The Prince of Chicago

Chapter 3

Isabelle

My eyes slowly opened, feeling heavier than usual. I rolled over in bed and reached my hand out, searching for my phone in the dark room. As I moved, pain shot across my head and down my neck. What the heck happened last night? As I began thinking through the events of the evening, the memory of the men in the alley came flooding back. But wait, I was home. Surely that must have been a dream? I continued feeling around for my phone, or the purse I had last night, or something. Where the hell was everything?

I began to sit up, but the throbbing pain in my head worsened with the movement. This has got to be one of the nastiest hangovers I’ve ever had, I thought. As I continued to lumber myself into an upright position, my hands grazed across the top blanket on the bed. Wait a minute, who’s blanket was this? It wasn’t one of mine. Becoming more frantic, I glanced around the room, but could see almost nothing in the dark. Where was I?

Deciding the only thing to do was to find a lightswitch, I got out of bed, bracing myself against the edge of the mattress and feeling quite dizzy. I began walking, arms outstretched, trying to find a wall to guide me. Instead, I bumped into what felt like some sort of dresser or vanity. Feeling my way around it, I finally came to a lightswitch. I flicked it on to have my worst fear confirmed. This was not my room at all, which meant last night was certainly no dream.

The room itself was probably the same square footage as my entire studio apartment. The bed I’d been in was against the wall opposite a set of large french doors. The item I ran into in the dark was a vanity with a large mirror and two sets of drawers attached to each side. There was a cream colored chaise in the center of the room with an area rug underneath, displaying a modern-looking pattern in neutral colors. The rest of the floor was dark wood. On the wall opposite me and perpendicular to the bed were two doors propped halfway open. One led to what looked like a closet, and the other a bathroom.

I immediately advanced to the french doors and tried to open them, but they were locked from the outside. I began pounding, shouting for someone to let me out, or at least tell me where I was, but no one came or responded to my pleas.

After tiring myself out, I figured I’d need to take a different approach if I wanted to figure out where the heck I was. A set of curtains hung from floor to ceiling on either side of the bed. Assuming they were covering windows, I walked over to the set nearest me and flung them open, revealing sparkling floor to ceiling glass. I didn’t know the city very well, but if I could see where I was, maybe I’d be able to get my bearings. I stared out, looking for something recognizable, but beyond realizing I was in a room at least 30 stories up, nothing jumped out at me. Then, a deep, gruff voice rang out behind me.

“I see you’re awake.”

I jumped, turning around to see who the voice belonged to. My eyes met a man in a suit standing in the now open doorway. How had I not heard him come in? I studied him as he advanced into the room. He had a dark mop of hair on his head, which seemed to be over a foot higher than mine, and angular features that looked severe in the sunlight. I recognized him: it was the mystery man from the club.

I stared at his eyes for a moment, now being able to see their color. While they had looked dark in the club, I noticed now that they were a stark shade of blue. He looked attractive from afar last night, but seeing him up close was a completely different story. In short, he was a Greek god, chiseled from stone. Even through his suit, I could see how muscular he was. If the circumstances were different, I would have been flattered that I garnered his attention the night prior. Maybe there was a small part of me that still was. But I could not show this man anything but strength given the circumstances. Questions ran through every corner of my mind, but I wasn’t sure if I should speak. We stood there like that, silent, eyes trained on each other for a long while.

“Who are you?” I finally asked. I had meant for the question to come out strong and stern, but my voice defied me and it ended up being rather soft. He tilted his head the same way he had done the night before, and a small smile crept up the corner of his lips. Or was it a smirk?

“You can call me Angelo,” he said. Not really an answer to my question.

“Ok, Angelo, mind telling me where I am?” I asked. I waved my hand, gesturing to the room and made sure my annoyance came through in my tone.

“This is my home, Isabelle. Well more specifically, a spare bedroom in one of my homes,” he stated coolly. Again, a non-answer… and how did he know my name?

“Have we met before?” I asked.

“No.” He shrugged and began walking around the chaise in the middle of the room, looking about casually.

“Then how do you know my name?” I was frightened and wanted to go home, but I needed answers from this man. When he didn’t respond, I tried a different approach. “I saw you at the club last night, you were staring at me. Why?”

“My, you are just full of questions sweetheart,” he said, chuckling. “Ironic too, since I’m actually here to ask you some questions.” The way he said that last part made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. This man was surely connected to the gunman I was assaulted by last night. I could feel the air being sucked out of my lungs just like in the club, but I fought to keep control of myself, to keep breathing evenly. After all, he was just a man.

“About?” This time my voice came out solid. I was proud of myself, I didn’t want to give him, or anyone, the satisfaction of seeing my fear.

“I think you already know the answer to that question, my dear,” he said, turning to face me. He was on the opposite side of the room from me now, but his blue eyes still pierced me with their gaze.

“I don’t know what you’re referring to,” I said in a cool tone. “I went to the club with my friends last night, then walked myself home. So if there is something specific you’re referencing, you’ll have to enlighten me, Angelo.” I took a few steps toward him on that last part, trying to show him my confidence, my lack of fear. I thought maybe if I played dumb, pretended I didn’t see anything, he’d let me go. He just chuckled.

“That bump on your head would say otherwise, although I appreciate the feigned discretion,” he replied. “My apologies about that, by the way. We don’t make a habit of striking women, but you have to understand that you startling my men put them in the uncomfortable position of having to deal with you. I can assure you the one responsible has been reminded of this.” He also took a few steps as he spoke, putting us within feet of each other. I stood my ground. The thought of him calling those murderers his men made my mind race. I realized my only possible ticket to freedom now was playing along. I’d answer his questions, and if he didn’t let me go after that, I figured he’d at least leave the room afterwards, which would give me some time to think of my next move, or a possible escape plan.

“Ok then, Angelo. Let’s talk. What are your questions, exactly?”