Blacklisted (2 page)

"Following you, remember? I know I come off as fairly normal but that's just to keep you from screaming and trying to escape. Make no mistake; I was definitely stalking you for the past few weeks." He shrugged, opening his beer. He took a sip and studied me for a moment, a smile on his face.

"You like pepperoni and mushroom pizza, I'm pretty sure the only friend you have is that girl that lives in the same building as you, I'm sure you noticed that I know your sizes for just about everything, and I must say I'm slightly impressed you're a 22 year old girl with no cellphone." He took another sip, a smug expression meeting his eyes.

"I... I'm not even sure how to address that."

"And that yoga class you're in? Impressive, I'd say you're almost as good as your teacher."

"Hey Michael? You're creepy is starting to show," I muttered, sliding away from him.

He grinned and stretched a bit, leaning back as we both focused on the movie. The slightly eerie things had just started happening, this I could handle. I took another long sip of my beer, finishing it, before setting it back on the table.

"Want another? Or do you want a Dr. Pepper? I bought a case of them, since you drink them so often." He laughed a little as I glared at him, a little more than irritated that he now seemed to have an idea of my daily routine. And what had he said? I only had one friend?

"Hey! I have more than one friend by the way!"

"Really now? You have no phone, and the only people you saw other than that girl in the building, were at the three different jobs you had, and I’m assuming your parents. You have a funny way of keeping friends, Gabriella."

"Jesus will you just call me Brie?" I finally asked, wondering why he consistently called me by my full name.

"Sure, Brie. And don't worry; I got the pads you like too. I saw them in your bathroom, and I know you had your period about… 20 days ago? So, just so you know, they're in there." He chuckled quietly before the pillow came flying across the room, hitting him squarely in his face.

"Tut tut, not a nice way to treat someone that's done so many nice things for you! I've gone out of my way to make sure you're comfortable!" He faked a gasp, grabbing a can from the fridge before walking over and setting it down in front of me.

"Oh, you're right. Thank you for kidnapping me, stalking me—but remembering to get the pads I like for the PERIOD YOU SHOULDN'T BE TALKING ABOUT," I huffed, trying to cover my embarrassment with pure anger at this point. He chuckled before kneeling in front of me, his hands sliding to my hips. He pulled me forward roughly, his fingers digging into me in almost a painful way as his eyes locked on mine.

"Remember what I said about the attitude, sweetheart?"

He leaned forward and forced his lips against mine, his fingers sliding up my nightgown quickly. His hands found the skin of my hips and dug in, his nails pressing against me. I whimpered against his mouth, scared to return this kiss, whimpering more as his tongue forced its way past my lips. He greedily explored my mouth, his thumbs locking onto the front my hips so that he could pull me against him.

"Do not make me do something that'll hurt you, Brie," he whispered against my lips, tracing them with his tongue afterwards. His hands let go of me slowly and slid out from under my nightgown. He pulled away and sat back down next to me, the smug expression returning to his face.

I sat there shocked, my mind barely registering on the pain seeping through the skin of my hips.

So this is my life now? Getting turned on by my kidnapper, who stalked me, and brutally grabs me every time I so much as hint at an attitude? Awesome, I'm disgusting. Ten years from now I'll still live in this basement, I'll have two of his kids, and I'll forget what the outside world even looks like. Maybe I'll take up knitting?

I shook my head as my thoughts began to stray, knowing I couldn't think like that. Instead, I opened the Dr. Pepper he brought me, sat back, and tried to focus on the movie instead.

Had I been watching this from the outside I might think it seemed pretty comical; as we watched the movie I consistently jumped, screamed, and covered my eyes—all while Michael sat there laughing hysterically at my reactions. When I tried to cover my eyes for too long he would grab my hands and pull them away from my face, electricity sparking anywhere I felt his skin against mine.

Once the movie finished I took a deep breath and shook myself out of it, as if I had just run a ten-mile marathon.

"Why the hell did you pick horror if you're so bothered by it?" He grinned, tilting his head towards me.

"I figured it would be the genre to take my mind off of my current…predicament?" I said quizzically, not even sure what to call this situation. Yes, I was trapped here, but it honestly wasn't as bad as it could be. He catered to all the needs he assumed I would have, I didn't have to work, didn't have to worry about paying bills, and though he was a freaky stalker with a very passive aggressive nature, he was incredibly nice to look at. Yes, I would definitely be one of those girls that fell for their kidnapper.

