My Secret Italian Billionaire

I couldn’t stand the air in the club anymore. A bit dizzy from being surrounded by the body heat of so many people, I signaled my friend I was leaving and tried to squeeze through the crowd of dancers. I fought my way out of the hands of a man who seemed really eager to grind on my rear and escaped the madness scot free.

 

The cold air outside hit me like a wall of ice and I had to stop and lean on the dirty brick wall of the club to regain some composure. Although shaking, I felt I was sobering up so I dared to trust my feet for a walk. I could’ve taken a cab but I wanted to breathe in the chilly air a little more.

 

Step after step, careful to pull my faux fur coat tightly around me, I was slowly putting some distance between me and the club. Why did I agree to come, again? I shook my head, somewhat disappointed with myself. Not only did I give in under my friend’s insistence, but I had drank a bit more than I should.

 

I passed a brasserie, closed at this hour, and suddenly felt like having coffee. I stopped and looked around, searching for a place to get some, but nothing seemed open. Sighing, I started forward again, now with the purpose of finding an open bar.

 

I was sure I had been in this part of the city before and I thought I remembered a place nearby. Turning right at the next corner, I was hit by the smell of sewage, with which my stomach didn’t agree, so I stepped back. “Maybe I should get back to the club,” I thought to myself.

 

Somewhere behind me, closer than I had liked, I heard a man shout something.

 

“Yo, mama, c’n I touch your hair?” I could make out from his mostly slurred speech.

 

The circumstances had become that I couldn’t go back the way I came. The group of drunks were now closing in from that direction, giving me the sewage smelling alley as a means to escape.

 

“Hey, say somethin’!”

 

“Yo’, I’d love to taste that chocolate, dude,” they kept laughing behind.

 

I was getting nervous with the situation so I inhaled a mouthful of stinky air and, holding my breath, I walked into the alley. I could see it opened in another street and my hope was that I could find another way back from there or I might just hail a cab. My main fear was, however, that the drunk men would catch up with me in the alley, so I sped up. One glance back confirmed my theory. With a racing heart, I started running, eager to get into the other street sooner.

 

“Hey! Whatcha running for?”

 

“Oh, my God, oh, my God,” I whispered, trying my best not to fall off my uncomfortably high heels.

 

Finally out of the alley, I looked around, disappointed that it was just another empty street, less lit than I would’ve liked it.

 

“Yo, girl, what’s the matter?”

 

I was startled by how close they had gotten so I started running again, automatically going right. In a couple of yards, I crossed the street and went into another alley, in the hope that I would lose the three men following me. I was unfit to run any longer.

 

Out of air, I leaned on the wall and held my head in my hands. My lungs were burning and I was breathing loudly; too loud for my liking. I held my breath when I heard them in the street, trying to melt into the cold wall behind me. If they saw me here I would be in big trouble, since the alley had a dead end.

 

The drunk men ran past the entrance, shouting for me as they got away. I waited a couple more minutes, barely able to breathe, until I couldn't hear them anymore, then dared to peek into the street. It seemed empty again, not a soul in sight.

 

Somewhat calmer, I stepped onto sidewalk and straightened my above-the-knee black dress that had slid up during my run. In the dim light, I caught a glance of myself in a dirty store window and gasped at the sight of my usually beautiful natural hair, now tangled into a curly mess.

 

“Oh, dear,” I whispered, trying to make myself presentable.

 

It was almost like I was fighting with Mother Nature herself. My hair would simply not comply. And the humidity in the air didn’t help one bit. Giving up, I let my hands fall to my sides and resigned to walk away. There was nothing I could’ve done by myself to tame the afro mane once it started rebelling like that.

 

Unsure of where I was going, I kept moving forward until I thought I saw a lit window. I squinted, hating myself for not bringing my glasses. “What do you need glasses for, girl? We’re going to a club. With music and booze. Not a book club,” my friend had argued and I had seen no reason to contradict her.

