Page 43 of His Kidnapped Queen
Luca punches him in the face. The man’s nose spurts blood and I gasp, shocked.
“You let a little girl incapacitate you,” he scoffs. “Remind me why you even work for me?”
“I’m sorry,Caputo,” the curly-haired man says, his voice strained and nasal as he holds his head back, pinching his nose shut.
The display of violence shouldn’t surprise me, but I can’t help but feel like the blood is draining from my face. If he’s this violent with his own men, what chance do I have?
Luca spits on the ground in front of his man, clearly pissed off, and grabs me roughly at the elbow, pulling me from Diego’s grip and into the safehouse.
The other men stay outside, and that scares me.
“Luca, please, I told you I don’t know anything. I’m not a cop anymore. I’m nobody.”
He doesn’t respond. It’s like he didn’t even hear me.
It’s a small house, maybe two bedrooms or a one-bedroom with an office. Why would a mobster like Luca have a place like this? Is it just for interrogations? Maybe a safehouse?
He shoves me into the room and I think he’s going to leave, lock the door maybe. Then I can maybe find a way out. Instead, he walks in behind me, shutting the door with his foot.
I recoil back until I hit the full-sized bed.
“Don’t,” I plead. “Stop.”
I think he’s going to ask me again, about what I know, about why I was there, but he just clenches his jaw, green eyes not quite focused on me.
“What’s your boyfriend’s name?”
“What?”
My voice is incredulous and I’m sure my eyes are wide with surprise.
He steps closer and I tremble. He puts his hands on my arms and looks into my face.
“Sophia.”
The way he says my name makes the hair on my arms and back of my neck stand up—and it’s not entirely because I’m afraid.
“What’s his name?”
“Who are you even talking about?” I look up at him, genuinely confused.
He growls in the back of his throat, clearly frustrated. He shakes me, but not hard, almost gently.
“The man in the car. That lanky asshole who drew his gun on me.”
My mouth clamps shut. I can’t give him Scott’s name. Not ever.
“He’s nobody. Some guy I called to pick me up. What do you care?”
He’s gritting his teeth, a muscle in his jaw jumping.
“Because he pulled a fucking gun on me.”
“He was just trying to protect me.”
His bold eyebrows raise.
“But he’s just some guy? I hate a liar, pixie, and I think you know that.”
