Page 50 of Temptation
Twenty-Eight
Fabrizio
With a glass of whiskey in hand, I find myself standing on the porch, staring into the uncertain abyss that seems to stretch out endlessly in front of me. Every tremor in my hand betrays my inner turmoil, and I hate how my own body refuses to keep up a calm facade. The amber liquid swirls in the glass, its lively movement a stark contrast to the stillness of the early morning.
While it’s a bit early for a drink, I desperately need something to steady my frayed nerves. Tension gnaws at me, leaving me more on edge than I’d care to admit.
Yesterday had started off just like any other day, the sun casting a gentle glow over the horizon as I arrived back in Atlanta.
I was confident that the threat to my children had been neutralized and could be dealt with accordingly.
But within minutes, everything spiraled into chaos. Too much happened to fast, shattering any semblance of calm I had.
Michael Brenton’s comment about my wife threw me off more than I want to acknowledge. Even though I knew he was likely trying to distract me, it worked, if only momentarily. His words lingered, casting long shadows over my thoughts and adding to my growing unease. But that brief distraction vanished as soon as my brother called. Seven little words, and it felt like the ground beneath me shifted, leaving me teetering on the edge.
The details of his call still play over and over in my mind. Standing on the porch, I take another sip of whiskey, its warmth doing little to soothe the coldness that has settled in my bones. The morning is still, but my thoughts race like a runaway train, colliding and crashing, leaving me more disoriented with each passing second. I lean against the porch railing, feeling the cool wood beneath my palms as my mind drifts back to the events of the previous day, replaying each moment in excruciating detail.
As I stand there, lost in thought, the whiskey glass becomes a metaphor for my existence—fragile, yet resilient. I know I must piece together the fragments of my shattered composure and stand firm in the face of the chaos threatening to engulf me. For my family’s sake, I cannot afford to falter. Taking a deep breath, I take one last sip of whiskey, feeling its burn as it runs down my throat. My attention shifts as I hear footsteps behind me. Turning my head, I see my brother, Marcello, leaning against the doorframe, watching me intently. A complex mix of emotions surges within me. On one hand, I am irritated by Marcello’s intervention. On the other hand, I am profoundly grateful.I had been teetering on the edge of losing control when he stepped in, ensuring everything necessary was being handled—the safety of my children and medical care for Oliver.
Oliver. Shit.I’ve been too caught up in this mess even to think about his condition. I turn to face my brother, who startsspeaking immediately, as if he can read my mind. “Security at Dad’s place has been significantly increased,” Marcello says softly. “And the Doc is checking in with Oliver right now. He’s taken a severe blow to the head, but he’ll be all right.”
His words barely register as I nod absentmindedly, my mind lost in a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, a million miles away. “Look, I know you’re shaken, and you have every right to be, but the twins are safe and—”
“And they took her and left the children behind, which means they knew I’d come for her. They counted on it,” I interrupt, my voice trembling with the raw edge of realization. The thought crashes over me like a tidal wave, bringing a jolt of clarity and igniting a fierce resolve deep within. It was a chilling epiphany, one that first occurred to me in my panic and has now solidified into an unshakeable conviction. They will soon learn, painfully and irrevocably, that they have messed with the wrong person.
“You shouldn’t,” Marcello interjects, his tone stern and laced with genuine concern. His voice acts as a tether, momentarily pulling me back from the precipice of my determination. Despite his interruption, I can’t suppress the humorless chuckle that escapes my throat. Of course, he’d say that. My brother is becoming more like our father with each passing minute—ruthless in his logic and seemingly uncaring in his demeanor.
Yet, beneath that hardened exterior, I know there is a man who cares deeply for his family, even if he struggles to show it. My father, in contrast, has developed a noticeable soft spot for his grandchildren over the years, a tenderness that has become his Achilles’ heel but could also be the key to unraveling this tangled mess.
“Don’t worry,” I reply, my voice low and steady, masking the turmoil within. “I’m not going in unprepared. First, I’m going to visit an old… friend.” I’m no fool. I know that whatever awaits me is likely a trap, a meticulously crafted snare designedto exploit my vulnerabilities. Yet, I possess a crucial piece of leverage, a trump card my father wielded for years to keep the formidable Silvio Vitarelli at bay. The information, nestled securely in my jacket’s chest pocket, offers a reassuring weight against my heart. “And he will tell me everything I need to know,” I add with quiet confidence, patting the pocket gently.
