Chapter Two
The night was viscous as rain began to fall and the distant hum of city traffic as Annabel stepped out of the hospital. The long shift had sucked every ounce of energy from her, but at least work had served as a temporary escape. The betrayal, the pregnancy, the doubt all stayed put in the back of her mind, waiting to strike the moment she let her guard down.
She adjusted her coat and started toward the parking garage, her heels clicking against the pavement. The dim overhead lights gleamed, casting a haunting shade on the concrete. A strange barb ran down her spine, a sense of unease settling in her chest.
She wasn’t alone.
The realization hit her a second too late.
A hand clamped over her mouth just as she reached for her car door. Panic shot through her; her scream was covered up as strong arms dragged her backward. She thrashed, kicking wildly, her heart beating against her ribs.
“Keep still,” a deep voice growled against her ear. The thick accent, unmistakably Italian, sent a jolt of fear through her.
Her instincts kicked in. She dug her nails into the man’s arm, trying to twist free, but another set of hands grabbed her legs, lifting her off the ground.
The last thing she saw was a sleek black van before a cloth covered her nose and mouth. The sharp, sickly scent filled her lungs. Her body went slack. Darkness swallowed her whole.
Annabel woke to the sensation of movement—her head throbbed, her body swayed. She was lying on something soft, but the moment she tried to shift, she realized her wrists were tied.
Panic shot through her veins as she opened her eyes. The room was dimly lit, the scent of expensive leather and cigars loitering in the air.
Where was she?
Her mind was restless, but as she turned her head, the horror of her reality crashed over her like a tidal wave.
She was on a private jet.
The luxurious cabin was nothing like the confined commercial flights she was used to. Dark mahogany furniture, gold accents, and plush leather seats surrounded her. The soft hum of the engines vibrated beneath her, confirming her worst fear.
She was far from home.
A voice, deep and commanding, pulled her attention to the other side of the cabin.
“You're awake.”
Annabel’s gaze locked onto the man seated across from her. He was tall, impossibly broad, and dressed in an impeccably tailored suit. The sharp angles of his face were striking, but it was his eyes, cold, calculating, and utterly devoid of remorse, that sent a shiver down her spine.
“Who are you?” she murmured, her throat dry. She didn't know how much she was out for but the feeling in her throat told her for a while.
The man tilted his head slightly, amusement flickering in his dark gaze. You don’t need to know my name, Dottoressa. Only that you have a purpose here.
“Dottoressa (Doctor).”
Annabel’s stomach twisted. They knew who she was. So this wasn't just some child's play. Or prank.
Before she could demand answers, a door at the far end of the cabin opened, and another man entered. He was older, his salt-and-pepper hair slicked back, his presence exuding authority.
Don Raffaele.
Even without an introduction, she knew exactly who he was. His name had graced headlines and was whispered in hushed conversations about the most powerful mafia family in Italy.
“Dr. Sinclair,” he said smoothly, taking a seat across from her. “I apologize for the unprofessional way of bringing you here, but time was not on our side.”
Annabel swallowed hard, her mind racing. Why her? Why would a mafia don abduct a cardiac surgeon?
Raffaele steepled his fingers. “You are here because I require your expertise. My sister, Pinky, has a rare and fatal heart condition. The best doctors have failed her. You will not.”
Annabel’s breath hitched. A part of her wanted to scream, to demand her freedom, but another part, the doctor in her, couldn't ignore the desperate plea hidden beneath his cold exterior.
Still, she lifted her chin, defiance burning in her chest. “After you kidnapped me. Do you expect me to save her willingly?”
Raffaele’s lips curved into something that might have been a smile. “You misunderstand, Dottoressa. This is not a request. You will save her, because it is an order. And you don't have a say in it.”
His gaze darkened. “Or you will never see your home again.”
Annabel’s pulse pounded in her ears. Her training as a doctor had exposed her to high-pressure situations, saving lives under impossible odds, making life-or-death calls in split seconds, but nothing had prepared her for this. Being kidnapped by the mafia.
She forced herself to sit up straight despite the gleaming dizziness, her bound wrists resting on her lap. “You can threaten me all you want, she said, her voice sharper than she felt. But medicine doesn't work on intimidation. If your sister is as sick as you say, she needs proper care. I need her medical records, scans, and a real hospital.”
Don Raffaele studied her, but he could not read her expression. “You'll have what you need. But you will do it under my roof, under my protection.”
Annabel’s heart clenched. Protection? The word tasted bitter coming from a man who had her tied up on a jet bound for an unknown fate.
"Why me?" she demanded. There are world-renowned specialists
You are the best, he interrupted, his voice carrying an air of finality. “And, more importantly, you are cautious.”
Annabel swallowed hard. It wasn’t just her skills they valued; it was her ability to be silent, to operate in the shadows, outside the reach of medical boards and legal systems.
They didn’t want a doctor. They wanted a magician who wouldn’t ask questions.
The jet landed hours later, touching down in the dead of night. When the cabin doors opened, a gush of warm Mediterranean air filled the space, carrying the scent of sea salt and citrus.
Annabel barely had time to take in the sight of the vast private airstrip before a group of armed men surrounded her.
“Untie her,” Don Raffaele commanded.
A man in a crisp suit stepped forward, slicing through the ropes binding her wrists. Annabel inhaled sharply as the circulation rushed back to her hands, the ache a painful reminder of how powerless she was in their world.
“This way,” Raffaele said, nodding toward a sleek black car waiting at the edge of the runway.
Annabel hesitated. Run. Now.
Her muscles tensed, ready to bolt, but before she could move, a strong hand clamped around her arm.
“Don't,” a voice murmured beside her.
She turned to see another man, Luca. Tall, lean, and dangerous, his green eyes held a silent warning.
"You try to run, you won’t get far," he said simply.
Annabel clenched her jaw but let herself be led to the car. For now.
The drive was silent, the roads winding through the Italian countryside. The villa appeared like an unearthly figure against the moonlit sky: massive, imposing, and unmistakably fortified.
Inside, the magnificence of the villa was overwhelming. Crystal chandeliers, towering archways, and floors of pristine marble stretched before her. But despite the luxury, the air was dense.
Power. Fear. Control.
A young woman rushed into the room, her face light-toned, her movements frantic. "Raffaele! È peggiorata!" (She’s worse!)
Annabel’s stomach twisted.
Pinky.
Raffaele turned to her, his cold mask slipping just enough for her to catch a gleam of fear beneath.
“This is why you're here, Dottoressa Sinclair," he said. "Save her.
Annabel squared her shoulders.
She was scared, she was trapped, but this was still her battlefield.
And she never lost a patient without a fight.