Chapter 4 Untitled Chapter

Carmella's eyes darted past him. The locked door. The two guard.

Her fists clenched. If she could just make it past the door.

She studied his face. He looked Like a hunter watching his prey step into the trap. 

"No, the fuck not." She shook her head, her palm pressing hard into the door handle. "No. I'm not going anywhere with you."

She rattled the handle frantically. "Antonio!" she screamed, turning and slamming her fist against the wood. "Antonio, you fucking bastard, open the damn door!"

Silence from the hallway. Outside that thick door, the distant bass of the club kept thumping, oblivious to what was happening on the top floor.

I'll see you at home, Angie. Don't wait up.

The words she'd spoken to Angela just minutes ago echoed in her mind, turning her stomach into a hard knot. Antonio had sold her out.

"No one is coming to save you, mia gattina," the man said. His voice was deep, unnervingly calm. "Don't make this harder than it needs to be."

She let out a hysterical laugh, turning back to face him. "Harder? You've got me trapped in a locked room with two muscle heads. You think I'm just going to walk out the with you?"

He took a step toward her. Up close, his presence felt like a physical weight pressing down on her chest. The cold calculation in his green eyes. He looked like a man who owned everything his gaze landed on.

"I've been watching you for a very long time," he said, his eyes tracing the rapid, panicked pulse in her neck. "Working yourself to the bone for chump change while men look at you like a piece of meat. It ends tonight."

Panic turned into rage. He knew her name. He'd been watching her for months. Or years. Who knows how long. The thought made her skin crawl.

She turned, grabbed the whiskey decanter off the table, and smashed it against the wall. Glass scattered everywhere. Whiskey soaked the floor. She picked up a piece of broken glass and held it out.

"Don't come any closer," she warned, pointing the shard towards him.  Her hand was shaking, but she didn't care. "I swear to God, I'll stab you."

Salvatore stopped. For the first time he smirked at her. He looked down at the sharp edge of the glass, then up at her face with amusement.

"What's so funny?" she said, taking a step forward. "Stay the fuck back!"

"Feisty," he said. "Just as I remembered."

"Fuck you."

"I intend to." He gave a slight tilt of his chin to the guards. "No one touches her. Understand?"

The guards nodded. Stepped back.

Carmella's eyes darted between them, confused. Why weren't they moving? Why weren't they grabbing her?

Suddenly one of them moved.

"Don't fucking touch me!" she screamed, lunging at the first guard.

The glass caught his forearm, tearing straight through his suit. Blood dripped on the carpet. He didn’t even flinch.

What the hell?

"I said no one touches her." Salvatore's voice cut through the room. "Do you have a death wish?"

"Sorry, Don" the guard muttered, stepping further away.

Carmella stared. Don? What the actual fuck? He was a don? She knew what that meant. He wasn't just a rich man. He was the mafia. What the hell did he want with her?

Then Salvatore moved fast. His hand shot out and grabbed the guard by the throat.

"You let her cut you," Salvatore said. "That means you weren't paying attention."

The guard's face went red. "Don, please—"

Salvatore released him. Pushed him back hard. The guard stumbled.

"Get out."

The guard scrambled out.

Salvatore turned to Carmella.

"Now," he said. "Where were we?"

He was in front of her before she could react. His hand closed around her wrist not rough or painful, but firm. He held the wrist with the glass. His other hand came up and gently pried the shard from her fingers. She fought him. Tried to pull back and stab him with her other hand.

He caught that wrist too.

Now both of her hands were in his grip. He held them together with one hand. She fought him. Kicked at his legs. Pulled against his grip. Nothing. 

He didn't even move. He just watched her exhaust herself against him.

"Let go of me!" she screamed.

"You'll hurt yourself," he said.

"I'll kill you!"

"Not today." His free hand cupped her chin, turned her face to his. "Look at me."

She spat in his face.

For a second, nothing happened. He just stared at her.

Then his hand shot out. He grabbed her jaw hard enough it hurt.

"Do that again," he said, "and I'll make you regret it."

He held her for a long moment. His grip was bruising. She couldn't move.

Then he let go and smiled.

"Good girl," he murmured. "Keep fighting. I love the fire."

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" she screamed.

"Everything," he said. "I have a problem. And you're it."

Then he pinned her against the wall with his body. Her hands were behind her back. One hand held both her wrists. He nodded at the guard. The guard stepped forward and handed him a syringe.

Carmella's heart stopped.

"No," she breathed. "No, please—"

"This will only hurt for a second."

She kicked harder trying to fight him. He was too strong. He held her still.

"Don't," she begged. "Please. I'll do whatever you want. Just don't—"

"Shh." His thumb brushed her cheek. "It's just to help you relax."

"I don't believe you."

"I know." His fingers tilted her head. Exposed her neck. "You will. Eventually."

The needle slid in.

Carmella gasped.

Her vision became fuzzy, her legs gave out. The room began to tilt sideways.

Salvatore caught her before she hit the floor. His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her to his chest.

"I've got you," he murmured. "I've got you, mia gattina."

She tried to push him away. Her arms wouldn't obey. Her body went limp against him.

"I'll kill you," she managed. Her voice was a slurred whisper. "I swear I'll—"

"Shh." His hand stroked her hair. "You can try."

Her eyelids were too heavy. Everything went dark.

The last thing she heard was his voice.

"Sleep, mia gattina. Dream of me."