Kidnapped By The Ruthless Billionaire Mafia Don

Contessa

Being hogtied and blinded in the back of a Range Rover is not something that happens very often, but for me, it happened on April 16th, when the sky was gloomy and the sun seemed to be fading away for hours. The weather is ideal for your informal weekend kidnapping. I keep note of every hiccup in my mind. I keep track of every curve and every red light. Or are they warning signs?

Are we still negotiating city traffic, or did we merge onto a freeway? The sound of the unseasonable Christmas music blasting from the speakers is so loud that I can hardly hear myself thinking. I roll idly around the back of the SUV while the frenzied joy of "Jingle Bell Rock" echoes through my bones. The rear window is covered by a tarp. I'm unable to try to pull it down with my fingers. I take the brunt of the hit on my shoulder as we bounce around a corner and I topple down again.

According to my father, I would never experience this. That's what he promised me. It was a lie, just like everything else he had promised. I rage, resisting the impulse to scream and kick the back seats. I must conserve my energy.

I can't tell if twenty or two hundred minutes have passed. When you're facing an inevitable, wretched death, time becomes warped. The vehicle rolls to a stop after swinging in somewhere. The engine fails. There is a resounding silence after Bobby Helms' final screams. I prepare myself. I have no idea where I am based on my best guesses and the detailed mental map I have created in my mind. God, I am so without hope.

The rear of the vehicle is surrounded by footsteps. Through my recently developed tinnitus, I am unable to hear the garbled conversation. I prepare to jump out by fortifying myself. They refuse to tell my father that I retaliated when the men recount what transpired and this tale eventually finds its way back to him. I begged for him like a baby, they'll tell him. Perhaps I will by the end of this. However, they and I will both know that despite having both hands tied behind my back, I made an effort to fight to the end.

With a pressured hiss, the trunk opens. I jump out, topple forward, and headbutt into a powerful chest that lets out a shocked "woah!" I am pulled into several arms, spun around, and placed on my feet. Giddy laughter is heard, followed by - I've ripped the blindfold off my face. "Happy birthday!" shout voices. I look at my friends' familiar features, feeling lightheaded and numb. My adrenaline rushes, and I crash into a guardrail faster than a motorcyclist. From certain, agonizing death, I now find myself standing on a very public sidewalk on my birthday with my closest group of friends. The neon lights of a club entrance sweep over our group.

I can't decide whether to laugh, cry, or throw up. Kaydence gives me a tippy-toed embrace. I'm thankful for the opportunity to conceal my face in her shoulder and gain self-control while we totter back and forth. Tessa, it's just a brief near-death experience. Get your act together. The group erupts in joyful hugs, mistaking my tears for cries of thanks. Josh, Lindy, Cole, her boyfriend, Kaydence- Every face is familiar to me. They have no idea that my heart is pounding in my throat. that the back of my teeth tastes like my own fear.

If I were simply another person, I would have expected this kind of prank, which is precisely what you would expect on a birthday night. Anybody else, please. When I stepped outside my art studio and the blindfold was placed over my eyes, I hadn't even realized it was my birthday. In that instant, all of my old concerns were resurfacing. My pals would never have done it if they had any idea who I really am or where I'm from, but they don't. Nobody is able to know.

"Guys..." "I can't believe it" is all I can manage to say when I reach for my first words of the evening. They laugh once again, and I force myself to laugh too. For a nice deed, I can't bring myself to yell at them. Josh and Cole give each other a high five. The majority of the heavy lifting was undoubtedly done by them. Before the tears flow, I wipe my eyes. Running eyeliner is never justified by minor trauma.

"Where are we?" Kaydence leads us into the club that will be our surprise destination and exhorts us to go find out. My mind continues to spin. Do you believe that your birthday is over? It's only the beginning. The purpose of all that pampering was to prepare you for my actual birthday gift. God, please.

Kaydence has already done too much for me; I am aware of her financial circumstances, yet she still went all out for our girl's day out on my birthday. We had gone shopping for new clothes and shoes, and we had our hair and nails done. We concluded the day with a quick photo shoot for our social media, and I chose to dress in vintage Hollywood glam. The fact that I had a terrific time should have been my first indication that something was wrong. The culmination of our careless spending frenzy was this evening. How I didn't figure it out is beyond me.

As she stops us just past the bouncer, her hand grabs my wrist and holds it tightly. When Kay has something sincere to say, I can always tell. Somehow, she must contact your hand, wrist, or shoulder. It seems as though skin-to-skin contact allows the sincerity of her statements to sink in. When our eyes meet, I can see the sincere concern in those glossy, dark eyes. "Tess, please listen to me even though you stated that you would not be involved in dating." "Oh, no-"

Over my whining and shifting, she adds, "-it has been months," keeping me rooted with her hand on my wrist. "You're going to move on tonight. I will not allow the past to destroy your twenty-fourth birthday. Not when I'm watching. That man, whose name I will not mention here, stole a year of your life, and I will be damned if you allow him to do it again. The thought of the past and my not-so-recent ex, James, makes me wince. The man who nearly made me dream of him but instead became the source of my nightmares. Kay still despises him even if she is unaware of the entire unpleasant incident. Kay jolts me back to reality.

"This is your birthday, Tessa. You're hot enough to fuck any dude in this place, including the married ones-"

Sleeping with married men isn't my style, but I'm flattered by the point she's trying to make.

"-so, go get one. Fuck him tonight and throw him away in the morning or get hitched in Las Vegas over the weekend. Whatever. I don't care. Just take a chance on somebody. Whenever I think about how dry your dating life has been, it makes my pussy hurt. Think of my pussy, Tess."

