The Emperor (Dark Verse Book 3) Page 6

  “Let’s send him back with the message,” Lorenzo Maroni nodded, before suddenly pointing the gun at the man’s shoulder and pulling the trigger.

  The loud noise ricocheted in the room, startling Amara. A yelp left her before she could stop it. Clapping a hand over her mouth, she stumbled back from the door, hurriedly picking up the laundry and running down the hallway. Her heart hammered in her chest as she heard the door behind her open, and she sprinted down the stairs, her feet going as fast as they could.

  One floor down.

  Two floors down.

  Amara hit the ground level and ran to the kitchen, the area bustling with staff getting everything ready for the party. Shoving the laundry in the hands of one of the surprised servants, she ran down the gallery towards the back entrance.

  Only to collide into a brick wall.

  Shaking, Amara looked up to see Dante Maroni holding her by the arms, keeping her upright, a look of concern on his face.

  “Hey, hey, are you okay?”

  Amara looked at him with wide eyes and nodded. Mr. Maroni had said he couldn’t know. She didn’t even know what it was but she couldn’t tell him. What would be the point? What she witnessed in that room wasn’t anything new in this world. She was the one who was having a hard time processing it.

  “Yeah, um,” she floundered for words, panting. “I think I left the oven on at home. I just- I just need to check it.”

  She started to pull away when his grip on her arms tightened a fraction, not enough to hurt but enough to keep her in place.

  “Look at me,” he said in a tone she’d never heard from him before. Commanding her attention. Unwittingly, her eyes went to his dark browns, to see them studying her.

  “What the fuck is going on with you?” he demanded, his gaze steady on hers, alert.

  Amara straightened her spine, knowing she had to push him off. Nobody could know she’d seen anything, for her and her mother’s safety. “It doesn’t concern you. Will you let go of my arms?”

  Dante’s fingers stayed wrapped around her biceps, almost entirely encircling them, his touch burning through the fabric of her top. The tension from earlier built between them again as they stared the other down, one that hadn’t been there in any of their previous interactions. His fingers flexed once, jaw visibly clenching before he released her. Amara swallowed and walked out of the mansion at a fast clip.

  Heart still pounding, she looked back to see him still standing at the same spot, watching her leave. She wanted to tell him, but it was nothing compared to what he probably saw every day. And she didn’t even know the man. She had grown up crushing on him but she didn’t know who he was.

  It was better she never say anything to anyone.

  Amara gulped the secret down, shoving it to the recesses of her mind, and kept walking back to her house.

  “Damn, you clean up nice!” Amara exclaimed, looking at Vin as he came out from the store. He looked very dashing in an ironed black button-down shirt tucked into black pants, a simple belt around his narrow waist. At sixteen, he was already filling out like a heartbreaker.

  They had come to the city because Vin had needed something more formal for the party, and since he could already drive, he had borrowed his dad’s car and they’d made it a trip. Amara had needed the excursion to get her head right. And buying a beautiful dress had only helped with that.

  It was a gorgeous dark green dress with a modest neckline and full sleeves. The color brought out her eyes, the hemline fell to her knees. Amara had seen it and fallen in love.

  They had both decided to get ready at the store itself, so they could go straight to the party. Vin had patrolling duty with the other security staff, which was a big deal since boys his age were never allowed that job. And Amara had decided to help her mother out so while she would be at the party, she would be working.

  “Yeah, yeah,” her friend tugged at his collar, his tell for when he got uncomfortable, and Amara grinned. Walking to the car through the empty lot, Amara pulled her hair into a high ponytail, so it wouldn’t get in the way.

  “Do you think I should try wearing lipstick tonight?” she asked Vin, who groaned at her question.

  “You need girlfriends to talk that shit with, ‘Mara,” he told her, pulling the car keys out of his pocket.

  Amara linked her arm with his. “But I’ve got you. Will I look pretty with lipstick?” she teased him, and he gave her a droll look.

