Kidnapped By The Italian Mafia

"Assorted sparkling water my a.s.s." I looked down at the ice bucket filled with bottles of sparkling water among the glittering ice under the bright lights of the conference room. "What kind of assorted flavour crate doesn't carry lime? That's an essential flavour in literally everything. Have you ever seen lemon soda? No, that's sparkling lemonade. This isn't sparkling water, it's sparkling lemonade. If it was lime, it would be a different story."

"Ehm, what's the difference?" The delivery man asked like that was a sane question at all.

"What's the difference? What's the difference!?" I grabbed a bottle of sparkling lemon out of the bucket and held it up. "Lemon is sweeter than lime, which sets me up for failure. Lime offers a sharp tartness followed by a bitter aftertaste, reminiscent of alcohol, which makes my clients feel at ease because it's a placebo effect, which will get me everything I want in the world because I'm good at manipulation, YOU IMBECI— ah, monsieur DiBiancci!"

I quickly thrust the lemon sparkling water at Dominico's c.h.e.s.t and hurried toward the stairwell where Marco was just coming up onto the landing with his guest, guided by one of my new staff. He looked around the room before offering me a kind smile.

"Welcome to my members quarters." I ushered him in towards the table at the soon-to-be redecorated lounge. "As you can see, my vision for it is not finished but I am working incessantly to complete it."

"I'm impressed by what you have so far, miss VanBurren. The atmosphere exudes a sensual elegance already." Marco nodded his approval as he looked around, stopping shortly to take in Henri, who was standing beside what was supposed to be my seat at the head of the table, and Dominico, who was finishing details with the delivery person.

I patiently looked at the man standing slightly behind Marco, waiting for him to be introduced to me. He looked familiar to me, like I had seen him in a movie or something more than ten years ago. It was one of those faces I knew I'd seen before but didn't know where.

When a minute passed and nobody said a word, I cleared my throat and motioned to the man with my eyes. Marco quickly recovered and began the introduction.

"Right, Miss VanBurren, this is São DeTrop, he is one of my chemists from South Africa and hopefully your first club member."

I held out my hand to shake his with a look of interest on my face. "P.l.e.a.s.u.r.e to meet you, monsieur DeTrop, I hope you are enjoying the London weather."

"Yes, the city is very modern. I like the weather downstairs a lot better though." His answer to my welcome put a fat damper on my uplifted spirits and my smile faltered. "I never liked summer, too humid, but I like the heat in your club!" He smirked flirtatiously and I fought the urge to hurl on his thousand pound crocodile leather shoes. Animal cruelty. The man just got better and better.

"I'm glad you find our girls attractive." With as much grace as I could possibly muster, I motioned toward the table. "Please have a seat, we have much to discuss."

Henri, ever the gentleman, pulled out my seat for me to settle into and motioned Dominico to stand beside him a safe distance away from the table to give us privacy. I didn't mind their lack of hearing, everything was being recorded anyway.

"Primarily, I would like to offer you gentlemen a drink." The disdainful bucket glittered under the high quality lights of the lounge room, proudly showcasing the utter lack of lime sparkling water. "We have regular water as well. I am usually a tequila fan but seeing as today's business is so pressing, I opted for something more sobering. We can also get you a drink from the bar downstairs if that's your preference over sparkling water."

I wasn't about to tell them about the private bar being finished up in the back.

"Well what a considerate little lady!" Mr. DeTrop laughed boisterously, summoning a weird look from even Marco. "I can't stay long, I have a previous engagement, but I'll take a whiskey sour, please. And have that girl, what was her name? Martha. Have her bring it up."

Fighting a grimace, I hit the intercom button and placed in the order to the bartender, adding in the little detail of who needed to play waitress. "Done. Now, on to business, monsieur DiBiancci?"

"Sí. I brought São here today because I wanted you to meet the people who you will make direct dealings with. Miss VanBurren here would be our head operative in the UK, so any shipments from South Africa to Europe would come here to England first so that she can make the necessary arrangements to distribute."

That seemed fair and easy enough. It put me at an advantage to sabotage his entire operation, but that begged the very much obvious question. Why would he put so much trust in a person he didn't know?

I knew Marco had done a background check on me, that's about what any idiot would do in this situation, but background screenings aren't nearly reason enough to trust someone enough to lead your whole distribution operation in a part of the continent that you aren't used to. Much less trusting that charge to someone you've only met twice, both times under sneaking suspicion.

With that said, another explanation for Marco's motives would be that he was trying to gauge how important Isabella was to Katarina, and whether or not The Spanish Princess would be willing to risk her freedom to keep a novice manager from ruining her plans by placing her in the indirect spotlight of danger.

This was all so interesting.

"Miss VanBurren, do you have any experience with this sort of work?" Mr. DeTrop questioned, and rightfully so. It was a good thing he asked, but it put me in a tough spot, especially knowing that Marco had done a screening on me. If I lied, he'd suspect things. If I told the truth about Isabella, it would put me at a professional disadvantage.

"Well," I began to choose my words carefully. "I'm a very good negotiator, you have nothing to worry about." I waved a hand as if to placate their doubts. "Leave the operation in my hands and you'll be rolling in more money than you know what to do with."

Mr. DeTrop laughed loudly, his joy likely spurred on by the appearance of the waitress bringing his beverage. "I like you! Where do you find these women, Marco?"

"I lucked out." Marco smiled, but he stared at me the whole time, slightly narrowing his eyes in a way that conveyed puzzlement. If he stared at me long enough, he would be finding signs of who I really was. I needed to provide a distraction.

