Page 2 of Wanton

War isn't coming. It's already here.

I should run or scream. Iknowthis, and yet, like an idiot, I do neither.

"Is he dead?" I ask.

Coda looks at Domani, who looks at me.

"My grandfather," I clarify.

Domani hesitates and then nods.

"Okay." I'm not sure what else to say. I feel no sorrow, no grief. I feel nothing. My grandfather is dead, and I feel nothing.

What's wrong with me?

I take a step backward, intending to go back inside and do…what? I don’t get the chance to find out. I bump into a brick wall that wasn't there a minute ago. One with arms and hands.

Mattia Agostino, Rafael Valentino's consigliere.

"I'm sorry," he says.

For what?I want to ask, but I don't get to do that either. He clamps one hand over my mouth, lifting me off my feet with the other.

My heart gives a jarring thud, jolting my entire system. Then and only then does my mind finally snap into action. The fog lifts as pure terror sweeps in. I fight.

I fight like hell.

And I lose.

Chapter One

Callandria

Iblinkmyeyes,slowly coming awake. My head swims, making my stomach roil dangerously. I feel like I've been sleeping for years and not well. I groan, trying to remember…anything. But everything is a giant black void.

What happened?

I shift my gaze carefully around the room, taking in my surroundings. Unfamiliar dark red walls and elegant black furniture greet me. A triptych depicting the Chicago skyline dominates the far wall. It's beautiful, but I've never seen it before now. Black and red curtains hang closed over a bank of windows to the right, with a small table and chairs set up in front of them.

Where am I? How did I get here?

I search my mind but find only that damning void again.I don't remember how I got here. Or wherehereeven is.

I flatten my hands against the silk sheets to push myself upright. Metal clicks, halting the sluggish movement.

What?

I flip back the plush duvet cover surrounding me, my eyes locking on the padded restraint surrounding my left wrist. A length of chain runs from the metal clip to a hook above the bed.

No. Oh, no.

I already know what I'll find, but I check the right wrist anyway. A matching restraint surrounds it.

I'm chained to the bed.

Fear shoots through my system, clearing some of the cobwebs from my mind. Memory returns, first in a trickle and then in a flood.

My reckless decision to run outside without an escort in the middle of the night.