I'd tried everything from the window locks to even the goddamn air vents. Yet there seemed to be no way out.
My eyes burned from lack of sleep, and my thoughts felt like they were wrapped in barbed wire. I was tangling myself deeper into the what-ifs, and my mind felt like it would crack.
I flopped back onto the bed for the twelfth time that night, mentally kicking myself. God, I'd mishandled everything. The screaming and the insults had felt good in the moment, but that was no way to get what I wanted. I should have been sweet, tried to reason; maybe he would have let me call my family.
All I had now was a sore throat from all that shrieking and a nervous lump of anxiety permanently settled in my chest.
If I'd been smarter, calmer, I could have played along. Pretended to accept my situation while quietly looking for opportunities to contact my family or to escape. Instead, I'd thrown a tantrum like a child and telegraphed my every intention to escape.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” I muttered, punching the pillow into a more comfortable shape.
The worst part was how every reaction gave Gastone a glimpse into what triggered me and what set me off. Meanwhile, what had I learned about him? That he had a temper to match mine. That he wasn't above manipulation. That he looked unfairly good for a man pushing forty.
I rolled over, burying my face in the pillow. That last thoughtwasn't helpful at all.
The truth was, I'd never been in a situation like this before. Sure, I was a Lebedev surrounded by danger. ButI'd always been sheltered from the uglier side of our family business. I knew how to shoot a gun and throw a punch, but I'd never had to talk my way out of captivity before.
Somehow, I managed a fitful sleep, but it certainly wasn’t restful. By the time I saw the sunlight peeking in through the curtains, I knew what I had to do. I needed to be smarter than Gastone Ajello. And step one was understanding my environment.
I forced myself out of bed despite having slept maybe an hour, tops. My dress from last night was crumpled beyond salvation, and I smelled like a gross nightclub. Charming.
After a hot shower that did little to improve my mood but at least made me feel human again, I wrapped myself in a fluffy white towel and assessed my options.
The closet was empty except for a bathrobe and, to my surprise, some women’s clothes that looked like they weren’t made for me. Maybe they were Larissa’s or something. Most didn’t fit, but I found one loose set of sweatpants and pulled on a simple black T-shirt.
Dressed and marginally more put-together, I cracked open the bedroom door and listened. The penthouse was quiet. Maybe Gastone was still asleep? Or—hopefully—out completely?
I slipped out and, this time around, noticed how big the place actually was. Before I jumped on the bandwagon of finding an escape, I knew I needed energy.
From how quiet the house was, if my guess was correct and Gastone was out, I could break doors and windows and not care about being overheard and caught—a privilege I didn’t have the previous night.
First stop: the kitchen. I needed coffee if I was going to chisel my way out of here.
The kitchen was state-of-the-art and far too clean. I found the coffee maker easily enough and set about making myself a cup.
Small victories: I was going to drink this asshole's expensive coffee while plotting my escape.
While the machine hummed to life, I found bread and popped it into the toaster. I had no time to eat more than some toast and cheese.
Coffee in hand, toast buttered and half-eaten, I started a more methodical exploration of my prison. The living room had floor-to-ceiling windows with a stunning view of Manhattan, but they didn't open more than a few inches. The main door required both a code and a fingerprint, as I'd discovered last night. Strike one and two.
There was a home office with a desktop computer that required a password, and a laptop that was similarly locked. Strike three. The balcony door was locked with what looked like a biometric scanner. Strike four.
I was running out of options, but at least I now had a mental map of the place. And knowledge was power, right?
The penthouse had five bedrooms, though only two showed signs of use—mine and what I assumed was Gastone's, which was closed. The living area opened onto a dining room, which connected to the kitchen. There was also a home gym, a small library, and a media room. The man had done well for himself.
As I circled back toward the kitchen for a coffee refill, I heard voices coming from behind a closed door I'd assumed was a closet. I froze, cup halfway to my lips, and listened.
“—Don't understand how the shipment could go missing.”
That voice. Of course, I knew that voice.
“I was thinking we need to barcode containers,” another familiar voice chimed in.
My heart quickened. Gastone wasn't alone. He was in there with Dino and Carlo, his younger brothers, and I knew them from when they visited Larissa at the house. They maintained careful contact with Larissa even after she chose Gio over her own family, even attended the baby shower, and came to see the baby.
I stood there, weighing my options. I could slink back to my room and continue exploring, looking for weaknesses. Or...