  “You forget I’ve seen you with snot on your face too many times,” he rolled his eyes. “And licking the wall-”

  “Hey, that was just one time and I was three!”

  “-and you’ll look nice,” he finished over her. “If you want to, wear the damn lipstick.”

  Amara laughed, elbowing him in the ribs. “You’re so bad. So, how was training today?”

  The evening got colder as they walked closer to the car.

  “Good,” Vin replied, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Dante asked me about you today.”

  Amara almost tripped over her feet but kept gripping his arm. Trying to aim for nonchalance, she casually asked. “Really? What did he ask?”

  “If you and I were a thing,” Vin’s voice had the same cringe she felt. She could see why people would assume that given they were joined at the hip, but neither of them was into each other that way. Ew. “I think he’s into you.”

  “Did you correct him?” Amara asked as they came to a stop at the dark sedan they had driven in, ignoring his last sentence.

  “I asked him why he wanted to know,” Vin informed her, walking around to the driver’s side with the bag holding their old clothes. “I mean you’re my best friend, and we know the score. But I think he’s weirded out that you don’t pay attention to him anymore. And if thinking you’re with me is any protection for you, let him think whatever.”

  And this was why she loved this guy. Her hero.

  She gave him a smile over the roof of the car. “You’re a sweetheart, Vinnie.”

  “Fuck, will you not call me that out in the open?” he quickly looked around, making Amara laugh.

  Her laughter cut off before it was even out.

  Before she could say anything, a hand slammed over her mouth, snatching her violently away from the car. A truck came screeching into the parking lot as one man went over to Vin’s side, both of them getting into a hand-to-hand fight before the older, larger guy held Vin down, one putting a hand over his mouth as well.

  Amara watched, horrified, as the man slammed him to the hard concrete on his stomach, incapacitating him.

  “Take the girl.”

  Amara yelled behind her captor’s hand, the smell of raw tobacco drowning in her nostrils as she struggled against him. She brought the heel of her ballet flats down on the man’s toes, enough to make him grunt but not enough to loosen his hold. The man started to drag her back towards the waiting truck and she kicked her feet, one of her flats coming free in the tussle.

  She saw the man over Vin hit him over the head with an elbow, saw Vin go limp on the ground, and started to wrestle against her captor with all her might, her heart slamming at a furious pace inside her chest.

  “Fuckin’ bitch won’t stop moving,” the man behind her complained to his companion. Damn right, she wasn’t going to stop moving. Somehow, she managed to trap some skin of his hand between her teeth and bit down as hard as she could.

  The man yelled, pulling his hand away enough for her to scream.

  “Help!”

  A cloth filled her mouth, gagging her, muffling any sound she tried to make.

  “Get her in the truck,” one of the men said and Amara struggled harder, her lungs starting to burn from the exertion.

  She looked with wide eyes as the masked man facing her grunted in pain and turned around.

  Vin stood behind the guy, coming at him with the knife he always kept on him. Her eyes tracked them feverishly, seeing Vin go from attack to defense. The other guy was clearly not just bigger, but also
more experienced than her friend.

  He grabbed ahold of Vin’s knife hand, snapping his wrist, making her friend grunt in pain. Amara thrashed against the man holding her, trying to get to him. She watched in horror as the man took the knife and slashed her friend’s face open.

  It was Vin’s loud howl of agony that had the man cursing and throwing the knife to the ground.

  “We gotta hurry,” he told the guy holding her and they began to drag her back towards the running vehicle. Amara saw someone running towards Vin as the men pushed her into the trunk, and everything went dark.

  Amara blinked her eyes open, disoriented as she came to in an unfamiliar room.

  It looked like the inside of a prison cell, only cleaner, almost sterile. The walls were a weird shade of off white she had never really seen on walls before. The door in front of her was wooden, heavy, and brown. A smaller door was to her right. And it was dark, not enough to be pitch black since there was enough light coming from under the door to allow her visibility. But it was dark enough to make her uncomfortable.