I sighed and shook my head, earning me a curious glance.

"Nothing," I mumbled, looking around for a clock. I had no idea how much time had passed, no idea if it was day or night outside. I assumed this was going to be a constant issue for me if there was no clock that I could look at.

"There's a clock on your nightstand, if you were wondering. But it's currently 2 in the morning. Are you tired?" he asked, gesturing towards "my room". I shook my head and shrugged, knowing that falling asleep would be easier said than done. I guess being kidnapped had made me rather restless.

"Do you want to watch another movie?"

"Sure, maybe not horror this time."

"I think I have one you'll like."

He chuckled and moved back to the TV, slipping a new DVD in. Within moments "National Treasure 2" came on the screen. I squealed and tried to ignore that he knew this was one of my favorite movies. Probably from staring through my window at night while I watched it. In the past month I had watched it at least once a week; I had a thing for Nicolas Cage.

"I'm going to ignore that you picked this movie based on your stalking antics, because I do love this and I won't let you ruin it for me." I stuck my tongue out but made sure my tone was playful, to keep from getting attacked again. But those lips… I quickly forced the thought out of my head and focused on the television, bouncing a little in my seat as it started up.

I could see the smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth, apparently amused by my childish behavior.

"So, Michael. How long do you think I'm going to be here?" I tried to let this come out as nonchalantly as possible, hoping to get a straightforward answer.

"Well. I plan on using you to make Genovese spend as much time, money, and manpower as possible. He has gone out of his way to consistently get you fired from jobs, and he’s always got eyes on your place. Do you know why, Brie? He keeps hoping that you'll realize your only option is him. I've heard the conversations, watched him order his men to go to your jobs, and put pressure on your employers until they let you go. Honestly, I’m sure Testa and Monte want to kill him.  I know just how much he wants you, and how do you stop a guy that never hears the word “no”? So, I'm going to use you to get to him, to get under his skin. And in the end, I will use you as bait, get him where I need him to be and I'll kill him." He shrugged, as if he had just said something as average as a grocery list to me.

"You're gonna…WHAT?! YOU'RE USING ME AS BAIT AND THEN YOU'RE GONNA KILL HIM? AS IN MURDER?! YOU ARE NOT TYING ME TO A MURDER YOU LUNATIC!"

I didn't even know what to think. Genovese was really doing all of this to force my hand? He thought that if he just kept getting me fired I'd what, lose all hope and decide being his mistress was the only way? What did he mean use me as bait? Was he gonna let that sick old man have sex with me? Was he going to make me watch the murder? And how do you just "kill" a guy like Genovese? I didn't know much about how this whole “mafia” bit worked but it was very alive in Philadelphia, and I had a feeling that he was going to end up getting both of us killed in the process.

"Yes. You're going to be my bait, after I've made him want you to the point that he'll stop at nothing to have you, I will dangle you from the fishing line so to speak, and kill him when he goes for you. You have nothing to be scared of; my plan is rather fool proof. And after that, you're free."

"Yeah—you're gonna kill some “boss”, that's had all of his …men or whatever tailing me around for a month. You're going to dangle me out like some damn prostitute for him, and then suddenly he's going to end up dead? But you think no one will come after me? You're out of your fucking mind." I quickly jumped up and ran towards the door, but he was faster.

His arms wrapped around my waist and pulled me rough against his form, knocking the air out of me easily. He growled a little as his other hand slid up into my hair, grabbing a handful of it. He pulled my head back hard, earning a whimper from me as his eyes found mine.

"You really don't learn do you? How do I convince you that at this point—you are mine. You will do what I need you to do and you will stop fucking sassing me. You aren't going to escape here. Even if you managed to get out the door, the elevator is the only way up and it requires a code. The doors upstairs lock from the inside, and also require a code. Did you honestly think I planned all of this, and didn't make sure this building was inescapable?"

He nipped at my jawline, before kissing me roughly again, this time earning another whimper from me. This noise earned me a growl, and I blushed as I felt him harden against my back. I could feel the core of me growing warm, which only irritated me more. Why are you turned on again? He is literally holding you by the hair, keeping you from escaping, and you're getting a fucking kick out of it.

