neckline of her night suit, the one she has been wearing since yesterday night, and pulled her closer. “Last fucking warning, Celestia,” I hissed in her ear.
A whiff of feminine scent hit my nose, temporarily disabling me. My insides burned with the raw need of my depravity knocking against my skull and urging me to embrace the role I needed to play.
“Let me go! Let me go!” Clawed nails scraped my hands, trying to free her from the clutches. Once she felt my breath against her skin, her fight began to ebb away, over rushed by fear and insecurity.
“The less you defy me, the less you fuck up, and the lesser chances you give me to ruin you,” I breathed down against her skin, pressing my lips against her throbbing pulse and feeding on her fear. “Am. I. Clear?”
Celestia affirmed with a nervous nod before I released her.
“Please…just let me talk to my mother,” she pleaded. “If you need the money, she will give you.”
I frowned at her naivety. She was living under the perception that her mother is a well-established businesswoman who’d happily pay away a ransom, rather a debt, in exchange for her daughter’s life. Whereas, in reality, it has been past twelve-hour that Celestia has been taken, and yet, her mother did nothing. She didn’t hire a private investigator or law enforcement. In fact, she did nothing substantial to have her daughter back.
“You will get to talk to your mother when I see fit and not a second before. And not until you tell me why were you spying at the club?”
“I…I wasn’t spying. I lost my way inside and then…”
“Lie.”
She shook her head. “No, not lying. I was truly lost—”
“You are still lying!”
“It was my first time, okay!” she yelled out in frustration and then sighed. “I have never been to a club or any place in that case. My mother doesn’t let me out of the house.”
She had me thoroughly confused. For a long beat, I weighed the questions in my mind. “What do you mean by ‘doesn’t let you out of the house’?”
Celestia looked around the room, forcing out a small huffing laugh and muttered, “It’s something like this place.” Her brown eyes then settled over mine, lined with a tinge of sadness around the corners. “I always get the best room in the house because I wasn’t allowed to go out, at least not alone.”
“Why not?”
“My mother is afraid that whoever killed my father would come after me. Or maybe because she was protecting me from being taken away.” She smiled sarcastically. “And look at that, her fear did come true.”
Agitatedly, I looked away from her. I wasn’t expecting an answer like that, and yet I knew what she was saying was vastly accurate. The circumstances matched oddly enough. There was no trace of Celestia Donovan until yesterday.
And by the footage in the club, it did look like she was first-timer in a club. The way she looked around, awkwardly avoiding the dance floor.
So, was I entirely wrong about her?
Either this, or Celestia is an excellent actress.
“Who killed your father?”
“I don’t know. Maybe my mother does, but obviously, she wouldn’t tell me.”
“And you never asked?” Given her curiosity, I wondered why she wouldn’t.
“No,” she answered in a small voice, sullenly gazing down. “All she ever mentioned was business rivals. Ever since that, my mother wouldn’t keep me in one city for too long.”
What she said, started to make sense. We split the heaven and earth to track Kyla Donovan, from her legitimate business contacts to the shell companies constructed to launder her dirty money. Still, we never did came across Celestia or ever seen the slightest mention of her.
Needing some time alone and granting her the same, I stood up to leave. “Freshen up.” I pointed at the washroom. “I will have someone send you the clothes and whatever you need for the stay.”
“Is it a long stay?”
“Depends on your mother.” Or me.
I was almost atthe door when she called out, halting my steps. “Raffaele.” That name alone took the breath out of me for all the unknown reasons. For one, only a few people called me by name, and they were family.
Stonily, I whirled around. Celestia must have read the expression as she quickly amended. “I mean, Mr. Roselli. I…I didn’t know what to call you.”
“Raffaele is fine,” I allowed if it was wrong by so many standards.
“Please allow me to talk to my mother once,” she begged once more. “Whatever it is, don’t make me the collateral. I haven’t done anything to you.”
I felt a smile stretching on my lips because this was the girl, pliant and submissive I liked as much as the spitfire of a woman she nestled inside her heart. It was this duality of her persona, coupled with a sinful figure that made all the difference to me.
“Celestia, in case you haven’t noticed, you are already the collateral. Whether you would be a casualty or survivor out of this, it’s solely your choice.”
CELESTIA
Minutes ticked into hours after Raffaele left.
As promised, a uniformed staff promptly appeared with a generous pile of clothes—an oversized t-shirt, track pants, and undergarments. And before I could beg for help or a discreet phone call, she turned around and left. It was more than evident in her stony demeanor that she wouldn’t help me at all or even give me the courtesy to plead my case.
Dejected, I padded to the bathroom to freshen up and change. I needed a clear head to think of a plan to see it through. A slightest of a mistake on my part would elementarily seal my fate for the worse. And by then, I wouldn’t be a victim alone but an endless sufferer of his eternal wrath.
So I waited endlessly until the same staff appeared at the doorway with a tray of food and a card key to my freedom.
“What is the time now?” I asked.
“I have been told to deliver the dinner and take back the plates after thirty minutes,” she replied mechanically and attempted to leave.
“Where’s Raffaele?”
The way she blanched seemed like I summoned the devil. “Sir is unavailable right now. When he returns, I’ll let him know.”
“Wait,” I called out again. Pointing at the tray of food, I informed, “I need a bowl of fruits before I eat all these.”
The woman pursued her lips with indignation. “I wasn’t informed.”
“I specifically told Raffaele that I have certain dietary requirements,” I fibbed boldly. “And without a particular diet, I’ll fall sick. Unless, you want to answer your boss directly as to why had I fallen sick, can you please fetch me a bowl of fruits?”
She gave me a resentful scowl before nodding with a crisp, “yes.” And right then, I knew my plan was set in motion.
The door slammed shut behind her as I lingered against it with the heart in my stomach. Picking up the curry bowl in one hand, I pressed an ear against the wooden door for any sign of approaching footsteps.
Except there wasn’t any for several long moments.
If there was a moment in my life, I sincerely prayed for anything, begged to the superior powers, it was my freedom at that moment. As if my prayers were answered, I heard the soft clacking of shoes before the distinct knob bolted.
That’s it!
The second it had opened, I slammed the bowl’s spicy contents to her face, grabbed the card key, and shut the door from outside. With heart hammering ten times faster, I bolted from there.
The expansive opulence of the villa laid before my eyes, and it was every bit of rich and intimidating as the owner. Instead of running, I walked faster through the maze of corridors and stairs and then slipped into a room on the ground floor.
The front door was impossible for an escapade, I knew it very well not to venture. So, I clamber out of the window of that empty room, fell against the grassy ground with a soft thud, and ran.
All I need was a phone call, and I knew I’d be saved from this nightmare.