  Amara pulled her arm up to rub the bleariness out of her eyes, only to stop short as she felt the heavy metal around her wrists. Slightly more alert, she looked down at her hands, to see manacles, actual manacles, locking her in place, attached to chains, hooked to the wall behind her.

  Heart starting to beat faster as memories came flooding in, Amara looked around the room, trying to find a weapon, a key, anything that could help her escape. There was nothing – no windows in the room, no furniture except an empty table against the wall opposite her. She was sitting on the ground.

  And even though her mouth felt full of cotton, she didn’t actually have anything gagging her.

  Swallowing down her dry throat, Amara contemplated making a noise. She didn’t know anything about her attackers. She didn’t know who they were or why they had come for her. Could it be accidental? Maybe they had mistaken her for someone else? She was the housekeeper’s daughter and not important at all. It didn’t make sense.

  On the tail of that thought, the door unlocked and swung open, light flooding the room, momentarily blinding her. Amara blinked a few times to let her eyes adjust as the man who had slashed Vin’s face entered the room with a bottle of water. In the shadows, Amara could barely see him clearly, while he could see her completely since the light fell on her. The only things she could make out – he was heavyset, possibly bearded.

  “Morning, bitch,” the man hopped on the table opposite her, making the wood creak under his weight. “Sleep well?”

  Amara gulped, staying silent. God, she hoped they didn’t hurt her. She couldn’t stand the pain. She’d never been able to. Please let this be a misunderstanding.

  The man threw the small bottle beside her. The plastic crashed into the wall before rolling towards her. Was it drugged?

  “Not drugged,” the man clarified, evidently reading her thoughts. “We’re gonna have a little chat, that’s all.”

  She didn’t believe him. There was something in the tone of his voice, something too casual in the way he’d framed that sentence that made Amara very wary. Looking down at the bottle, Amara felt tempted to pick it up but refrained. She was thirsty but she’d rather stay conscious.

  After seeing she wasn’t picking the bottle up, the man asked, “You know who we work for?”

  She had zero ideas. She shook her head, not knowing if that was the smart thing to do.

  “Good, that’s very good,” the man nodded encouragingly, and Amara took a breath in relief. Okay, ignorance was the good thing.

  “Do you know why you’re here?”

  Amara shook her head again, pulling down at the hem of her dress as nerves assaulted her, blood rushing to her ears.

  The man leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees, still too much in the dark for her to make out his features. “You’re here to give us some answers. You do that, nobody is going to get hurt, and we let you go. Got that?”

  A shiver started at the base of her spine, lead settling in her gut. He was lying. She could tell. They weren’t going to let her go.

  But she nodded in reply.

  “You know Lorenzo Maroni?” the man asked, taking out a cigarette and putting it to his mouth. He lit a match, momentarily throwing a little light on his features, before taking a huge puff. The smoke didn’t smell like the usual cigarette; it was sweet, almost cloyingly so as she inhaled it.

  “I…I know of him,” Amara stuttered, her body filling with adrenaline as her heartbeat spiked. God, why was she there? It didn’t make any sense. She didn’t know what this man wanted from her.

  “You’ve never seen him?”

  “Just in passing,” Amara said, her voice climbing as her nerves attacked her, her habit coming to the fore under the tremendous strain on her mind.

  The man nodded, taking out his phone and showing her the image of a man. “Can you see him?”

  Amara squinted slightly, looking at the picture. It was the photo of a bald man wearing glasses. He seemed familiar but she didn’t recognize him. It was possible she’d seen him on the compound.

  “Ever seen him?”

  Amara shook her head. “I think you have the wrong person,” she said hopefully, trying to reason with him. “Please just let me go. I don’t know anything.”

  She heard him laugh, and Amara’s blood chilled.

  “Oh, I have the right person,” he assured her, his voice setting all her alarm bells ringing. “Tell me about Dante Maroni.”