I couldn't help it though. My body responded to his touch regardless of what my mind had to say about it. Regardless of how repulsed I felt by his toying with me, his using me; my body could only recognize the fire he ignited. The battle that coursed inside of me was unbearable, though my mind eventually attempted to find level ground. Maybe the more I gave in the less he'd be willing to use me as his disposable piece in the game.

With this new idea in mind I kissed him hard, my tongue teasingly sliding past his lips touch his. He hissed, his arm around my waist moving to just grab my hip, his fingers gripping me. I eased my body against his slowly; noticing the way the grip on my hair became a little looser. I even went as far as to moan into his mouth, gently biting his bottom lip.

"Gabriella, do not play with fire," he mumbled against my lips before pulling away. I blinked a little and watched his retreating form as he headed towards the bathroom. A few moments later the shower came on and I couldn't help but smirk, thinking for once I had been the one to get into his head.

Enjoy that cold shower, buddy. Next time, it won't be so easy for you to get away.

I smiled to myself, and made my way to the couch deciding that maybe I hadn't lost just yet. If I could just keep this confidence, this edge above him—maybe I could get away.

After sitting on the couch for an hour, waiting for him to return, I gave up. Clearly, he wasn't going to come back. I made my way to my "bedroom" and climbed into the incredibly soft bed, surprised that my comfort had been such a focus in his kidnapping scheme. I had stayed up for another hour, crying and pitying myself before the exhaustion kicked in and I passed out.

But now, it was 6 AM on the dot, the alarm clock next to the bed taunting me with its red blinking lights. I sighed and stared up at the ceiling, wondering just long it would take my parents to realize I wasn't in my apartment. Without a phone they didn't speak to me often, but they showed up once a week, brought dinner that Mom had spent hours laboring over, and we shared Sunday as a family. They hadn't been too thrilled with me living away from them, but they reluctantly recognized that I had to grow up.

However, grown-up or not, they were old-fashioned and Sunday was the day you spent with your family, eating as much as your mother could stuff into you. She would buzz around my apartment, cleaning what was already clean, stuffing snacks into my mouth until I couldn't move from the couch. She would scold me in Italian, as her mother had done to her. All while this was happening, my father would read the paper and curse under his breath about how no one could run an honest business with the knuckleheads interfering all the time. He would speak of old family friends he grew up with—the Difiglias that ran the bakery, the Morellos that ran the butcher shop. "All of them are in somebody's pocket, bambina. There is nowhere safe on this side of town." And then he would frown, and Mom would do the sign of the cross silently.

But where would I be when Sunday came? Here in my decorated dungeon? Being "dangled" as bait, as Michael had so eloquently put it? I rubbed at my eyes, hoping the tears wouldn't come again. But, as I started to consider the situation more, I started to wonder—If Genovese can always find me, could he find my parents? Could his men find my parents? When Michael kills him, would they extract their revenge on us? At that, the waterworks began. I cried silently to myself, clinging to my pillow as minutes passed.

I should have left with them. I shouldn't have been working in a gentleman's club to begin with. What if something happens to them? As I continued to torture myself with endless questions, I heard my door open. I quickly spun to my other side, not wanting him to see just how broken I was. This is exactly what he wanted; my spirit to be so utterly crushed that I would just go along with whatever he needed. But, to my surprise, he had no condescending tone when he mumbled, "I'm sorry."

He sat down in my bed next to me, and began to rub my back in slow circles, sighing under his breath. "I know this is scary for you, but I told you, in the end it'll all be fine."

"Oh really? You still have yet to tell me how you're going to prevent his pisanos from coming after me after you get your vengeance," I said, pure venom seeping through my words. "Or how about how are you going to protect my parents? Huh, Michael? You thought that far? Or does it not matter because yours are already gone."

By the time my words had left my mouth, I knew it had been cruel—but honestly I didn't care. Was I supposed to be sympathetic, when he was putting my parents and I in harm's way?

His hand stopped abruptly. His once soft touch turned to him gripping my arm, spinning me over so that I faced him. His eyes had already darkened, his words eerily quiet and calm, regardless of the anger that was behind them.

