Inhabitants of the De Santi Mansion (1)

CAT

The humongous mansion is not uninhabited like I thought a moment ago. It's just so huge that someone could sneak in here and live for months without being noticed.

When my captor demands I go to the dining room for breakfast, I don't agree because he said so. I don't even want to eat his food—who knows what insane drugs it's laced with? But my stomach is growling and blazing with hunger and I'm starting to think there's no way I've only been out for a few hours. There's a very good chance I was kidnapped yesterday on my way to work and I've woken up about an entire day later.

I'm not going to starve myself. If I get the chance to escape, I don't want to be too weak to take it. So I reluctantly enter the dining room that's almost as big as my entire apartment, where I see three men and a woman already seated.

The table is as huge as pretty much everything else in this house. It can sit sixteen (or maybe twenty?) but there are only four people at the moment. My captor is sitting at the head of the table—of course he is. I imagine he is the don of whatever syndicate kidnapped me. The woman is sitting on his right side, while the three men sit on her left.

I want to shrink to the foot of the table, as far from my captor as possible. Not that it will make him see me any less but still. However, I know that will make it harder for the maids I just saw carrying huge trays to circle the table as they serve us. So I plop down next to him and regret it as soon as I do. I am face to face with the woman and she's staring at me like she hates my guts.

I don't even know her but I feel the hostility raditing off her. She doesn't look like she could be my captor's wife. She's probably his aunt or his mother. I can see some resemblance between them.

I will myself to not cave to her stare.

"Are you going to introduce Snow to us any time this year?" One of the men speaks and I know he's talking about me.

I want to scoff at him but I also want to know who these people are.

My captor doesn't look pleased at the idea either. He glares at the man who spoke, who I think must be one of his enforcers.

"Okay, then." The man who just called me Snow grins. "I'll go first. My name is Niccolaio De Santi."

Oh shit.

I could get kidnapped by any syndicate in the world.

The De Santis?

I've heard about them—not good things. They are the kind of ruthless monsters you wouldn't want to cross paths with. I haven't just crossed paths with them, I'm in their dining room. And just when I thought my luck couldn't get any worse.

Niccolaio looks amused ny my reaction to his name. "I know it's a mouthful. I think my parents were trying to make a tongue twister or something…you can just call me Nico."

"That makes it so much better." I force out a sarcastic laugh.

Nico seems to be the friendliest of the bunch and the only one who looks the slightest bit happy about this. He introduces the others too. He points at the curly-haired man idly toying with a switchblade, making it spin so fast on his knuckles I'm scared he might snip his fingers off. "That's Esteban. You won't see him often."

He then points his thumb at the long-haired supermodel sitting between him and Esteban. He looks a lot like one of those ridiculously handsome Mexican soap opera male leads that make women's hearts race.

"Francesco." Nico says.

When he tilts to his right, he points at the woman glaring daggers at me. "My beautiful mother, Alma, and my boring brother Guillermo. Just call him William." He lowers his voice even though he can still be heard by everyone else as he adds, "you may want to stay away from that one."

Yeah, I plan to.

"And you are?" Nico asks, though I'm certain they all know who I am.

I humor him. "Catalina."

"That's a mouthful." He groans like I just asked him to recite the all the numbers of pi. "Can't I just call you Snow?"

Why did you bother asking then?

"Enough fooling around." My captor, whose name I now know to be William, bellows at his brother.

Just like that, the conversation is over. It was awkward but at least it was better than the silence that follows.

The maids bring our breakfast but the appetite I had worked up is gone. I am in the De Santi territory. I may not know much about the mafia but everyone who isn't living under a rock has heard about their flowery reputation. I'm starting to think Esteban is The Doctor.

Well, maybe not an actual doctor. According to the rumors, The Doctor earned his nickname thanks to his insane skill with knives and scalpels, which is exactly how he makes his enemies disappear. By dismembering them.

The thought of how many lives must have disappeared in those skillful hands makes my stomach churn. I force down a few bites of the perfectly fried bacon because Alma is staring at me like she will shove her sharp fork through my neck if I insult her by not eating the breakfast her maids have so diligently prepared. The only reason I finish it is because I remember how furious Nonna would be if anyone didn't finish their food.

As soon as I'm done, I dart off the table and make a beeline for the room I was locked in. I refuse to call it my room. Nothing in this mansion belongs to me. It may be beautiful but it's a prison all the same, and quite likely the last place I'll be seen alive.

I enter my room and scan my lock. I have to restore it before I can lock it again, which is a walk in the park. I've picked more locks than I can count and I've snuck in and out of places unnoticed. Don't judge. Desperate times.

Once I'm certain no one will barge in, I scan the room for a possible escape route. I'm not about to do it blindly, however. I have to make sure I'm not being monitored.

I'm looking for anything that looks out of place, where a camera could be hidden. I do a sweep around the room.

If I were a psychopath like William De Santi, why would I keep a camera in my captive's room?

I'm guessing he will want to make sure I don't make it out the window. If he wanted a clear view of the window, he would place a camera on one of teh closet doors. I realize that would also give him a good view of the bed.

Pervert.

On the bright side, he won't have cameras in the bathroom. At least I hope his mind is not twisted enough to think of it.

Sure enough, I do notice one of the closet doors has what looks like a very slight smudge the size of my pinky nail. If I wasn't deliberately looking for something small and unnoticeable at this height, I wouldn't notice it. I grin at it and realize that just made me feel like a lunatic. Whatever. I'm not the one kidnapping people and rigging their room with hidden cameras.

After ripping it off the closet door and slapping it on the inside to give William a view of the expensive-looking dresses inside, I sit at the vanity to plan my escape.

The De Santi mansion is overly secure with uncountable guards hiding in the shadows. I haven't seen any of them but I know they are there, just like the servants who retreated as soon as they finished serving our breakfast.

But even the most secure fortress has a weakness. And the weakness of the De Santi mansion knocks on my door as if summoned by my thoughts.

"Snow?" He calls when I don't answer.

Yeah, that's right. Niccolaio De Santi.