Vendetta(93)

I unballed my fist and pushed onward, holding the knife as far from my body as I could and using my shoulder as an anchor to keep me upright.

“Get out of my way.” Brandishing the switchblade, I tried to shove against his chest with my other shoulder.

Luca curled his hand around my back and yanked the knife easily from my grip with the other. He flicked it closed and threw it onto the couch, far from my reach. “You can’t go through me.”

I looked up at him, glaring. I had seen enough of those piercing eyes for a century. “Let go of me.”

He didn’t. He moved his gaze across the room and let it rest on Calvino’s flat-out form. “You do that to him?” he asked evenly.

I nodded.

He studied me, first the dried blood on my chin, and then where I was trying to clutch at my ribs. “Cazzo,” he muttered, shaking his head.

My legs buckled, but he caught me. He lowered me to the floor so that I was sitting. I wanted to tell him to get his hands off me, but I didn’t because, for a nanosecond, I felt a respite from pain. It was almost manageable in this position, but I knew I couldn’t remain in it. I had to escape.

Without taking his eyes off me, Luca pulled out his phone, punched in a number, and lifted it to his ear. “She’s still here.” A short silence and then, “An hour.” He clicked off and returned the phone to his pocket.

“What’s in an hour?” My voice was breathless with pain.

Luca didn’t respond, and I winced as another ache spread along my chest. He got to his feet and crossed over to where Calvino was beginning to stir on the floor.

“Svegliati,” he said, nudging his shoulder with his shoe. Calvino groaned, but he didn’t open his eyes. “I’m taking her to the warehouse,” Luca continued, as though talking to a semiconscious, moaning man was entirely normal. “I’ll try not to let everyone know a seventeen-year-old, tied-up girl with no formal training managed to knock you out. In the meantime, you might want to sleep this off.”

Calvino’s leg twitched as Luca walked away from him. “Pezzo di merda,” he muttered, before returning his attention to me.

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” I said.

“It’s not up to you.”

“Nic will never forgive you.” My voice cracked and I cursed the weakness it betrayed, but Luca didn’t seem to notice. Or care. He flicked his gaze to Calvino again. “Nic is not my concern right now.”

He peered his head around the open door, into the next room. When he turned back I was already on my feet again, swaying. I stumbled forward.

Luca cocked his head. “You’re coming with me, Sophie.”

“No,” I heaved, pushing forward until we were standing together at the door once more. “I told you I don’t respect your authority.” I staggered on and nearly tripped over the threshold.

Luca caught me again. I tried to hit his shoulder, but I faltered and he grabbed me by the waist, anchoring me to him so that I was half-floating and half-standing. “That doesn’t change anything.”

I tried to wriggle free, but he wouldn’t let go of me. “I hate you,” I heaved.

“Then this probably won’t help,” he replied. Before I could respond, he swung my legs upward and caught them beneath one arm, pulling my body into his with the other. I kicked out as hard as I could, but he only held me tighter, crushing me against his chest.

He carried me through a second, larger room. It was a dimly lit sitting area strewn with empty pizza boxes and cans of Coke. There was a muted poker tournament playing on a huge flat-screen TV, which was surrounded by wide leather armchairs.

I continued to struggle as agony coursed through my body, pushing through my vocal chords in banshee moans.

“Shut up,” he cautioned as he opened another door and we plunged into the darkness along the second-story landing. I didn’t shut up. I screamed until my voice cracked and my throat stung.

We reached the top of a winding staircase that parted into two identical paths. Luca descended quickly, his footfalls tapping against the marble until we were at the very bottom, standing in a large circular foyer with a white stone floor. In the center, a glass chandelier illuminated a mosaic of the Falcone family crest carved into the stone at our feet. My kicks were getting weaker and weaker.

“Please,” I said, looking up at him. My head lolled against his shoulder as exhaustion crashed over me. “Please don’t do this.”

Luca’s mouth was a hard line, stretching the faint scar above his lip. He didn’t look at me.

We reached the front door and stepped out into the night. Luca hurried into a jog. The house rose into the dark sky behind us; it was a gargantuan three-story mansion made of white stone. In the middle, the roof rounded and protruded from the rest of the house, supported by a semicircular row of columns.