"Perhaps I've been too nice to you, Gabriella. You seem to be under the impression that you can still talk to me however you please. I don't care if I have to break you, over and over again, you WILL behave." And with that, I was pinned beneath him, his lips pushing against mine. His fingers began to dig into me, small pain indicators registering in my brain as his tongue forced its way into my mouth. He greedily slid his hands to the edge of my nightgown, pulling it up roughly. I whimpered against his mouth, unable to get out the "sorry" I wanted to say. Instead, I weakly kissed him back, hoping he would calm down.

His fingers slid to the edge of my panties, causing my eyes to widen. I whimpered again, kissing him harder, my tongue pushing against his in hopes that I could distract him. He chuckled quietly and pulled away from my lips, his body weight pushing against me so that his free hand could trail up to my face, brushing a few hairs out of my cheek.

"Shhh…" he whispered, his eyes locking on mine. It was there that I saw it—no longer were his eyes darkened with anger. Instead, determination had filled them, and desire?

Before I could get a word out, he stood up and pulled his cellphone from his back pocket and took a few shots of me, my eyes widening as I realized the lower half of my body was still exposed, my cheeks flushed, my hair messy.

"The way you look right now—it will drive him crazy. You don't know how delectable you look," he smirked, tucking the phone back into his pocket.

"I left towels in the cupboard next to the bathtub, and that Garnier shit you like is in the cupboard as well. And that body wash… strawberry smoothie? I didn't really understand the purpose of that until I was close enough to smell it on you, it's intoxicating," he said as he turned and made his way out the door.

I laid there, stunned, not sure what to think about the morning so far. I had spent half of it crying and half of it wishing that Michael would put me out of my misery and fuck me already. The way he consistently made me feel by kissing me made me second-guess the idea of getting away from him. But—after the kiss, it's like I became a project to him. He could so quickly detach himself, snap a few pictures of me and be on his way. He had seemed so…into it.

I sighed and pulled my nightgown down, closing my eyes for a moment. I had been here less than three days and so much had already happened. I found it hard to wrap my mind around just what he had in store for me. Yet—the more I thought about it, the more upsetting it became that he was using me in such a dirty way. He had basically turned me into his little finger puppet. He did whatever he wanted to do, anything to elicit the response he wanted. How was I going to survive this as the same woman I was before Michael? What would be left of me?

After swallowing my shame I made my way to the shower, delighted that he had pretty much replicated all of my products from home. I stayed in there until the hot water melted away the tension that built in me, and then reluctantly shut it off, wrapping a fluffy gray towel around my body.

I headed back to my bedroom and to the closet, flipping through the outfits he had stocked me with. After filtering through all of the mini dresses and slutty skirts he had packed in here, I came across a loose, albeit sheer, gray tank top. I pulled it out and went to the drawer of unmentionables, grabbing a black lingerie set. Underneath the lingerie drawer was a drawer filled with ungodly tight looking jeans and small pairs of shorts. I rolled my eyes and pulled out a black pair of cutoff shorts that barely passed my ass. Sighing a little, I got dressed and made my way out of the room, not bothering to even look in the mirror he provided.

As I entered the open space I could hear Frank Sinatra coming from the kitchen, and could visibly see him swaying as he cooked something on the stove. I tilted my head and watched him for a moment, wishing for the millionth time that I wasn't in this predicament. Instead, I pretended that he was a new prospective boyfriend, and I was just learning about some of his adorable habits. I approached slowly and crossed my arms over my chest, watching as he hummed along and continued to sway.

As if he could sense my presence he turned around, a smile on his face. He pulled me into his arms and spun me around the kitchen, singing the lyrics to "I've Got You Under My Skin" proudly to me. I laughed and let him spin me then pull me close, dancing with him as I had many times with my father.

"My father used to sing this to my mother all the time, and twirl me around as she cooked," I said quietly, looking up at him.

"As did my father. They loved Frank; they've even seen him perform. My father was… quite the romantic," he mumbled sadly, letting go of me slowly.

"I'm sorry you lost them. It seems they meant a lot to you."

"They did. It's no matter; things will work out. You're up a little late for breakfast, so I'm making sauce. I'm going to run out for a little bit to pick up some supplies. I trust you can watch this while I'm gone?" he asked, arching an eyebrow, though I knew what he was asking was could I cook.

