Something is wrong. It’s been two days since his proposal, but Vinny’s kept his distance. I’ve spent those days inside my room, playing until the callouses on my inner thumbs blister and bleed. It’s a welcome reprieve, but the anticipation chills me more than the freedom from him gives me peace.
Time gives Vinny a chance to brood. A brooding Vinny is more likely to leave scars, like the kind I know will mar my backside for at least a month. The pain mingles with dread as I fidget on the seat of my vanity and eye the reflection that faces me. The woman in the mirror reveals none of Vinny’s secrets. She’s curious. Too many questions battle for supremacy in her eyes when a sudden knock rattles the door.
I’m shaking too badly to even call out a reply.
Is it him?
What does he what?
What will he say?
Do?
“I’ll get it, miss.” My fiancé’s absence is joined by Olga’s. The morning after the proposal, a new companion shook me awake. I haven’t bothered to learn her name, and I can only pray that I never have to.
She’s younger than Olga, and slender, with red hair that gleams as she crosses over to the door and pulls it open.
“Mr. Stacatto requests your presence, Miss,” Gino says. His tone is flat, revealing nothing. “Eight o’clock tonight. He suggests that you wear the new dress.”
“T-Thank...” My lips are too dry, and it takes several swipes with my tongue before I can form a coherent response. “Thank you.”
“Miss.” He’s gone, closing the door behind him, and it’s a painful waiting game until night rolls around with all the finality of a tolling death bell.
The dress is silk. Lace adorns the sweeping neckline, and I’m alarmed to find that it plunges between my breasts, displaying a teasing V of cleavage. It’s an upgrade from my usually demure wardrobe, but it’s not an improvement. Vinny only likes to show off the toys he knows are his. You are mine, Mi Bella.
“Your hair, miss.”
My new companion styles it expertly, pinning up the dark waves to display my neck. The illusion pays off. I seem whole despite my healing wounds, and the battle scars etched into my flesh beneath black silk. Vinny’s chosen word haunts me. Nice.
“The car is waiting, Miss Manzano,” Gino calls from the hallway.
I believe that all is well until I enter the hallway. There are only three men in the suite tonight—Vinny’s taken the bulk of his detail with him, it seems. Their eyes chase me across the room, but on my way through the foyer, I catch sight of the grandfather clock perched against the wall. The time is displayed in emblazoned numbers, and I freeze in my tracks.
8:15
“It’s late.” Fear chokes me. I think I’m going to be sick, but even my churning stomach knows better than to ruin my new dress. Oh, God. Oh, God. “C-Call him! Please.” I turn to Gino, and for a second I forget myself. My hand shoots out, seizing his collar. “Tell him! Please. It wasn’t me. It’s not my fault. I can’t be late.”
The room spins. Gino has to physically pry my fingers loose, but he lets me go just as quickly and backs away, leaving me to sway on my feet. His hand darts into the pocket of his suit jacket, withdrawing a slim cell phone. “I will,” he promises, bringing the receiver to his ear. The words he speaks are barked out in another language, but he assures me that everything will be okay in English when he finally hangs up.
I believe him as he ushers me into the elevator and leads me across the lobby below. I have to believe him.
Out front, the car idles, unconcerned by the danger its driver has placed me in. I think of the girl in my room, fearfully organizing the clothes in my closet. Will I learn her name tonight? God, the thought of it is too much. It swallows me whole, locking me within a prison that seals me up tight, cutting off all oxygen.
Gino leaves me at the curb. I’ll travel to this nightmare alone. I’ll face Vinny alone. The thought has never terrified me more. I can’t. I can’t.
I’m a shell of a woman, sitting in the backseat of the car with my hands folded neatly on my lap. My heart is a pathetic ball in my chest, incapable of churning blood. I can’t take my eyes off the scenery darting past, muted by the car’s tinted windows. I’m sure that I’ll die before we reach the venue—suffocate.
But my pulse keeps thumping. My lungs continue to fill with oxygen. My body won’t obey me, so conditioned it is to following Vinny’s will.
My fiancé’s will.
My husband. The thought sends hot tears trickling down, but I don’t hold them back. I’m too tired to wipe them away. He’ll be angry when he sees. I’ll be punished.
And yet they continue to fall throughout the entire journey and still linger when the car finally comes to a stop, and the door is opened from the outside. A sob hitches in my throat. My ring weighs me down. Whoever the unlucky goon is to greet me, he’ll have to carry me inside.
I wait for him to utter the usual line. “He’s waiting, miss.”
I don’t expect for whoever he is to climb inside instead, shoving his body against mine. I don’t expect to hear a gun cock or feel the icy ridge of a barrel graze my temple.
It’s like waking up from a dream. This new rush of fear that jolts down my spine is another flavor from the kind Vinny inspires.
“Keep driving,” a gruff voice commands, as the door is slammed shut again, but with me trapped inside. “Keep fucking driving.”