  Amara felt her heart stop for a second, before continuing the hard rhythm. “He’s Lorenzo Maroni’s son.”

  “Yes. He’s a mean fucker, that one,” the man huffed out. “He ever talk business with you?”

  She shook her head. “I barely know Dante.”

  “That’s not what a little birdie told me,” the man sing-songed. “In fact, I heard you two looked awfully cozy with each other, if you know what I mean.”

  A vigorous shiver wracked her.

  “No,” she empathically denied. “I don’t know him. I don’t know anything. Please just let me go.”

  The man laughed. “You’re cute.”

  No. No.

  Her skin crawled. Amara made sure her dress still covered her knees and folded in on herself, to make her body as small as possible.

  “Okay, so you ain’t talking Dante Maroni,” the man leaned back, straightening, the wood groaning under his weight. “Know anything about a Syndicate?”

  Amara’s mind flashed back to the room at the Maroni mansion. Lorenzo Maroni’s cousin had mentioned it. She shook her head.

  The man nodded. “Know anything about a shipment?”

  ‘The shipment goes out in three days.’

  Amara denied it.

  “Stubborn bitch,” the man laughed. “I’ll break you yet.”

  Amara shivered, from the cold or the fear invading her entire being, she didn’t know. “You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?” she asked, her voice breaking as her eyes welled up.

  The man hopped off the table. “Sorry, sweets. My boys and me, we don’t leave witnesses.”

  With that, he went out of the door, leaving it open this time. He returned in a few minutes with a bag, placing it on the table. Taking out a large key from his pocket, he came towards her.

  Amara shrank into the wall, backing away from him.

  “No,” she begged, desperation leaking into her voice. “Please, let me go. I’ll never tell anyone anything.”

  The man chuckled, as though she amused him. The scent of tobacco, motor oil, and that overly sweet smoke invaded her space as he unshackled her wrists. “Rest up. Be back soon.”

  He took the bag and walked out again, locking the door, leaving her in the dark.

  As soon as the man had left, Amara had explored the other closed door for a weapon. It had been a bathroom with nothing but a toilet, a sink, and liquid soap. Out in the room, there was nothing except the table and the chains that were bolted to the
wall, so she couldn’t use them either. Defeated, scared, Amara had simply walked to the corner and huddled in on herself, praying for someone, anyone, to come to her rescue. She didn’t know how long it was, or what time it was, when the man returned, this time with both his companions.

  Heart in her throat, she looked up to see them blocking the light from the door.

  “I don’t know anything,” she pleaded again, her voice cracking. “Please. If you want money, I can get you some. Please, let me go.”

  They ignored her. One of them dragged a chair into the room. The second man came to her, pulling her up roughly by the arm, and threw her into the chair. Amara looked at them frantically, her eyes coming to a halt at the first man laying down a coil of rope, a knife, and a container on the table.

  He put on gloves.

  Her breathing escalated.

  No.

  “I don’t know anything!” she didn’t care how her voice broke on that last word. Her fear eclipsed everything.

  “We still gonna chat, girl,” he informed her, as her gut tightened.

  He took the rope, dipping it in the container. Amara heard the slight sizzle and her body began to tremble. He spoke. “You don’t wanna have these acid ropes around those pretty wrists, do you?”

  She shook her head frantically, tears streaming down her face.

  “Very good. Then tell me about the compound. Is there any entry from the woods?”

  “I don’t know,” Amara said, even though she knew there was. “Kids aren’t…aren’t allowed to go in the woods,” she stumbled upon the words in her nervousness. She’d come across it on one of her walks and though it was fenced, it was still there. But she wasn’t going to tell them that. Not when it was her home.

  “See,” the man nodded. “That was a test question and you passed. Good. Is there any underground entrance?”

  Amara shook her head, her eyes on the rope. “I’m sorry, I don’t know anything.”

  The man stepped closer, the acrid scent of acid coming with him. Amara clenched her teeth to keep her jaw from trembling.