Closer to the Edge

Nicolo ran his hands over his hair in frustration. Six hours. It had been six hours since he found out his daughter was missing and no one was helping. Some insisted she was fine, others insisted that she left on her own, but Nicolo was no fool. Her cell phone was still on her nightstand, fully charged, which was odd because Rowan never left the house without it. While there were no signs of struggle, Nicolo couldn’t shake the fact that she had been taken; after all, what’s to say that it wasn’t an inside job?

He picked up the picture of himself and Rowan from her nightstand. It had been taken ten years prior on one of their family vacations when they visited New York City. It was winter time and they were standing in the middle of central park. It was oh-so-cliché but it was one of his favorite moments. Of course, that was before reality hit Rowan and before she knew what she had to become.

“Nicolo,” Cristina breathed, her voice tired as she stepped into the room.

Nicolo looked up at his wife, thankful she was alone. He wasn’t about to show any sort of emotion in front of anyone else; he knew the risks that came with that. “Anything?”

“Claire Underwood, the woman who normally does Rowan’s makeup, never showed,” Cristina told him. “That’s the only thing that was different this time around. Claire’s been working for us since Rowan was born, Nico. There’s no way she would have been unavailable.”

“Did you ask Claire?”

Cristina nodded. “Claire said that she sent her apprentice, but I find it hard to believe that she would decline one of our events.”

“Do you really think a silly makeup artist is relevant enough to look into?” Nico asked.

Cristina looked down at the floor, avoiding the eyes of her husband. She had hoped that her information would comfort him, not anger him. “I thought that it could have been a potential lead, Nico,” she said softly. “It’s always worth a try.”

“It’s not worth wasting time when my daughter is missing,” he snapped, standing up and walking towards the door. He brushed past her without even touching her. “When you find something useful, my wife, please let me know.”

+

Rowan had always been an over-analyzer. Maybe it was because she was a woman, maybe it was because she was in an environment where she had to think every action though and take all of its potential consequences into careful consideration before she did anything. It could’ve been any multitude of reasons. But as she sat in the bedroom of the (well, face it, ridiculously nice was the only way to describe her surroundings) penthouse, tied to a chair and gagged, she couldn’t help but watch Paul.

And, okay, she thought he was attractive. What girl wouldn’t? He was tall (and that was an attractive quality) with the deepest brown eyes she had ever seen. Alright, but that wasn’t very important. After all, no matter how attractive he was, it didn’t change the fact that he had kidnapped her, refused to tell her his name, and refused to let her go. Oh, and she wasn’t even allowed to talk. That was just awesome.

Paul looked up from his laptop when he heard Rowan make some strange sort of gurgling noise. And yeah, he probably looked at her like she was insane, but he couldn’t help it—he had been surprised. His eyebrows rose on their own and he shrugged. “What?” he asked.

Rowan rolled his eyes.

Okay, Paul hadn’t exactly forgot that she was gagged (how could he? It was far too quiet…not that he was complaining) but maybe it momentarily left his mind. Either way, he stood up and walked over to the chair, kneeling in front of her, and removing the gag from her lips. “Is there a problem here?”

“A few,” Rowan said softly before coughing; her throat was beginning to get really sore. Not that she would tell him that.

Paul rested his forearms on her upper thighs, his chin in his hands, and he just watched her.

“If I promise not to be snarky, can you leave the gag off?” she asked. And okay, she might have batted her eyelashes (only a little—hey, it couldn’t have hurt anything!) to see if that would help her cause.

It did.

Paul let out a sigh as he rolled his eyes. “Fine. But the minute you start to annoy me—“

Rowan nodded. “Yeah. I can, uh, I get the gist of it.”

“Good.”

Rowan watched him for a minute as he watched her. And it might have been one of those really awkward eye-contacts where one of them should look away first, but neither does. Rowan was still pulling at the bandana that was tied tightly around her wrists, seeing if it would give at all. She still had hope that it would. Maybe if she tugged at them enough, they would loosen up. While she worked on that, she maintained steady eye contact with him. “Why won’t you tell me your name?” she asked.

Paul shrugged. “Can’t,” he said simply.

“I don’t think that’s fair.”