"For someone that was spying on me for so long, I'd think you would recognize that most of the time I ate at home. I wasn't living on sandwiches was I?" I grinned, resting my hands on my hips. I knew I was being cocky, but the truth was I had inherited my mom's skills in the kitchen—not that she had really given me an option. She was completely baffled by girls my age that didn't know how to cook. Then again, she also thought the highest honor a woman could achieve was getting married to a business man, having his children, and doting after all of them until she met her death bed.

"I know, I was just teasing you. I've actually had some of your leftovers. That chicken cacciatore was great." He winked at me, though I could still see that sadness lurking in his eyes.

"I'm past getting appalled by the fact that you were invading my privacy, and breaking into my apartment. I'm just going to take the compliment this time."

"Good girl. Like I said, I'll be gone shortly, probably about an hour. Don't let this burn." He motioned towards the pot, and for good measure smacked my ass after. I jumped a bit and furrowed my brows, earning a chuckle out of him.

With that, he was out the door, leaving me to my prison. I sighed and hummed along with "Fly Me to the Moon" as it came on. I stirred at the sauce and turned the burner down, placing the lid back on.

What to do while you're not here. I tapped my lip, glancing around the area until my eyes locked on his makeshift office. Smiling to myself I walked over and sat in the plush leather chair, pulling myself up to his desk.

Channel your inner Nancy Drew, what over here can help you.

I rifled through papers, irritated by the lack of helpful information I was finding. As I picked up one of the folders a news article fell out, landing in my lap. Picking it up my eyes scanned the headline, a soft gasp escaping my lips.

Russo and Son's Italian Eatery burns to the ground, two deaths

In a tragic accident, the locally famous eatery caught fire, trapping and killing the original owner Vincenzo Russo, and his wife Liliana Russo inside. Vincenzo had officially passed on ownership to their only son, Michael Russo, but was still very involved in the restaurant.

"It's completely devastating. Vincenzo and Lily were friends to everyone, a very sweet couple, still very in love," said Gina Martinelli, owner of Martinelli's flowers, located across from the restaurant.

"They were such a beautiful family, they were always together. I feel terrible for their son." Adriana Rossi, a family friend.

After a thorough investigation, the fire was cited as an accident due to faulty electrical wiring. The Russos are survived by their son, Michael.

I read it a few more times, my eyes welling in tears at the sad story. I recognized the restaurant in the picture, realizing I had been there with my parents when I was younger. I was pretty sure my father was actually friends with Vincenzo, Michael's dad. Regardless of his demeanor, my heart broke for him. He hadn't discussed the situation with me yet, but I couldn't imagine what he felt.

I carefully tucked the article back where it fell from and pulled myself away from his desk, deciding I didn't want to see anymore. I didn't condone what he was doing with me, and I was still going to plot my escape, but I could at least understand where he was coming from now.

I made my way back into the kitchen and unlidded the sauce again, stirring at it idly.

I knew I was zoned out when I heard the door open again. Have I really been standing here over the stove for an hour? I pulled the wooden spoon from the sauce and backed up a little, watching him come through the door. "Hi," I said quietly, noting the bags in his hand.

"Hello, Brie. Is the sauce alright?"

I rolled my eyes, nodding before gesturing towards the stove. "Go check it for yourself!"

He shrugged and made his way over, eyeing it tentatively.

"Good job kid, you didn't burn it," he smirked at me and before I could retort he grabbed me and picked me up, sitting me on the counter.

"Before you say something you're going to regret, just take that as a compliment." He let go of me and turned around, tending to his masterpiece, adding a few more seasonings. He turned back to me, holding the spoon in his hand. "Taste," he said, holding the spoon to my lips.

I leaned forward and seductively slid my tongue across the spoon, my eyes closing for a moment in satisfaction. "Bene," I mumbled, amazed at how amazing it tasted.

He watched me for a second more before leaning in, licking at the corner of my mouth. "You had some on you," he whispered huskily, his eyes finding mine.

"Oh." I blushed, unable to keep my eyes from his lips. He suddenly leaned back, pushing a hand through his golden locks, closing his eyes for a moment.

"What am I going to do with you?" he sighed, studying me for a moment.

"I was hoping you would tell me. What are you going to do with me?"