 

As I got closer, the window in question became clearer and I almost shed tears of joy when I realized it was a restaurant. An open Italian restaurant!

 

“Espresso!” was all I could think of, as I pushed the door open and was welcomed by the sound of an old school bell.

 

It looked like nobody was in, except for a young boy, probably a highschool student, that was wiping the tables. He had his earphones on and I suspect he didn’t notice me until after I sat at a small corner table.

 

I got rid of my coat and placed it on the back of the chair when he approached me, a determinate look on his face.

 

“Excuse me, miss…”

 

“Oh, God, it’s so warm in here!”

 

We spoke at the same time and I giggled. He seemed to blush at that and his features softened.

 

“We are closed, miss,” he said, his tone much less determinate.

 

“Oh?” I couldn’t believe my bad luck.

 

He must’ve seen my sadness.

 

“OK. Maybe you can stay a minute. But just that.”

 

“Oh, thank you so much!”

 

“Just a minute! OK?”

 

“Yes, I promise.”

 

He turned to leave but I stopped him. “Can I have an espresso? I promise I’ll drink it fast. Not more than a minute.”

 

He frowned. “OK. I’ll make you a single shot,” he finally gave in and went behind the tall bar to prepare my order.

 

I looked around for a bathroom and saw the sign pointing to a hallway at the back of the restaurant.

 

“Until you make my coffee, I’ll be just a minute,” I excused myself and hurried across the room.

 

“What? No, you can’t… Don’t!” I heard him behind.

 

I turned to assure him I won’t take long, giving him my biggest smile and half ran down the corridor.

 

I was pleasantly surprised by the cleanliness in the bathroom, so I took advantage of the good lighting to attempt another tactic on my hair. It turned out to be futile. I gave up again and started back to the main room. In the hallway, my footsteps were muffled by the thick carpet, the quiet around me enjoyable.

 

I was almost back into the restaurant when I thought I heard someone moaning like he was in pain. I stopped to listen, supporting myself on the delightfully orange wall.

 

Unconsciously, my mind registered the sounds that came at irregular intervals and translated it to me as a situation in which someone needed my help. Soon, my heart was beating so loudly, I could not make out the moans anymore.

 

My natural instincts told me to run away as fast as I could and forget about my coffee, but my training as a nurse stepped in and pushed me towards the end of the hallway, where the sounds seemed to come from.

 

That part of the building wasn’t lit as well as the rest so I needed a moment to adjust my eyes to the dark. I could make out the door because it wasn’t completely closed, a slither of light framing it all around. My pulse racing, I approached it slowly, grateful that the carpet muffled the sound of my heels on the floor.

 

Drawing a deep breath, I pushed the door slightly and peeked in. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion and the shock of what I saw hit me with a delayed reaction.

 

I couldn’t suppress a small scream at the sight of a man, bloodied and tied to a chair, surrounded by three other men bearing menacing looks on their faces. “Oh, shit!” I thought when one of them looked directly at me.

 

My brain took a second to catch up with the imminent danger I was in, second I could not afford, before I started running back towards the restaurant. I wanted to scream for help, but my throat was unable to utter any sounds.

 

In my crazed attempt to get away, I hoped that the bus boy would help me. I was sure of it up until the moment he appeared in my way and caught me. Of course he wouldn’t have helped me. He worked in the same damn restaurant!

 

I struggled like my life depended on it to escape his hands. After all, my life did depend on it.

 

He was slightly shorter than me but turned out to be much stronger.

 

“Ehi, basta!” one of the three men shouted at me.

 

I knew Italian, I was sure of it, but my mind was focused on saving my life rather than understanding what was said around me. I felt another pair of hands grabbing my arms and pulling them behind until the point I thought my shoulders would snap out of their sockets.

 

“Come here!”

 

“You like looking at other people’s business, eh?”

 

“Let’s get her into the back!”

