Please let everyone make it out of this alive,I pray, a lump growing in my throat as we take the exit for New Rochelle. The twins pull their balaclavas on minutes before we park at the designated location. An extra-large duffel bag lays on the ground. This was my idea. Just like my uncle, a fan of Harvey Specter, decorated his office like his, I’ve decided to copy another tv show; one where a woman, covered in tattoos, is delivered to the FBI in a duffel bag.
Okay—it’s a little backward, but I like the irony. Once the van comes to a park, I unclip my seatbelt and fold myself into the bag. Justin climbs through the seats, lifting his balaclava enough so I can see him. “You okay?” he asks, and I nod.
“Promise me you’ll both take care of Susannah and keep her safe?”
“We will,” they agree in unison, and Justin zips up the bag, giving me a thumbs-up right before it closes completely.
“Incoming,” Theo advises. “It’s the sameJimmy’s Electricalvan as before.”
I hear the van door slide open and Justin jumping out.
“That the package?” an unfamiliar voice questions and Justin replies in the affirmative. I’m lifted, none too gently, and tossed into the other van, banging my hip painfully against the floor panel.
The sound of an engine starting destroys the little bit of peace I tried to scrape together, and I swallow down the terror rising in my throat. I’m on my own now. The bag is ripped open, and I blink against the sunlight. A man in his late thirties with greasy black hair stands above me wearing a stained wife beater and sagging jeans, while brass knuckles grace his right hand.
He waves the knuckles at me. “You gonna make me use these?” I shake my head, eyes overly wide to show my fear. This is the kind of fucker Vincenzo is hiring? I want to roll my eyes but needing to keep up the pretense of a terrified girl, I refrain. It’s a struggle though.
He waves a scanner of some kind over me, and I’m relieved I had Eric remove the tracker. This guy is filthy; I wouldn’t trust him not to give me some kind of infection while he removed it.
Greasy guy starts to bind my hands with zip ties when the van shakes. I gasp, and he snorts a laugh. “It’s just the others.”
“Others?”
“Didn’t think it was just me, didya? Your daddy was worried it might be some kinda trap, so he sent the others to keep watch. You hadda sniper on you the minute you drove up the street.”
That sounds more like it. I would question Vincenzo’s sanity if this douche was the only one here.
Six men climb in, one taking the passenger seat, the others crowding around me, each with their firearms pointed at my head. I would have preferred it if they had zipped the bag closed again. Instead, I close my eyes, letting the rocking motion of the van lull me into a nap where Cruz’s swords swing wildly, beheading all these fuckers.
“Get up!” one of the men shouts and kicks me in the side. Groaning, I force myself into a sitting position. The van has stopped, and the sliding door hangs open. “Move.” He pushes my back, and I scoot myself closer to the door, dangling my legs over the edge.
Greasy guy sits in the driver’s seat, but the rest of the men, except for the one behind me, are fanned out around the van’s door, guns trained on me. Do they ever put them down? I slide down and wait to be told what to do.
Sneaking a quick glance around, I note the layout of this part of the house. A large wall surrounds us as far as I can see, confirming what the satellite images showed. The house is of modern design, all boxes and large windows. Steps lead up from the lawn to the patio surrounding the house.
Besides my six guards, I count four walking on the house’s flat roof, rifles at the ready. Every window and door has a guard standing outside it, while I can see seven more patrolling the grounds.
Despite his protests, I think Daddy might be scared of us.
The guards lead me up the stairs and through a sliding door into a living room. Vincenzo sits in a wide leather wingback chair, one leg folded over the other, looking for all the world like a king on his throne.
The guards come to a halt before him, and I keep my eyes on him, unable to stop the shudder running down my spine as his eyes roam over me with a sickening glint no father should ever have looking at his daughter.
“Daniella!” he booms out, uncrossing his legs and coming to his feet. He steps toward me and grabs my shoulders, placing a loud kiss against both cheeks. I want to recoil at his touch, but I won’t give him the satisfaction. “It’s been too long since I’ve laid eyes on you.”
Yeah, because I fucking hate your guts, you egotistical, narcissistic, evil piece of shit.
I say nothing, give him nothing. His bright smile falters slightly, then amps back up. “Nothing to say? Well, I suppose that’s to be expected after such a long separation. You,” he gestures to the guards behind me, “show her to her room.” He pats me on the head. “I’ll be down to visit you soon.”
The guards lead me away, and I make sure to commit every detail to memory. I memorized the layout of the house from the blueprints Trey was able to locate, but there could be changes not recorded on them. I also want to keep count of how many guards I see.
We walk past a second living room, through a dining room, and to a back hallway with a line of doors. Only one has a guard outside it, and my suspicion that this is the way to the underground levels is confirmed when he steps aside and opens the door for us.
The walls look solid, made not from wood but brick or concrete. Everything is painted white, from the handrails to the ceilings and walls. It’s sterile and boring and could easily lead someone to madness if they had to spend any length of time down here.
Luckily for me, I’m planning on only one night. If all goes according to plan, the others will be here tomorrow.
I don’t get to see much of this floor as the next staircase is directly to the right of the one we just came down. I stop abruptly at the bottom when I see the guard standing at the next set of stairs leading to the third level. My heart picks up a beat when I realize how close Cruz is. Why else would they need a guard blocking the door?
