Sharon
The next morning, Sharon woke up alone in a strange bed. She had spent the night tossing and turning, desperately trying to shut out visions of gore and death. Her heart ached as she tried to wrap her mind around the idea that the man she had come to love was capable of such a horrific act. She couldn’t help but think about what he’d said afterwards too.
You know I own you right? This is your life now, sweetie.
Sharon had wanted to slap him when he said that. Did Vittorio actually love her the way he claimed, or did he just love the power he held over her? Doubt overwhelmed her. They’d had such a lovely day yesterday, yet the night couldn’t have turned out any worse. She was scared to see Vittorio again. She wondered if she’d end up seeing the man she loved in those captivating dark eyes of his, or if she would only ever see a ruthless killer.
She didn’t want to admit it to herself, but she was worried that she may have projected her own desires onto Vittorio. Maybe he wasn’t the sweet-souled man her heart yearned for. Maybe she just needed to believe that he was. She’d been under the influence of so much oxytocin over the last two weeks, more than ever in her life before. Were hormones addling her judgement?
She sighed. These were questions she was never going to be able to answer on her own. Sharon needed to go find Vittorio and talk these things out. He was right, it wasn’t like she had anywhere to go. The thought that he considered her his property was no longer as appealing as it had been.
She got out of the bed, tossing aside the crisp yellow sheets. She hadn’t even really had a chance to check out the decor, she’d been too distracted the night before; but in the sunlight she could see it was a very chic room. All yellows and pale blues, with a very Parisian feel.
Sharon dressed in the only outfit she had. Her navy pants were starting to feel dirty and she winced as she pulled Vittorio’s sweatshirt over her head. His scent enveloped her like a warm hug and Sharon tried to push out her more intimate thoughts about Vittorio. It was hard, though; his masculine scent made her nipples peak beneath the cups of her bra.
It’s only natural to be attracted to him, Sharon reasoned with herself. He makes up your entire sexual experience. It makes sense.
Once she’d pushed open her door, Sharon peeked a tentative head out into the ornate hallway. She saw no sign of Vittorio, so he crossed the hall to the bedroom they’d made love in. The bed was neatly made, with no trace of Vittorio.
Hmm, Sharon wondered. Did he sleep here last night?
She gasped. Did he leave me here alone?
Sharon was more desperate than ever to find Vittorio. She hoped, prayed even, that he hadn’t left her all alone in a mansion in the middle of nowhere. Especially since people who wanted to kill her knew exactly where she was. Sharon began to panic. She realized Vittorio had been right last night; he really was her only asset against the man who wanted her dead. She’d been so stupid to shun him the way she had. She’d just needed some space, but she’d taken it too far.
Maybe he’s in the kitchen or something, Sharon thought and turned on her heel. She started jogging down the stairs when she heard a voice she didn’t recognize.
“The Anafestos… hitting your properties… discuss a plan of action…”
Sharon couldn’t quite make out everything the man said, but she assumed she wasn’t supposed to be hearing any of it. She dropped into a low crouch and began slowly inching down the stairs. She peered around the landing and saw a group of men, about a dozen or so, standing in a circle at the bottom of the stairs. Most of them had their arms across their chest and they wore somber expressions.
She immediately ducked back behind the wall, hoping to avoid being seen. She cupped a hand around her ear and leaned against the wall, so she could hear them as best she could.
“Sir,” another unfamiliar voice piped up. “We believe the Anafestos are trying to send a message. We’ve had to scrub graffiti off the walls of almost every property you own.”
“What did it say?” Vittorio asked, his tone all business.
His familiar voice tickled Sharon’s heart like a feather. He’s still here, Sharon thought, relieved that he hadn’t left her after all.
“I took some photos,” she heard. There was silence for a moment. Presumably one of the men was showing Vittorio pictures he’d taken of the vandalization. “They’re all different,” the man explained. “Some random words and letters. It looks almost like a code. The number ‘130’ pops up a lot.”
“That how much I paid for…” Sharon heard Vittorio break off into a frustrated sigh.
That’s how much he paid for me, Sharon realized. The Anafestos really were trying to send Vittorio a very personal and specific message. She felt fear starting to brew in her gut. These dangerous people really wanted her dead. This was a situation Sharon had never even dreamed she would be in. It felt incredibly surreal.
“Never mind,” Vittorio said authoritatively. “What’s important now is damage control moving forward. Is there anything besides the spray paint?”
“Few broken windows, couple storehouses got hit too. We’re still running up the damage. We just wanted to come let you know in person.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Vittorio grumbled. “No, not you. This is all just insanity. That old mother fucker is clearly losing his mind.”
“Oh, there is one other thing,” another unfamiliar voice said, a tentative softness in his tone. “You remember Johnny Lombardi? Joey and Leanne’s boy?”
“Vaguely,” Vittorio confirmed.
“He, um, never came home last night. Leanna called the cops who found him in an alley a few blocks down, gut-shot and left to die.”
“What?” Vittorio asked, sounding outraged. “Anafesto put a hit out on a sixteen-year-old boy and you stupid fucks opened this meeting with graffiti? You didn’t think a dead kid was more important.”
“Well, I just thought of it,” the man stammered, clearly afraid, “‘Cause, ya know, they thought it must just be a drive-by, I guess. But, like, it makes way more sense that it’d be Anafesto. Didn’t put it together right away. S-Sorry, Boss.”
“You are fucking sorry, Lee,” Vittorio snapped. “Any of you other stupid fucks have anything to add? Somebody’s wife get raped or kid get snatched that you’re forgetting to tell me about?”
There was silence.
“No? We’re all caught up? Good, I guess we can move on.”
Sharon did not like the flippant, borderline cruel way Vittorio talked to his men. More and more he seemed to really be the monster she feared rather than the beautiful man that she loved.
“First of all, someone send the Lombardi’s my sympathies. I’ll want to arrange a meeting to speak with them personally. So, whoever is handling that should try to find a good time. Once we get everything cleaned up and estimated out, I wanna hit Anafesto twice as hard as he hit us. He wants to send a message? We need to send one right back.”
Sharon could hear a pencil scratching paper, as if someone was taking notes.
“Anafesto has a grandkid, doesn’t he?” Vittorio asked. “Put out a hit on him. Aim to wound, not to kill. But whatever happens, happens.”
“Sir?” another voice chimed in. “Anafesto’s grandkid is like thirteen…”
“Like I said,” Vittorio cut him off, “Whatever happens, happens.”
Sharon had to fight a sudden wave of nausea that crept up her throat. Did Vittorio seriously just put a hit out on a child? she wondered, horrified. Violence was one thing, but the death of a child, robbing a man of the chance to watch his grandson blossom into a man, was entirely another matter.