"Jesus Christ, Kay," I squeak, trying to silence the yelling about her pussy. At least the music is louder than her insanity. "Is this a birthday party or an intervention?"

"Think of it like the only intervention you get to drink at," Cole says, "And it happens to be on your birthday. Come on."

I don't know how any of them expect me to score with some dude out here when they're watching me like I'm the next best thing to National Geographic. I can already hear Attenborough narrating my futile attempts to find a mate during the peak of the season. But Kay's right. I've been hung up on my past too long...and avoiding the future, as if it won't happen anyway.

But I will not think about her pussy, no matter how much she begs me.

Our Birthday Celebration Intervention overflows into the club, and we are swept into the throng of dancing and drinking like the tides of the ocean. I hit the drinks right away tonight. I need it to get the dread out of my system before being pulled onto the hot dance floor at Lindy and Kay's urging. Men enjoy touching me with their hands. Pretending that we have been crushed together by the crowd, they enjoy grinding against me. That section of the club used to fascinate me because I could picture how exciting it would be to give in and let instinct and unadulterated physical desire speak for themselves. Then he appeared. I feel uncomfortable being pushed around and made fun of by frat dudes and career clubbers.

Kaydence goes to get more drinks. I'm going to need them if she's going to convince me any of this is a good idea.

By my next rum and coke, my mood is higher and my standards lower. I've caught the attention of a tall 20-something, young and hot-blooded, with his shirt ripped open at the collar. He grinds against me through the beat, mumbling half-heard questions in my ear. I don't answer him. The crowd is too noisy, too frantic.

and pedigree, to a massive university, where I could hide away from my father's many rules and codes.

I met Kay and Lindy during my first year of independence. regular folks. They weren't pledged to loyalty, and they didn't want favors from my father. I was just another face in the crowd, like the dozens of silhouettes that swayed all around us. I was surrounded for the first time by people who chose to be with me because they liked me rather than because they saw opportunities in me. They were the very first genuine friendships I had ever experienced. Then James appeared, my heart agape and my guard down.

but it has my father's tone, and my days of listening to him are long gone. I slipped his leash at eighteen, fled from my tiny, elite private school where everyone knew my name

A voice in my head tells me this is a bad idea,

It feels like I've been cold for months, but my body has only begun to warm up again. The numb chill returns at the thought of him. I force him out of my mind once more, allowing the dance, the drink, and the alcohol to push the past away. For the first time, even if it's simply inebriated and uninterested, I hesitantly dare to feel something. My unidentified dance companion begins yanking me away.

"Where are we going?" I moan, my companions lost in the frenzy of the crowd. "I have a room." My enigmatic man pulls a key out of his pocket and leads me to a small, dim hallway marked "Staff Only." "You're employed here?" I ask, still half-shouting over the music. "Something along those lines," he says with a crooked smile. As the doors close behind us, the music fades.

Without giving us a second glance, another man walks by us in the staff area. Their distinctive olive skin, dark eyes, and dark hair are all the same. I have the same dark eyes and dark hair. In a flash of panic, I recall that Kay never mentioned the name of the nightclub we were in. I was warned as a child not to make mistakes like these. Be alert at all times and familiar with your adversary's areas. Some parts of the city are just off limits to me, and I might even be standing in one of them.

With the front nameplate fading and unreadable, my clumsy dance companion pauses in front of another doorway. He's trying to get my attention. I plant my feet there. I detect danger like an animal. "In here. They won't care. My need to avoid being killed at the rear of a seedy club clashes with my want to be kind. I smile and resist his tight hold, insisting, "I think I just want to dance." When our eyes meet, I can see right away that my "no" has been ignored.

"Come on, pretty girl. He croons, "You dance like you want to fuck." He's too near. He wedges his leg between mine and presses me against the wall. In the back of my mind, panic flares. Do I agree to it in order to prevent this from getting worse and to keep things private between us? Should I attempt to make a scene and run the risk of drawing unwanted attention? I'm at a standstill, unable to make a decision.

"Don't you want to fuck?" He says, a question that doesn't need an answer. The alcohol-fueled desire in my belly shrivels up and dies immediately. He's all over me. My fists wedge against his chest as he attempts to convince me with moist kisses at my neck. He clings to me and complains when I try to remove him off me, even if I push away. I stumble through the doorway over my heels after he pushes me back into it.

"No!" I scream and jump for the doorway as it closes. Here, the bass continues to pound the floor like a living heartbeat. Although it is a storage room, it appears to have been a private VIP area at one point. My visage is reflected back to me from all sides by mirrored walls. I know what he wants to do with the couch that has been jammed into one corner. He mimics my every move as I reach for the door once more. He pushes me up against the chilly mirror, pressing my back against it.

"Don't be like that," he complains, as if we're still negotiating something.

The door bangs open, rattling on its hinges.

The boy jumps away from me like a child caught with his hands in the cookie jar, but even that is too slow.

A man walks in, bangs his head into the glass wall, and effortlessly catches the boy's hair with one fist. The shards splinter and fracture, and I scream. I drop to the ground, scuttling to the other side of the room for safety as I flee the unexpected violence. A streak of blood slides down the glass from the crater of broken fragments. At its base, the youngster is on the floor, collapsed. He received what was due to him, although the method used was cruel. Horrible. barbaric. And as I look into my savior's eyes for the first time in four numb months, butterflies burst in my stomach.