Chapter 5 Isla

As I stepped forward into his view, my whole body shook with a different type of fear than what I’d just been feeling. Now it was the fear of the ugly truth and how close to the truth he was about to reveal about Marco before I interrupted them.

"Please tell me." I didn't even stammer over the words, which was nothing less than a small miracle. "Tell me everything that you know about Marco."

Enrico had a phone pressed to his face. I watched his jaw twitched  and then he spoke into the phone while he continued to stare at me.

"I'll call you right back." As he ended the call, I noticed how he placed the phone down with extreme care and then when he turned back to me his demeanor was the worst I have ever seen.

"Isla," he said slowly, "your brother hasn’t just stolen from Cincinnati. Your brother has been working for Cincinnati the past three years."

"You’re lying." I basically exploded at him, and with nowhere else to go, put my hands on either side of the table that was separating Enrico and me to keep me from falling out of control. My thoughts exploded inside of me while I kept trying to imagine what it would be like to have Enrico's words be true about Marco. I needed to maintain my composure somewhat in front of Enrico because if he was telling the truth, it would destroy everything that I believed about my brother.

Enrico stood there staring at me, unmoving. He had changed since I had gone to sleep upstairs  and had finally gotten cleaned up. He had no blood on his shirt anymore, and all I saw were his bare flesh and muscle with a few scars that I was forcing myself not to look at. The calm that was displayed so clearly on Enrico's face only made me want to scream again.

"Please tell me what is happening," my voice cracked. "Please tell me what Marco is doing."“Tell me why they took him, and why am I next, tell me, tell me, tell me,” I blurted out.

Enrico turned his back on me and went into the kitchen, saying, “You must be hungry; I will make us something to eat.”

The comment was a slap in the face to me. “You will not walk away from me; do not turn your back on me,” and I followed him into the kitchen, my hands punched into fists as I tried to contain my rage.

“My brother's missing, and people are trying to kill me. You just told me he's been working for the Italian mafia for three years...you don’t get to make me dinner and pretend everything's ok.”

Enrico, calmly with that same infuriating calm, opened the fridge and started pulling out vegetables and chicken, and then told me, “Getting mad will not change anything.”

“Getting mad! I am not getting mad, I am...,” and I didn't know how to finish that statement. I was scared, I was furious, I felt like I was completely shattered, and I couldn't pick an emotion to express my feelings.

I yelled back, “Just tell me!! What was Marco doing, what did he do to make them take him!?”

“That's not important right now,” he said.

“Not important? No! I need to know !” And that was the first time I felt like I had a chance to express my frustration, and my body started to shake with each word.

“Knowing will not help you survive,” he said as he set the chicken down on the counter and reached for the knife. “The only thing that matters is to survive.”

I grabbed his arm and turned him to look directly at me and said, “You can’t take that away from me; I have the right to know!”

He looked right at me and said, “You have the right to know nothing! You have lost that right.” The impact of those words hit me in the chest like a heavy weight, and before I thought about it, I hit him across the face.

A loud crack resonated through the kitchen as I struck Enrico's face. His expression was blank, but I imagined there was anger and pain behind it. My mind racing, I hit him again, and tried to hit him again and again.

Enrico caught my wrist in mid-swing before I could react. Then he twisted me around and pushed me against the wall, trapping my arms above my head and pinning me with his body.

His voice dripped with malice, low and dangerous in my ear , "Don't." I was terrified. Enrico had a very good chance of breaking my neck if he chose to. I wanted to scream, but he squeezed the breath from my lungs. "Don't you dare to touch me again."

I was scared, I wanted to escape, but no matter how much I struggled, Enrico remained immovable. He reached up with his free hand and pressed my head against the wall next to my body, encasing me in his fiercely erect body. With his body pressed against mine, I could feel every inch of his body, his muscular chest, his body radiating heat, and a strength so powerful that he could snap me in half.

"Please let me go." I tried to speak as clearly as possible, but I was too frightened to make much sense of what I was saying. "Please."

“I won't stand for your tantrums." His breath was hot against my neck. "Not this time. Not ever again. Do you understand?"

My heart hammered against my ribs. I tried to turn my head, but he was too close, overwhelming my senses with his proximity. Sweat and gunpowder and something darker, something that made my traitorous body respond in ways it absolutely shouldn't.