"Mr. DeTrop, how much do you usually send in one shipment?" I quickly changed the subject to one that would interest everyone present. I had to know how much weight he sent out before deciding what warehouse to pick and what disguises to agree upon.

"Oh, that depends on how much you need. On average I'm shipping twenty tons to Sicily." The presumptuous man sipped his whiskey, all while keeping his eyes on Martha's behind. "The DiBiancci's make quick work of distributing so I'm always kept in business, but now, with you, I'm sure I'll have more work than I know what to do with."

"And more money, too." I giggled, trying to get him to see the positive to this. I needed them infatuated with the idea of working with me. "I may know a few people. I could have some around the club as well, to help sell product. How pure is your work?"

"I brought something for you to sample." Mr. DeTrop pulled a little vial from his inner coat pocket and placed it squarely on the table. "Be careful with that, now. A little goes a long way and I don't cut corners to make volume." He smiled at me condescending. "Wouldn't want a pretty lady like yourself to get hurt."

I suppressed a scoff and took the vial, holding it in my hands for a second before calling for my butler. "Take this."

"Yes, madame." Henri took the vial, gave a short nod, and returned to his place by the wall where he stood with a stic expression. Marco's eyes followed him before they snapped to me.

"Monsieurs," with my hands clasped at my knees, I addressed the men before me. "I trust the quality of your craftsmanship, and I hope you trust that you won't be disappointed with me."

"I have faith in Marco," Mr. DeTrop announced, tapping a fat finger on the side of the glass. The top of his lip was sweating. Or was that whiskey? Could such a repulsive man be such a great chemist as Marco claimed, or was he trying to make a fool out of me? "But I don't quite know you, Miss VanBurren. How can you guarantee that we'll be 'rolling in money' as you claim?"

"Monsieur DeTrop, a proper lady never reveals her secrets." I winked at him, but he didn't laugh this time. He was dead serious. "I am good at marketing, and with the help of my butler here, we will find every party scene in Manc.h.e.s.ter city and guarantee that the people know of your product."

"That's good and well, but the party scene isn't enough to guarantee us high returns." Was this man an accountant all of a sudden? Did he have a background in financial advising?

"You underestimate how much a child of the nouveau riche will spend to get their rocks off." I explained, surprising even myself when my fake accent thickened towards the end. "Monsieur DiBiancci is putting much trust in me by handing me this work without so much as a free trial. Even one as new to this as myself would say that is foolish." Marco swallowed thickly, but didn't move a muscle otherwise. "But I take my job seriously and you will not be disappointed."

The man hummed and said something along the lines of hoping I would truly deliver on my promise. After assuring him that I would do everything in my power to do so, I spent the remainder of his time gauging how much of Marco's personal life and family he knew with my questions.

My Intel was insightful, because I found that Mr. DeTrop had worked with Marco's father before he took over the operatives. He had also worked with many other vendors for things other than cocaine, mainly sending opium to the middle east and Australia. There was some information that I would have to corroborate with Connor or my aunt Francesca, in order to feel at peace, but for the most part the man seemed to be genuine. And suspicious.

"Monsieur DiBiancci, allow me to speak with you privately." I pulled on his arm gently, mentioning with my head toward my office. From the corner of my eye, I could see Henri start to move, but one signal from my hand had him returning to his place.

"Of course, Miss VanBurren." Marco conceded and followed me into the space of my office, slowly looking around once we were inside. I could tell he was looking for potential hiding spots for weapons. The poor fool didn't know I'd built them into the building. "What is it you want to talk to me about?"

"Pardonne moi, but I am suspicious about your motives for this endavour." I leaned back against my desk and crossed my arms, staring at him head on.

"Really? You didn't seem suspicious when you hurriedly agreed to join." Marco frowned slightly. "And I have evidence."

Heat rushed to my cheeks as I realised that yes, he was right. I had rushed into it, driven by my impatience to get the inner workings of his mind, and in turn sold Isabella's soul a little.

By golly, and my soul too, because now I would be stuck as Isabella until the time was right.

"What I mean is, why me? Why offer so much power to a novice whom you do not know?"

"You're a socialite, daughter of aristocrats with connections to the mob if your friendship with Moira Willoughby is anything to go by. I would be stupid not to choose you."

"A mob and friend whom you are asking me to betray."

"And which you agreed to, willingly. Again, I have proof." It was a silent threat, well placed, not aggressive, but very heavily implied.

"Are you going to ask me to convince my friends to change teams?"

"No, but this operation is top secret. If the Montenegros knew, it would be your head." A more aggressive threat this time. I chewed on my bottom lip thoughtfully, trying to recognise what his next move would be and how to respond. Marco sighed and moved closer to me, coming to a stop directly in front of me, less than a foot away. "I don't want to threaten you."

"Your threats are of no concern to me. I have sealed my fate."

"Yes, but it isn't in my nature to be aggressive to a lady like yourself." To my surprise, he brushed some of my hair back, away from my face. I tried to resist flinching from his touch, because the panic that he would somehow recognise the texture of my skin was setting in. "You have beautiful hair."

What was happening?

"Merci."

My heartbeat had no business increasing like this.

"Once again, forgive me. I didn't mean to offend you."

I didn't say anything, but looked up at him, eyeing every part of his face in an attempt to figure out just what exactly he was playing at. Was he toying with me? Did he hope to fl.u.s.ter me enough that I would let something slip by accident? Just what did he think he was doing?

"Forgive me again for what I'm about to do."

Oh no, none of that. He just wanted to kiss me, so he did.

Worst part is, I didn't push him off. He was a stupid good kisser.