Page 7

I’d woken up feeling warm and safe—before I’d got a grip on my surroundings and remembered the horrifying ordeal from the previous evening.

I’d pretended to be asleep. But when he’d called me by my given name for the first time in that gruff voice, I’d known I hadn’t fooled him…

But when I’d sat up, planning to beg him to let me go, my mind furiously trying to figure out how the hell I was going to say that in Italian because he obviously had no English, I’d seen the wretchedness in his eyes, and spotted the bloodstains on the previously white bandage.

His gaze had met mine, and while the brittle cynicism, the arrogance and indifference from the night before were still there—the muscle twitching in his cheek signifying the ruthlessness which still terrified me—I could also see the flush of fever, and the shimmer of agony.

And the weirdest thought had occurred to me.

He’d taken the bullet because he’d insisted on standing over me in that boat.

He hadn’t used me as a human shield—he’d protected me from the gunfire.

Had that been intentional…? Had he saved my life?

‘Oh, for the love of…’

I shook off the romantic thought, which had to be a result of all the stress.

Then I remembered the knife and the key he’d placed beneath his pillow the night before. I scrambled onto my feet and staggered to the bed, the anxiety making me dizzy.

Rooting around under the pillow, I found both items. Tucking the key into my bra, I managed to lift the knife and hold it between my knees. It took me several eternities to cut through the rope binding my wrists without slitting them in the process.

But when the fraying ends parted and my hands were finally free, I huffed in triumph.

‘Go, Evie.’ I rubbed my numb wrists to get the circulation flowing again.

Heavy rain was still cascading over the skylight and hammering the scenic window next to the sofa. Tugging back the curtains, I could see it was morning, but not by much, the storm still raging outside.

Focus, Evie, focus.

Dante lay collapsed on the rug, his body slumped over, the red stain on the bandage bigger now. Had he reopened the wound when he’d fallen out of the bed?

Sympathy welled in my chest. I struck it down.

Not my problem. The man was a brute, a Mafia boss, and I owed him nothing. He’d probably only taken the bullet by accident. And if he hadn’t been kidnapping me in the first place… Well, then.

‘Find some clothes,’ I told myself. ‘Then figure out how to contact Vito.’

I kept whispering the new mantra as I searched the room. There wasn’t much in the dresser, just a neat pile of men’s T-shirts and boxers in the top drawer. And nothing in the wardrobe. I put on one of the T-shirts, which was big enough to reach my knees.

But when I grabbed the house phone from the bedside table the line was dead.

Was that one of the things Dante had cut in the metal box—the phone line?

I stared out at the storm. I hadn’t noticed any nearby houses when we’d arrived last night. But what could I really remember? It had been dark, and I’d been exhausted and petrified.

After unlocking the door, I ran barefoot down the stairs, to the vaulted marble entrance hall. But there was no sign of housing nearby through the arched windows on either side of the doorway, and no cars in the driveway.

Capri—if this was Capri, because I couldn’t even be sure of that—was mostly a tourist destination. People did live on the island, but probably not around here, especially in winter.

The boat.

It was still moored below the house. Perhaps I could pilot it round the coast until I found an occupied house?

Except…

The vicious storm was making the trees bow and bend in the terraced gardens, and rain sweep across the headland in sheets. The sea churned in the hidden bay, the black clouds making visibility limited. Venturing out there in a T-shirt and panties would probably give me pneumonia.