"Your world is different now. From this moment forward, there will be no whining or complaining. His voice dropped even lower, each word precise and cold and somehow devastatingly sexy in its darkness. "Everything you knew is gone. Everything you were is irrelevant. It's important you begin to act like it."

I swallowed hard, my throat working against the pressure of panic and something else I refused to name. He was shirtless, his skin warm against mine, and I hated that I noticed. Hated that even terrified and furious and falling apart, some part of me was hyperaware of every point where our bodies touched.

I hated that, while I was so afraid to move him, he was clearly aware of every part of my body that was in contact with him.

"Do you understand me," he asked, with his lips just above my ear.  I shook my head because I was unable to trust my voice.

"Use your words." His voice was dark and commanding.

"Yes." I whispered.

"Yes, what?" I had to make a conscious effort to breathe because I could feel the heat of his breath on my neck and chest, even closers than my skin.

"Yes, sir." The silence felt electric . Then he let go of my wrist and put his hand on my head once, the touch should have been condescending, but for some reason, I found it to be an expression of approval.

"Good girl."

When he stepped away, I felt so cold without him pressing against me. As I remained hanging onto the wall, my legs felt weak, and my head was spinning, torn between being afraid and furious and having very unwelcome warmth in my lower belly. What was wrong with me?

Enrico resumed his position behind the counter as though nothing had transpired, as if he had not  just roughly pinned me against the wall, as if my skin was not still feeling the heat from where he had touched me. He picked up the knife, chopping vegetables with complete skill and no effort.

I was unable to move, or make a sound; the many questions that had been burning through my mind from moments ago, were now stuck inside my throat, removed by the memory of Enrico calling me, "Good girl," and how my body had reacted.

We stood  in silence for what felt like hours. The only sound was the sound of the knife hitting the chopping board.

Eventually my legs realized that they were meant to work; I moved to the kitchen table, and sat with my arms folded on my lap like a child waiting to be excused. All of my anger was gone, replaced by a hollowness that was far worse than the anger.

Enrico worked silently, methodically, with precision of movement. After Enrico put oil into the frying pan over the stove and added the chicken and vegetable mixture, the scent of garlic and herbs filled the kitchen, incredibly normal amongst all of the chaos.

I wanted to ask him a million questions, to yell at him to tell me everything, but every time I would try to open my mouth to form a question, I would be hit with a flashback memory of the darkness in his voice  and the power of his hold on me, the words would just die before making it out of my mouth.

At that point, twenty minutes had passed and Enrico had finished cooking dinner, and set my plate in front of me. There lay an exact plate of chicken with roasted vegetables, perfectly cooked and plated as though it came from a restaurant.

"Eat," he ordered simply.

As I picked up my fork to eat, my hands trembled.

Dinner was eaten quietly, without conversation. I had no idea whether or not I was actually tasting the food; the only thing that registered for me was that I had chewed and swallowed and chewed and swallowed over and over. Enrico was eating just as quietly as I was, with his same calmness as he did everything else.

The urge to scream, throw the plate against the wall, demand that Enrico tell me everything, was overwhelming. But I continued eating without complaint, because I was his "good girl," and hated myself for it.

After I finished eating, I sat my fork down and looked at Enrico for the first time. Enrico's face was unreadable to me, but he was holding the fork so tightly, that his hands were completely white.

"Enrico…"

"You should go to get some more sleep; tomorrow will not be an easy day for you."

"Tomorrow?" My voice was not what I wanted it to be. "What will happen tomorrow?"

Enrico did not turn around; instead he braced himself on the counter, head bent to the counter, before he finally spoke. The voice he used was so soft that I almost did not hear him.

"Tomorrow we will be getting your brother back."

I felt like my heart stopped beating. "What?"

Enrico looked at me the moment he spoke, with a face that sent chills down my spine, "The Cincinnatis are moving him. Tomorrow night. One chance to extract him before they…” He cut himself off, jaw clenching. "Before it's too late."

"Then we call the police. The FBI. Someone who can…”

"The police can't help you, Isla." His laugh was bitter, hollow. "Half of them are on the Cincinnatis' payroll."

"Then how are we supposed to…”

The lights went out.

All of them. At once. The cabin plunged into absolute darkness, the kind so complete I couldn't see my hand in front of my face.

I heard Enrico move, heard the distinctive sound of a gun being drawn.

Then his hand closed around my wrist, pulling me close. His voice was barely a breath against my ear.

"Don't make a sound. They found us."