 

Their thickly accented voices mingled together and I stopped trying to figure out what they were saying. To be brought in the back meant to go into that room and I had a suspicion they will find a chair for me as well. “Why fight?” I asked myself as they were dragging me through the door.

 

The man who was holding me pulled up another chair and threw me in it, while the bus boy took out a roll of duct tape and secured my hands to the armrests. Just like the beat-up man beside me.

 

“Oh, dear,” I whispered, thinking that I had just escaped a bad situation to get caught in another, worse one.

 

“What did you say, nigger bitch?”

 

“Excuse me?” I blurted out automatically, instinctively offended by the racial slur.

 

The two men planted in front of me laughed, clasping their hands like it was the best joke they’ve heard in a while.

 

“Did you hear that?” one of them mouthed, barely catching his breath.

 

The other one nodded and started to say something but another voice, deeper and less accented, interrupted him.

 

“Enough.”

 

They became silent almost instantly. I would’ve found that funny if the circumstances were different. I tried to turn my head and see who that man was, hoping to communicate with him since he seemed to be the boss in this room. The stockier of the two mobsters in front grabbed my chin and made me look at him instead. He grinned and I could smell his choice of seafood in his breath.

 

“What did you think you were doing, uh, chocolate?”

 

I shook my head free of his hands, annoyed by his attitude. I refused to talk, still afraid for what would happen next.

 

“Ehi, the man asked you a question,” the other intervened. The boss kept at my back, I assumed watching in silence.

 

“Listen, chocolate…” the first one started again, but I cut him off.

 

“Just get it over with! Leave the dialogue for the movies.”

 

My voice was shaky and I couldn’t figure out where did my courage come from. All I knew was that I couldn’t take their game any longer and I didn’t want to stick around to see what happened next. The waiting must be intolerable, I suspected, eying their other hostage.

 

The two stooges I was facing remained wide-eyed while their boss chuckled.

 

“I like her,” he said and I felt a shiver down my spine.

 

“God, please don’t,” I said, afraid to even imagine what his words could’ve meant.

 

“Anything but that,” I said to myself, praying that they would just end me sooner.

 

“Don’t what, bitch? The man just complimented your ass.” The stocky man seemed to be more talkative, now that he had to redeem himself after my remark.

 

I chose to bit my tongue and kept quiet.

 

“It’s getting late,” his friend said, glancing at his watch.

 

“Let’s get rid of them both,” he agreed, stepping closer to me.

 

I held my breath when he cut the tape around my wrists. Once I was free again, he pulled me up to my feet and threw me in the middle of the room. I stumbled and fell next to their other hostage.

 

The sudden violence raised my panic again and I cowered down, desperately looking for an escape. The only option was the door we came through and there was no way I could just walk away.

 

After inspecting the room, I raised my eyes to the three men. Now I could see their boss, who looked surprisingly younger than I would have expected. Tall, wearing a casual gray suit, he was leaning against a bookcase and fiddled carelessly with a long cigarette.

 

When he returned my gaze I could see how dark his eyes were. They looked like two black holes that could potentially suck in the soul of the poor woman who made the mistake of falling for them and I swallowed hard.

 

I tried to look away, but I couldn’t. There was something about him that made me trust him. I knew, deep down, that this was crazy, but the urge to lose myself into his eyes was too strong.

 

He didn’t break eye contact either. Still looking into my eyes, he spoke:

 

“Get him out of here. The girl stays alive.”

 

I felt like the air had been sucked out of my lungs and I bit back tears that threatened to make me look like a fool, especially after my earlier fit of bravery. I looked away, squeezing my eyes shut, while the men argued in Italian.

 

What I could understand was about them insisting I was a liability and that I should share Martin’s fate. I assumed Martin was my fellow hostage. The young boss argued that they did not have the means to deal with two bodies and that he would arrange for me to be surveilled anyway.

 

“Ma dai, Aldo!” the quiet one said, his tone the representation of disappointment.

 

Aldo… His name was Aldo.