He smiled. “Life’s not fair, babe.”

“I’m well aware of that,” she commented, her tone bitter as her eyes fell away from his. “Trust me. I’m very well aware of that.”

Paul didn’t miss the tone. And he couldn’t help but share her pain a little bit. After all, he knew the position that she was in very well since he was in the same one. He had been groomed since age five to take over the family business, whether he wanted it or not, and he knew she probably felt the same sometime.

“You’re not a pro at this,” Rowan said, “so how did you get roped into kidnapping a businessman’s daughter?”

“Your father is a lot more than a simple businessman, Rowan, he ruins people’s lives,” he spat, standing up and pacing around the room.

Rowan’s jaw tightened and she bit her lip. The last thing she wanted was to be gagged (again) or hit (again). But no one insulted her father (or her family in general). “You don’t know shit about my family,” she told him.

“I know more than you think,” Paul snapped.

“Oh? And like your family is so much fucking better?”

“My family doesn’t kill people to get their way, like your father does when business deals go awry,” Paul said. And usually he didn’t listen to idle gossip around town, but it was hard to be in his line of work without hearing it. Besides, after everything his father had told him about the Develcchio’s, he felt like he already knew them.

Rowan continued to bite her lip. Okay, it was a low blow but it wasn’t an inaccurate one.

“No comeback for that?”

“You get to attack my family and I can’t even defend them,” Rowan said quietly.

“You can. It just won’t change my mind.”

Rowan looked down at her lap, her hands still working at the binds on her wrists. “You know, my family isn’t perfect. I’m aware of that. And maybe my father has been involved in some…less than legal situations. But he doesn’t do it for no reason; he does it to protect his family.”

“You can protect your family without killing innocent people,” Paul told her. And, okay, he might have been a hypocrite for that one. After all, he didn’t know all of the lengths that his own father went to. And he knew for a fact that his father had taken a life or two (or a few hundred) since Paul had been born. But Rowan didn’t know that and she didn’t need the ammo to use against him. He actually rather liked having this advantage over her.

“Not in my family. It’s been like this since before I was born, since my brother was killed. That’s when it all started,” Rowan said. Her brother wasn’t a topic that she liked to bring up; in fact, it was a topic that her family tried to bring up as little as possible. She wasn’t even a twinkle in her father’s eye when her older brother, Regean, was born. And when he was only two, there was an accident, a freak accident; a red light was blown and their car was hit. Regean was the only casualty. “Damn DiGiovanni’s,” she whispered and she bit back a cry of relief when she felt the binds give around her wrists. She didn’t let it fall to the floor, rather she kept it held in her fists just in case.

Paul’s ears perked up at her last comment. “What was that?”

Rowan shook her head. “Nothing. Just conspiracy theories in my family.”

“They blame someone for your brother’s death?” Paul asked.

“it hasn’t been proven or anything,” Rowan explained. “My family just finds it hard to believe that he was the only one injured. That’s why I have to take over, you know? Because he’s gone and my mother couldn’t have another child. There’s no one else. That’s why you took me, isn’t it?”

“You think we took you to prevent you from taking over your family?” Paul asked.

“Why else would you? You don’t look interested in raping me and disposing of my body,” Rowan said.

Paul nodded slowly. In all honesty, he didn’t know why his father wanted him to take Rowan. He just…did. He was a pawn in his father’s world for the time being. He was just as helpless as she was.

“Do you work for the DiGiovanni’s? Are they the ones who hired you?” she asked, biting her lip and waiting to make her move.

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Are you going to take me somewhere else?”

“I can’t tell you that, either.”

“Are you going to rape me?”

“And the gag is going back on,” Paul muttered, picking up the bandana off the floor and walking back over to her. He kneeled in front of her and reached around with the bandana.

“Wait.”

He rolled his eyes and sighed. “What now?”

“Can I at least put some pants on?” she asked.

“Fine,” he snapped. “Just as long as you shut up.” He turned to reach for her bag when she stopped him.

“Wait!”

Paul groaned and turned back to face her. “What?”

“Can you…untie my legs first? My ankles are starting to hurt,” she told him.

