her weak and scared. The best way to help him—and herself—was to break free.
She had no idea how long she wandered in blackness before she stumbled over something and fell. Agony screamed through her limbs as she hit the floor. Every movement stabbed red-hot spears into her strained muscles. Panting, she curled into a ball, tempted to surrender.
The thought of Dante stoically enduring torture drove her to struggle to her knees. She cautiously felt behind her. She had tripped over a metal spool of chain. The rough edge might fray her bonds.
Battling the burning ache in her arms and wrists, she scraped her ropes on the spool’s edge. If she had been shown a preview before she began her ill-fated journey, would she have continued her crusade?
Absolutely.
Clearing her father’s name was worth any discomfort. He didn’t deserve what had happened to him. He could no longer speak for himself. She would speak for him. Cramping muscles ceased to matter as righteous determination fueled her efforts. She would shout Derek Bennett’s innocence from the rooftops. Make every newspaper that had vilified him print a retraction. She would contact CNN. Oprah. She’d even book a slot on Jerry Springer if he’d give her a platform.
She didn’t get far before the door banged open again, and cold light fractured the blackness. Dante was shoved into the hold, where he collapsed onto the floor. The Greek and Russian sauntered in behind him. Ariana pushed to her feet and stumbled to Dante, knelt at his side. Her heart jolted. His face was bruised, his lips cut, his beard matted with blood. Any doubts she’d harbored about their jailers being in his employ died a cruel death. Nobody would willingly take a brutal beating.
Ignoring Dante, the Russian leaned down, fisted his fingers in her hair and jerked her up. Pain burst over her scalp, and she cried out.
“Do not touch her!” Dante growled as he fought to his feet. He head-butted the Russian and sent him sprawling. His voice was dark with menace. “Or I will remove le tue palle and feed them to you.”
Though he was tied and beaten, the fierce Napoletano looked entirely capable of his threat. Ariana unconsciously edged behind him as if he could protect her.
Wishful thinking.
The Russian struggled upright. To Dante’s credit, the thugs hesitated before they both charged. Dante fought back with limited mobility, but his attackers landed blow after blow on his defenseless body.
“Stop it!” Ariana yelled. She flung herself between the warring men and received a sharp clip to the jaw. The punch slammed her to her knees.
Panting, Dante dropped beside her. “Stay behind me!”
She blinked away involuntary tears. Nobody had ever hit her before. How did Dante take the pain without uttering a sound?
The Russian knocked Dante flat. Pulse thundering in her ears, she bent over the fallen man. She didn’t have much time. “Dante, can you hear me?”
“Ariana.” He groaned, turning his head to look up at her. “I have failed you. Perdonami.”
“There’s nothing to forgive you for,” she whispered. “Save your strength and let them take me. There’s a metal spool, starboard, fifty paces. It might cut your ropes.”
Concerned respect shimmered in his gaze. “Stay strong, Ariana,” he murmured. “If you tell them what they want to know, you will become useless to them. Capisci, bella mia?”
She gulped. She understood all too well.
The Russian reached for her hair and she scrambled up before he hurt her again. She strove to draw their attention from Dante, motionless on the floor. Please, don’t let him be badly injured. “Let’s get this over with.”
The Greek shoved her toward the door. “We find out soon how tough you are.”
“Bastardi!” Dante’s ragged voice echoed behind her. “If you hurt her, I will kill you. That is a promise.”
Dante’s valiant defense fueled Ariana’s resolve. After the abuse he’d suffered, he still had the fortitude to insult and threaten his assailants. She thrust out her chin, feigning bravado. Much better than bursting into tears.
The men dragged her out the door. Fear iced her blood as they muscled her up two flights of stairs and down a long, dark corridor. The briny ocean smell and sharp slap of the waves told her she was above the waterline.
They yanked her to a halt outside a closed stateroom. The Greek sneered. “You will show respect. You will answer when spoken to. You will not attempt anything. Or—” he sliced his finger across his throat “—no mercy.”
His fist rapped on the door, and terror swelled in Ariana’s chest. Dante hadn’t talked, and neither would she.
No matter what their captors did to her.
Or she and Dante were dead.
CHAPTER TWO
THE GREEK OPENED the door and the Russian shoved Ariana into the murky stateroom. Then the portal slammed shut, sealing her inside alone. Whoever was in here, and whatever was planned for her, the henchmen weren’t participating. For now.
Skeletal fingers of moonlight pierced the window shutters and striped the carpet. Ominous silence vibrated from both sides of the door. Trapped in darkness, she could almost taste the thick, black silence.
Maybe the thugs had gone to finish off Dante. Anxiety thrummed inside her. How badly was he wounded? Maybe the men would murder him while she was being “questioned.” He might disappear and she would never know what had happened to him.
Why did she care so much?
She swallowed. Because he was her only ally at the moment. Because thoughts of him kept her from screaming with terror over what was about to happen.
Her pulse throbbed in her ears, and she leaned against the wall to support her wobbly knees. An intent gaze crawled over her skin.
Someone was watching her.
She shuddered. As a child, when she had feared monsters lurking in the night, she had burrowed beneath the covers and yelled for her daddy. He had run to the rescue, dispatched the monsters and given her a “magic shield” for protection.
She squelched a threatening sob. There was nowhere to hide. Her father was dead. The shield imaginary.
But the monsters were real.
Ariana inhaled shakily. Don’t stand here like a quivering ninny. “H-hello?” Her voice trembled and she cleared her throat and made a sterner inquiry. “Who’s there? What do you want?”
“The question is, what do you want, Ariana Bennett?”
Ariana jumped at the disembodied inquiry from across the room. Husky, tinged with a cultured Greek accent…and female. Her heart kicked. Not Camorra. Machismo mobsters would never take orders from a female. A Greek female. And the woman had called her by name! “Do I know you?”
“No. But I know you. I’m just not certain what to do with you.”
“I
