One
Luca
I may have been an asshole, tossing Ashton out of the car during a surveillance op for my father, but I don’t deserve what comes next.
In my attempt to head back down the mountainside, to find cover for the vehicle, I’m stopped by another oncoming car, coming head-on right at me, headlights blazing.
That wouldn’t be the worst of it. The vehicle pushes forward, hard and fast on slick snow, forcing me to maneuver in reverse along the one-lane snow-covered road.
They give no indication of slowing down.
As I manage to make it through the swift turns in reverse, back up to the abandoned cabin, I have nowhere to go. There’s no escape. Not even the cover of night will protect me.
There’s also no sign of Ashton.
Desperate, I attempt to call Dante, but there’s no signal. Not surprising. We’re in the middle of nowhere.
Men flood out of the vehicle in front of me, blocking the road, guns drawn, its engine idle, with its headlights blinding me.
A darkened figure steps out. The man who was sitting behind the driver smokes a cigarette. It dangles from his lips as he lifts his right hand, giving a gesture for the men with guns to move in.
Two men whom I don’t recognize come at my driver side door, smash open my car window, throw open my door, and yank me out, dragging me by my arms, letting my legs dangle on the cold, snowy road.
I’m entirely at their mercy.
“Get off me!” I shout, struggling against their grip, fighting them off, kicking to free my legs and squirming in their grasp to break out of their hold.
Two additional men surround me with pointed and cocked guns.
Five men against one.
Me.
Who do they think I am?
“What do you want with me?” I pretend not to know what’s going on, but it’s not hard to play dumb when I don’t recognize these men. “I took a wrong turn. Look, I’m sorry! I’ll get back on the road, find my way to the resort. I swear I didn’t see anything.”
If only I can convince them that I don’t belong here, that I’m a tourist or here on a vacation to go skiing.
I’m not far from Blue Sky Resort.
They ignore my words.
I’m dragged inside the shack, an abandoned cabin, the ceiling barely stitched together, the place crumbling around us with broken floorboards at every step.
I’m just waiting to fall through the floor or get my leg stuck and broken.
The men put me on my knees. “Don’t try anything stupid,” the man on my right says. He’s got a thick Italian accent and a scar protruding across his jaw.
Mafia.
He has to be part of another crime family, because he’s not a Ricci and he’s definitely not part of my father’s organization.
I would know if he were one of us.
“Get up. Walk,” the man grunts, the gun at my back as he pushes me farther inside to the top of the basement stairs. He hits the switch; the lights flicker before brightening up the stairwell.
It’s an ugly fluorescent glow that hums to life.