Sergio (Benedetti Brothers 3)

“I…I…”

“I...I…” he mimics me with a chuckle, and releases me.

I stumble backward.

“Down,” he says, his voice a low, deep command. He’s pointing to the floor.

“Wh…what?”

“Your wallet. Give it to me.”

I blink away, look at the spilled contents of my purse. I remember how the other man had dropped to his knees at his command. How he’d kissed the toe of this man’s shoe.

“Are you hard of hearing?”

I glance back up at him, confused.

He gives a shake of his head. “Your wallet. Give it to me.”

I nod. I drop to my knees because I’m having trouble standing anyway. My hands tremble as I take my wallet and hand it up to him.

He opens it, takes out my driver’s license and drops the rest back on the floor.

“Natalie Gregorian.” He reads the address. “Asbury Park?” his eyebrows rise. “Far from home, aren’t you?”

“My parents’ house,” I say stupidly.

“What are you doing in Philadelphia, Natalie Gregorian?”

“I go to school here. University of Pennsylvania.”

“Ah.” He looks at the driver’s license again, then tucks it into his pocket and returns his gaze to me. “And what are you doing at this warehouse, in the middle of nowhere, tonight of all nights?”

“I have a project.” I wasn’t supposed to come tonight. I decided at the last minute.

Again, his eyebrows go up.

“Architecture. I was taking pictures.” I hear myself start to babble. “One of my professors opens an internship slot for one student every year and I was hoping to get his attention with this.” I have to force myself to stop.

Sergio looks really confused now.

“I heard the men come in and…I got scared and…I hid.” Shut up. Shut up. Just shut up. “No one’s supposed to be here,” I add on, unable to take my own advice.

“Including you. It’s a condemned building.”

I stare up at him and the weight of what I witnessed is slowly dawning on me. “Please don’t hurt me. I didn’t see anything. Not really.”

“Not really?”

I shake my head. Swipe the back of my hand across my nose before rubbing the tears from my eyes.

“Where’s your car?”

“I took the bus. I don’t have a car.”

“Bus? You took a bus out here?” He’s looking at me like it’s the most unbelievable thing anyone has ever said.

“It stops four blocks away.”

He checks his watch. “Hand me your phone,” he says.

I do.

“What’s your password?”

“0000.”

He gives me an ‘are you serious’ look.

“It’s an old phone.” Not everything works like it should.

“Huh.” He punches in the code and sits on one of the chairs. I look at him as he scrolls through my phone. My brief memories of him are nothing like the reality. He’s tall, at least 6’4” if not taller, and big. His legs are spread wide and he’s leaning forward with his elbows on his thighs. The suit he’s wearing barely contains him. It strains at his shoulders and thighs. And I guess he’s in his late twenties. Younger than I think he should be.

His gaze snaps up to mine and he turns the phone toward me. “Who’s this?”

It’s a selfie of Drew and me. Drew’s my best friend. We’ve known each other since high school.

“Drew.”

“Boyfriend?”

I shake my head, wondering why he’s asking. He turns the phone back toward himself, scrolls through more photos.

“Just taking pictures for your architecture class?” he asks, turning the screen back toward me.

It’s the single image I captured when the two men were brought in. I don’t even know why I did it.

“That was an accident.”

“How do you accidentally take that picture when you have sense enough to hide?”

I can’t answer that. “You can see. There are a lot of the warehouse.” I start to rise, to go to him and show him. But he halts me by raising his hand.

“Stay.”

I do.

He drops the phone to the floor and stands up, puts his heel on the screen and crushes it.

“No!” I’m on hands and knees trying to grab it from under his shoe even as I hear it splintering.

His hand closes around my hair again and he draws me to kneel up. He crouches down so we’re almost at eye level. I still have to look up, though.

“Sweetheart, you’ve got bigger problems than your phone right now.”

Sweetheart. He says it casually, like before.

“Please don’t hurt me. I really wasn’t spying. I wasn’t here on purpose. I…”

“Stop blubbering,” he says, releasing me. He stands. “Get your shit together.”

I nod. I sit back and I keep nodding.

He chuckles. “I mean get your things together. In your bag.”

“Oh.” I look at the spilled contents. I’m gathering my things and wiping my nose as tears are dropping to the floor as I consider what’s going to happen to me. I never called my mom back yesterday. She’ll be worried now. I should have called her. And dad. I don’t remember the last time I talked to him. Shit. What will they think happened to me? Will they even find—