Kidnapped By The Mafia

Nemesis

•Noah Verlice•

Three days. Seventy two hours. That's how long it's been since I last saw her face. I haven't set foot back in that house since that night. Hell, after my parents practically dragged me out, warning me about my "unhealthy obsession" with that woman, I doubt anyone wants me there anymore. Especially Marcellus. I bet that fucker is thrilled to finally have me out of his way.

But it wasn't Alex that pissed me off the most. It was her. The image of her clinging to him, her face buried in his chest was replaying on loop in my mind. Why? Why him? Didn't she see him for what he was? Did she just magically forget that he was still her kidnapper and a sadistic fucking assaulter? Or does she fuck with that side of him? Whatever it was, one thing was clear that she was just as messed up as him. He brainwashed her real good.

My gaze swept to my hand, the soft clinking of ice cubes against crystal glass was the only sound that pierced the silence in my study. The sunlight streamed through the floor to ceiling windows, illuminating the plush, Italian leather couches and the hand woven Persian rug beneath my feet. God, I fucking hate this place.

A knock on the door sliced through the quiet. I sighed, the sound echoing oddly in the vast space. "Come in." I called out.

Edwin entered, looking awfully tensed and stood by the doorway. "Sir," He bowed. "There's a... gentleman at the door who wants to see you. He says it's urgent."

"Urgent?" I scoffed, the word felt like mockery in the meticulously ordered world I'd built. "Nobody barges into my house with demands." My gaze narrowed. "Tell him to take a number and get in line."

Edwin shuffled his feet, his discomfort growing with each passing second. "Sir, he... he seems... important." There was a tremor in his voice as he met my eye.

Something about the way he phrased it made my curiosity spark up. Important enough to bypass the security protocols and not needing a shit ton of formalities to be allowed to schedule a meeting with me? That was enough to pipe my interest. Leaning back in my chair, I swirled the remaining ice in my glass, the clinking somehow helping in soothing my nerves.

"Show him in. But make it clear, ten minutes. No more."

He nodded once before disappearing back into the hallway. A moment later, the door swung open, revealing a man in his late thirties. He was tall, broad shouldered, and dressed entirely in black. A long leather coat hung open, revealing the faint outline of the gun strapped to his hip, A worn leather briefcase hung from his left hand.

He didn't smile, didn't offer a handshake. He  just simply walked into the room, his gaze sweeping over the opulent surroundings with a mix of disapproval and grimness.

"Noah Verlice?" He inquired, his voice raspy.

I leaned back further, my gaze never leaving him. "That's me." I replied, keeping my tone light. "And you are?"

"Name's Edward Vance." He pulled out a badge from his coat pocket, flashing it briefly before tucking it back away. "I'm a private investigator."

A dark chuckle escaped my lips. "A private investigator? What, did Xander finally decide to hire someone to clean up his mess?"

The man shook his head, his expression dead. "I'm here on behalf of someone else entirely. I'm here to ask you about a case."

"A case, huh?" I leaned forward, a smile tugging on my lips. "And what kind of case might that be, detective?"

He ignored the jab and pulled out a photograph from his shiny briefcase, placing it face down on the coffee table in front of me. It wasn't just any photograph.

"The case of Rhea Moon." He said, his voice flat.

My expression faltered.

I stared at the photograph, refusing to touch it.

Every muscle in my body tensed at the mention of that name.

Rhea Moon.

A name that I had buried so deep, I thought it was gone forever. Six years. Six long years had gone since that night. I remember the official case was closed due to lack of information about her disappearance and then soon she was found dead.

"If the FBI isn't even interested in this anymore," I started, steepling my fingers."Then neither am I. They had their shot and came up empty handed. Don't waste my time here."

Because unlike the FBI, I knew for a fact this man wasn't who he claimed to be. I had eyes and ears everywhere, and the government boys weren't exactly on my speed list. This was something else entirely. He was a threat.

"The case has been reopened." He informed me, his voice devoid of any emotion. "Her family never gave up, they need answers. And with new evidence coming to light..." He paused, letting the unspoken threat hang in the air.

My eyes snapped up to meet his dark ones.

He leaned forward, his gaze unwavering. "FBI likes tidy cases, Mr. Verlice. Cases that fit neatly into their little boxes. But sometimes, the truth doesn't cooperate. That's where I come in."

My jaw clenched. This man knew more than he was letting on. How much had he dug up?

"The law couldn't care less about this case." I said. "Just say that they gave you a lot of money to dig up burnt bones."

"The law may not be interested, but the Moon family is." He answered, loosening up his tie. "And considering your involvement in the case, I wouldn't be surprised if you were too."

I glared at him. It wouldn't be hard to hide his dead body. But then again, I don't know if he has people behind him or not. I need to do a background check on this guy. The last thing I want right now is more shit to deal with.

"Your ten minutes are over."

He responded with a smile.

"Expect to see me around, Mr. Verlice." He grabbed his briefcase. "We'll be talking again soon. Only this time," He leaned forward, his eyes boring into mine, "It won't be on your terms."

With that, he turned and walked towards the door.

I glanced at the picture that was still there on the table.

Framed by a loose braid that went down till her back her face peeked through a curtain of warm brown hair. Though, it was her eyes that held me prisoner. Wide and grey, they stared back at me. A single slender finger, adorned with a diamond ring reached up as if to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, a gesture forever frozen in time.

I clenched my fists, my knuckles turning white as I fought the urge to slam my fist down on the table, to shatter the memory and the photo with it.

There was no way this woman found a way to come back into my life. Especially, not like this.