Marcello steps to the side, physically blocking my path, his face etched with earnest concern. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks, his voice tinged with a mix of worry and disbelief. “You could start who knows what just because of that woman. Are you really willing to take that risk? Are you willing to risk your family and your life for a woman you’ve just met?” His words hang heavily in the air.
I pause, taking a deep breath to steady myself, feeling the full weight of the decision before me. “Without hesitation,” I say.
“Because you’re in love with her,” Marcello states instead of asking, and I can see it in his face and hear it in his voice that he isn’t too happy about this. But the revelation isn’t new—he knew with certainty as soon as he called to inform me of Sienna’s disappearance. And if she didn’t matter to me, we wouldn’t be here, having this talk. I know without a doubt that my brother considers my feelings a weakness. That’s one of the reasons he never considered a serious relationship or even taking a wife. Caring for someone makes you vulnerable, and that’s something men in our position can’t afford.
“I am.” There is no point in denying what we both know is the truth. The woman I’d taken with no intention of keeping has become too important to me to allow anything to happen to her.
Twenty-Nine
Sienna
I’ve never felt so alone or desperate in my entire life. The suffocating darkness wraps around me like a thick, oppressive blanket, squeezing the very air from my lungs. I pull my knees to my chest and hug myself tightly, trying in vain to shield against the relentless wave of hopelessness crashing over me. Each breath feels labored, each heartbeat a stark reminder of my precarious situation. Tears well up in my eyes, and despite my best efforts, they flow down my cheeks in silent, sorrowful streams. A small, flickering part of me clings to the hope that Fabrizio is already on his way to rescue me. Yet, I know better than to let my hopes rise too high; there’s no certainty he even knows where I am.
The mere thought of Fabrizio sends my mind racing, my heart pounding in frantic rhythm. What if I never see him again? The realization hits me like a physical blow—a stark and painful truth that I haven’t confessed my true feelings to him. I haven’ttold him that I love him. Now, trapped in this nightmare, I might never get the chance. The prospect of dying for reasons I can’t comprehend adds another layer of agony to the terror coursing through my veins. The heartache is almost as unbearable as the fear that grips me.
Suddenly, my head snaps up at the sound of footsteps approaching. Each step reverberates through the quiet darkness, an ominous herald of what’s to come. I strain my ears, desperate to discern whether it’s more than one person or if I can catch any snippets of conversation. But all I hear are the heavy, ominous thuds growing louder with each passing second. My body tenses, a torrent of thoughts flooding my mind about what might unfold when the door to my cell finally opens. Each heartbeat feels like an eternity as I wait for the inevitable. Despite the limited options available to me, I refuse to sit idly by and be a compliant captive. Determined to take some form of action, I push myself against the rough wall, feeling it scrape against my back as I rise to my feet.
With my hands outstretched, I fumble forward in the darkness, reaching the door just as I hear the unmistakable sound of the key turning in the lock. Pressing my back against the wall behind me, I hold my breath, closing my eyes briefly to summon every ounce of resolve and energy I have left. The fear bubbling inside me threatens to consume me, but I fight to keep it at bay. A weak stream of light pierces the room, illuminating my surroundings enough for me to make out the grim details. The man who strides into the small space with an air of confidence is all too familiar—I don’t need to see him fully to know who he is.
As Vance steps inside, a fleeting look of confusion crosses his face when he doesn’t immediately spot me pressed against the wall next to the entrance. I seize the moment, gathering every ounce of strength left in my body. With a determined breath, Iaim for the hollow of his knee and kick my leg forward with all the force I can muster. My foot connects with a satisfying thud, and Vance crumples slightly, a guttural grunt escaping his lips.
“What the fuck,” he growls in pain and surprise. Without wasting a second, I spring into the hallway, my heart pounding furiously as I prepare to dash into the enveloping darkness. “Fucking bitch,” he mutters under his breath, venom lacing his words. The victory is short-lived.
Before I can even think of my next move, a searing pain shoots through my scalp as Vance yanks my hair with brutal force, dragging me back towards him. “Where do you think you’re going?” His voice is a venomous whisper, seething with anger and frustration.
“Let go of me,” I demand, my voice trembling with a mixture of fear and defiance. But instead of releasing me, his grip tightens, sending waves of stinging pain across my scalp. Desperation fuels my actions, and without a second thought, I drive my elbow into his stomach with all my might. The impact barely fazes him. A disappointed sigh slips from his lips as he effortlessly shoves my body against the cold, unyielding wall.
