Page 9 of Damon

"Just to let him know I'm alive. Please." Her voice breaks on the last word. "He must be going crazy thinking I'm dead."

"I’m sure he is, but a phone call won't change that." I move past her into the living room, checking the windows out of habit. "Phone records can be traced. Text messages can be intercepted. You make contact with your family, and whoever hit them tonight will know exactly where you are. And then you’ll be next on the list."

"I'm supposed to ... what? Stay here forever?"

"Yeah, until it's safe for you to leave."

"And when will that be?"

I turn to face her, taking in the way she's standing there in her ridiculous club clothes, short black dress, high heels, makeup smeared from crying. She looks like what she is, a sheltered rich girl who's in way over her head.

"When whoever ordered the hit on your family is dead," I say simply.

The color drains from her face. "You're going to kill someone?"

"People are already dead. The question is whether we find the ones responsible before they finish the job."

She sinks down onto the leather couch. "I can't believe this is happening."

"Believe it. Your family's been living on borrowed time for years, and tonight someone decided to collect."

"What does that even mean?"

I study her face, looking for any sign that she knows more than she's letting on. But all I see is genuine confusionand fear. Roberto really did keep his precious daughter in the dark about the family business.

"Means your daddy's got enemies. Lot of them."

"But you said you didn't do this. You said someone else did.”

"I didn't do this." I sit down in the chair across from her, close enough to read her expressions but far enough away that she doesn't feel cornered. "My family has no reason to hit yours right now. We have a good thing going, you stay on your side of the city, we stay on ours, everybody makes money."

"Then who did this?"

"That's what we need to find out." I lean forward, elbows on my knees. "But until we do, you're staying put."

Viviana looks around the room again, probably calculating distances to doors and windows. "For how long?"

Jesus Christ.She’s wearing my patience down.

"However long it fucking takes."

"Days? Weeks?"

"Maybe."

"I can't stay here for weeks!" She jumps up from the couch, pacing toward the windows. "I have school, I have... I have a life!"

"Not anymore, you don't."

She spins around to face me. "You can't kidnap me and expect me to be grateful about it!"

"I can and I did." I stand up, and she immediately takes a step backward. "And you should be grateful, because if I hadn't grabbed you tonight, you'd probably be dead by now."

"You don't know that."

"Someone killed several armed men to get to your family. You think they'd have trouble with one eighteen-year-old girl who ditched her protection to go dancing? You were in a crowded club, completely unprotected."

That shuts her up.