12. Day 42 – Caterina
Istare at my reflection in the mirror, wiping away the steam.
I don’t recognise the woman that stares back at me. A gaunt, hollow face and deep purple circles stare back. The Asante brand taunts me, plastered across my skin, declaring Salvatore’s ownership. Various bruises – from Cecile, from Salvatore, litter my skin in shades of purple and green and yellow.
Six weeks.
I’ve been here for six weeks, and I look like a fucking ghost. I no longer look out of place beside the women who live in cages below my feet, the women that I spend my days next to.
Now I’m one of them.
My hand trembles when I reach up to gently press against the brand.
Still sore. But healing. Soon, the skin will turn white, his mark permanently pressed into my body.
I will never be rid of it.
I lean closer, searching for any hint of myself beneath that haggard face. Any hint that they might recognise.
Please. I say the words silently, a prayer. Please let them be there.
Let Luc be there.
When Cecile steps into the bathroom, she wrinkles her nose at my reflection, her disgust clear to see. She smooths a hand down her sleek dress. “You’re expected downstairs in an hour.”
I follow her silently, sitting at the dressing table. The threat from my training has spread to all areas of the house.
Behave, or they pay the price.
Behave, or your daughter pays the price.
Behave or everyone you love suffers for it.
I have been effectively silenced.
Not so strong after all, I have discovered. Not where it counts most.
I am weak.
Is it still strength, to sit still and do nothing to protect the ones you love? Because I thought so, but now I’m not so sure.
Knives and guns are so much easier than this.
My shoulders are breaking beneath the weight of the lives I’m carrying, and I’m so fucking tired.
I close my eyes as my hair is dried, brushed and curled into feminine waves.
It could be worse.
After all, I could be forced to fuck my husband. But for the time being at least, he seems content to watch me, glee in his pale blue eyes as my spirit breaks a little more, every day.
To watch as I take food from his hands, to play with my hair.
I am a toy.
I often wonder what precise moment he’s waiting for, to take that final step. How much longer before he decides that it is enough.
That I’m broken enough.
Stefano was right. Salvatore thrives on emotional torture.
The waiting… the waiting is almost worse. Waking up in the middle of the night, waiting for hands on my body, breath across my face, night after night—
A shadow flickers in the corner of my eye, and I glance up. Stefano’s arms are crossed as he leans against the doorway, his eyes on my face.
Breathe.
I take a breath, and the tension in his shoulders loosens. “He’s waiting.”
Cecile sniffs. “I’m not done.”
I look like a doll. Like a lovely, pretty accessory. Cecile zips up my short dress, another shade of pink that almost hurts my eyes and leaves my shoulders bare, my brand on full display. I slip my feet into useless matching ballet shoes that threaten to fall off my feet, sit still as she clasps the choker around my neck.
It feels like a collar.
Stefano is expressionless as I pass him. But I sense the apology in the brush of his fingers against mine, the encouragement.
Breathe.
Salvatore spreads his hands out as we reach the main doors. His eyes linger on the choker around my neck, his symbol in my skin. “You look beautiful, wife.”
I’ve never despised a word more.
His hand spreads across my lower back as we leave Cecile behind.
The sunlight makes me squint, blinding me as Salvatore pushes me forward. Stumbling, I lift a hand to my face, breathing in.
Six weeks without fresh air. Without the sun on my face.
Stefano slides into the seat opposite me, Salvatore on his phone. I can feel Stefano’s eyes on me as I stare out of the window. Watching the estate disappear behind us, those tall gray prison walls replaced with green fields and corn before we reach the highway.
I soak it in, trying to pull a little of the bright afternoon light into myself. Stealing just a little. Something to brighten the darkness that spreads through my veins.
Something to make me feel more like me.
Stefano nudges his foot against mine as he cracks the window open, letting a little of that breeze inside so it swirls around my face.
You’re okay.
He nudges me again.
Breathe.
Stubble covers his jaw, his shaved head growing out. The swirls that cover his hands and arms gleam in the light.
As the roads become more familiar, winding up to the entrance of the familiar home where the Cosa Nostra meets, Salvatore turns to me. “You know what I expect.”
Meek, blind obedience. A pretty doll for him to show off. He pushes his hand into his pocket, pulling something out. “It doesn’t hurt to make sure.”
Stefano stiffens, his eyes jerking to mine. “Is that necessary?”
Salvatore grips my wrist, pulling me closer to him. “Consider it a security measure. I want no incidents tonight.”
My stomach flips at the sight of the syringe pen in his hand. “What is that?”
My back hits the side of the car as he follows me, lifting the pen. “Nothing permanent. An hour or so and you’ll be back to normal.”
Back to normal. My breathing speeds up. “Get that away from me.”
He barely grunts as I kick my legs up. I cast a desperate glance at Stefano as my fucking ridiculous ballet shoes slide off Salvatore’s chest like water.
The pen slams against my upper arm, a sharp pinch straight into the muscle as he pins me against the wall. “There. So much fuss, Caterina. You might even enjoy yourself.”
I stare down at the small purple mark in growing horror. “Tell me what it was.”
“Ketamine.” Stefano’s voice is hoarse. “It’s ketamine.”
Ket.
“Also called cat valium.” Salvatore tucks the syringe away, his smile sly. “Like it was made for you.”
My eyes stay locked on that purple mark.
Even as my head begins to swim.
I’m not going to remember.
My hands start to shake.
I will not remember this meeting.
Will not remember seeing them.
All these weeks of waiting, and—
And that darkness in my veins turns to sludge, blurring my vision. The ketamine drags me down into its grasp, until there is nothing.