Paul ran a hand over his face before reaching down towards her ankles. And okay, he could see why; they were already starting to bruise. Yeah, that couldn’t have been pleasant. He untied her ankles slowly, making sure he didn’t hurt them even more, but that didn’t set right in his stomach. He was supposed to be the badass, not caring if he hurt her at all; that was the point. And there he was, feeling guilty because he had to restrain her. Pathetic. He dropped the binds onto the floor and looked up at her. “I’m going to get your pants. Don’t try to run, okay?”

Rowan nodded and, as Paul turned, she dropped the binds from her hands and leapt. She tackled him to the ground, using as much strength as she could, but that wasn’t much. In the blink of an eye, Paul had flipped them over, and his knees rested on her upper thighs, preventing her from moving. But she still fought back. She aimed a punch for his stomach, but even with knocking the wind out of him, he was still stronger. He grabbed her wrists, twisting them uncomfortably, and pinned them above her head.

But she was still struggling. With a groan, he reached behind his back for the gun that was tucked into the waistband of his jeans. He pressed the cool metal against the side of her throat and waited for her to calm down. In less than five seconds, the fire in her eyes was replaced with fear; her legs stopped kicking and her arms stopped struggling.

“Are you finished?” Paul asked, his voice low. His hand was steady, his voice unwavering; he was not in the mood to be tricked and fucked with. Rowan had pushed his button one too many times.

Rowan nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. She glanced down at his arm, where the veins were popping from his tight grip on the gun, back up to his face. And she shouldn’t have been thinking about how close he was. And maybe she only did for a brief second before the fear took back over.

“You sure? Or are you gonna pull another stupid fucking stunt again?”

“I’m sure,” she choked out.

“Good,” Paul said, slowly standing up and instructing her to do the same. He pointed to the bag. “Put your fucking pants on.”

Rowan reached down and untied her shoes, setting them to the side before reaching into the bag and pulling out a pair of jeans and socks. She pulled them on under her dress and buttoned them, instantly feeling a little bit better. She glanced up at him and frowned. “Can I put on a shirt or is that not allowed?”

“Go for it, I don’t care,” Paul said with a shrug.

“Can I get some privacy?”

Paul scoffed but couldn’t stop the small smile on his face. “After that last stunt you pulled? Fuck no.”

Rowan frowned, she really wasn’t keen on stripping down in front of him, but it was a much better option than staying in a dress the whole time. She reached around her back and unzipped her dress before pulling it over her head and tossing it aside. Her heart ached a little at the action but she didn’t really want to ask for something as simple as a hanger—he probably would’ve said no. She reached into the bag for one of her v-necks, plain black, and slid it on, followed by her hoodie. She crossed her arms over her chest and fixed her eyes on Paul.

“You done?”

Rowan nodded.

“Sit back down.”

Rowan shook her head. “No.”

“Sit the fuck down before I make you, Rowan!” Paul yelled.

Rowan’s eyes widened and she tried to hide it, but couldn’t. She sat back down in the seat and begrudgingly allowed Paul to tie her feet back to the legs of the chair and her arms behind its back. She hated the situation and she hated herself for being in it. But most of all, she hated the way her body inched closer to Paul’s whenever he was around, and she hated the way his smell made her feel safe. But more than all of that, she hated the way that she didn’t really hate him.

Paul backed away and ran his hand over his forehead before calling for his best friend. He kept his eyes trained on Rowan until he heard Martin stumble into the room, and he looked over at him.

“Yeah, bro?”

Paul tossed the gun over at Martin, who hadn’t been expecting it but still caught it in time. “Your shift starts now,” he told him before walking over to him. He kept his voice low—Rowan didn’t need any more information than she already had. “Don’t let the bitch trick you into anything. Don’t give her food or water or let her use the bathroom.”

“But what if—“

“Nothing,” Paul repeated. “Got it?”

Martin nodded. “You got it, boss. Get some rest.”

“I gotta talk to my father, first. Don’t give her any information until I talk to my father, okay?”

“Okay. What’s going on?” Martin wasn’t an idiot. He knew his best friend’s tone and he knew that Paul was on edge.

Paul shrugged. “That’s what I have to figure out.”