Page 17 of Taken by the Mafia King (Kings of Philly #1)

SERA

I woke to my bedroom door opening. My body ached so severely I barely had the strength to turn my head to see who’d come in.

Tommaso gingerly stepped into the room with his hands tucked in the pockets of his trousers. “Morning.”

“What time is it?” My voice cracked and scratched at my throat. I needed water.

“Close to ten.” He leaned against the door to close it and settled his weight against it, watching me.

I ran my hand over my face and blinked several times. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Roughly a full day,” he said.

I’d been asleep for an entire day? I looked down at the covers, clutching them between my fingers as a sudden sharp realization rippled over my body.

“No one disturbed you,” he said, realizing my panic. His confirmation did little to calm my nerves. “But we are getting a little worried that you haven’t eaten anything… in several days.”

“I don’t even know what day it is,” I replied.

“It’s Monday morning,” he said after a moment.

“My classroom,” I said weakly to myself.

My students. Oh, God, what was going to happen to my job?

What would my students think? Where did they think I was?

Had my story been on the news by now? My face could be blowing up news feeds and social media!

I realized, then, that it was fall break, so it would be another week before I was missed at work. That was something at least.

Me being on the news was unlikely. Especially if the cops had no interest in stepping into our world and ruffling the feathers that kept them so well paid.

“Will you eat today?”

“What do I need to do to get out of here?” I asked, desperation lining each syllable.

Tommaso rolled his lower lip between his teeth. “That’s not my call.”

“I don’t know why I’m here. If you think I have any information about my father, you’re wrong.”

“Again,” he cut in, taking a step toward the bed but keeping a comfortable distance, his hands sliding from his pockets and rising in surrender as I flinched away from him. “That’s not my call. You can talk to the boss about that. I’m sure he’ll make some time for you today. But only if you eat.”

“Why is that so important if I’m just going to get killed?” I snapped, the short leash holding back my fear and anger fraying as I sat up a little straighter.

“What makes you think you’re going to die here, Sera?” he inquired, his brow furrowing. I noticed the lines of fatigue and shadows dancing over his face that hadn’t been there before.

I had nothing further to say as he backed away from the bed and ran his fingers through his hair. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a while, as if something was going on, something I wasn’t privy to but was likely the cause of.

“I’ll have some breakfast sent up,” he said in passing, and then he left.

I shot out of bed, tripping over my own feet as my muscles screamed in protest. I caught a glimpse of myself in the full-length mirror and stopped in my tracks, tears blurring my vision.

A thick, nearly black bruise wrapped around my neck.

My cheeks were raw and slightly yellow with bruising from being slapped repeatedly by multiple people.

I couldn’t see what my legs or arms looked like beneath the sweatpants and sweatshirt I wore.

I didn’t want to know. It was likely just as bad.

My hair fell loose over my shoulders and back in thick, gentle waves.

And my neck felt bare without the rosary that had been my comfort for years.

Why did its loss hurt me so much?

I went to the study, closing the door behind me with a soft click that made me wince regardless of the whisper of sound it produced.

But when I turned to the phone to call Emma, to ask if she’d gone to Fred for help, my heart sank into the pit of my stomach, bile rising in my throat.

The phone had disappeared.

I walked around the couch, kneeling and looking beneath it as if I’d dropped it or something. But the cord no longer stretched toward the wall. The phone jack was empty.

Oh no. Oh no, no, no.

My body trembled with fear as I turned to the door leading back into my bedroom. Stupid, stupid girl, I told myself. How could you fall for such a stupid trap?

I resisted the urge to start pulling my hair out as I crept back to the door to my bedroom and slowly opened it.

I stepped inside, my throat closing and preventing me from taking the breath I so desperately needed as I saw who sat on the edge of my bed, a knowing look on his face, dressed in all black.

His Rolex watch glinted in the soft morning sunlight casting shadows over his face, those eyes a shade darker than I remembered them being.

“You’ve been a very bad girl, Seraphina.” Killian’s smokey voice sent ripples of heat licking down my spine.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he watched me. His black T-shirt did nothing to hide the thick muscles of his arms and shoulders, his broad chest straining against the fabric.

He arched a dark brow, his glossy black hair falling forward in gentle curls over his forehead. He was beautiful. As beautiful as he was deadly, and it chilled me to the bone.

“Do you want to know what I do to bad girls?” He rose slowly, stepping toward me as I backed away and pressed my weight into the door of the study.

Like a caged animal, he had me trapped, and the Hand of Death closed the distance between us with cat-like grace.

“Do you want to know?” he repeated, and then his mouth curved into a wicked smile.