2. Two
Two
Rosie
T he landscape outside Gage’s car window transforms from the bustling city of Chicago to the vast expanse of Illinois, disappearing before I can fully take it in. I’ve been so wrapped up in my head—between the worry my father was following us and what leaving with Gage could mean.
I glance upward as we pass a sign, and I see the words ‘Welcome to Indiana’ against a backdrop of black night.
I whip my head toward Gage. “What are we doing here?”
“Where were you planning to run off to before I stopped you?”
I bite the inside of my cheek as I contemplate my answer. He doesn’t need to know I had planned on just winging it.
My plan was not to have a plan at all. My whole life has been planned out. I wanted to embrace the freedom, feel it sweep me away and shape my authentic identity.
Everyone has always known me as Rosie, the straight-A student. The goal-oriented good girl, as praised by my teachers. Rosie, the well-mannered and obedient daughter. My peers have labeled me a prude on multiple occasions, albeit not to my face, as nobody would dare disrespect a Mafia princess. But I’ve heard the whispers.
I don’t want to be confined to a box of labels that I never chose. Mafia Princess being at the top of the list of labels.
I desire freedom.
To embrace mistakes, forge cherished memories, and assertively reject what doesn’t benefit me.
I reject the notion of being a passive vessel for my future husband’s desires with no sense of my own identity.
“Just to a friend’s house,” I say with a shrug.
“Alexa?”
“No.”
He must consider me stupid. Running to my best friend is the first place everyone would look.
“Then where?”
“I-I don’t know.”
“It’s not safe for you to just leave without saying a word. Our family has enemies everywhere. You should know this better than anyone after you almost got kidnapped.”
My head snaps toward Gage, my eyes widening in disbelief as he resurrects one of my deepest buried emotional scars.
“Don’t you ever bring that shit up to me.”
The thought of the day I was almost kidnapped from my art class at nine years old makes me want to throw up or have a panic attack, maybe both. I’ve prayed to forget that day, and his mention of it pisses me off. From time to time, I’m reminded of that day through unsettling nightmares that continue to haunt me .
Guards are part of our everyday life, and I didn’t think twice as I walked out of my afternoon class and trailed a man in a black suit. The moment he directed me toward the rear of the building, I could sense something was off. I looked up, but the guy staring back at me was a stranger, and before I knew it, it was too late. As his massive hand closed around my arm with a death grip, I couldn’t help but scream in pain.
The bullet fired and struck the back of the target’s head silently, but its impact echoed through the man’s body. He let me go and collapsed to the ground with a resounding thud, taking my canvas painting with him.
That was the day I witnessed the grim spectacle of a life being snuffed out before my very eyes.
The day I realized our life, our family, was devoid of happy colors. It was filled with tragic blacks and ugly reds, just like the man’s blood that stained my canvas painting as he bled out onto it.
From that day on, I felt the suffocating grip of my freedom being reined in. I wasn’t able to join art class, ballet class, or any other class I had been looking forward to.
Two teachers, one specializing in art and the other in dance, came to my house for private lessons. The only time I could escape the confines of the property was during school hours, but always with strict supervision. This lasted until I went to college, and even then, I had constant surveillance. What twenty-one-year-old wants their every move to be monitored?
“It’s the truth, Ro. You shouldn’t have just left without saying a word.”
“What? You think I’d have been able to just leave? You haven’t been around in almost seven years, Gage. News flash, I’m no longer the naive fourteen-year-old girl you remember, and you sure as hell don’t look like the sixteen-year-old I remember. So let’s cut the bullshit. You have no idea what our father has been like. What he’s capable of.”
I can feel the inside of the car reach subzero temperatures the second the words leave my lips.
My attention shifts to Gage, who has a white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel, his narrowed eyes fixating on me.
“Where the hell do you think I’ve been all these years? Vacation? Our father is the one who practically locked me up.”
I tear my gaze away from him and shift my focus to the dark view outside the window. I can be upset all I want about how our father has treated me, but when I think about what Gage has faced, my grievances seem insignificant.
I remember him and Marco going into my father’s office. Their sobs echoed through the halls when they emerged, sometimes with visible bloody wounds. It makes me feel petulant and childish compared to that.
“I’m sorry.”
Gage sighs heavily. “Me too, Ro.”
The longer we sit in silence, the more the anxiety builds within me, like a volcano ready to erupt.
“Are we almost there?” I murmur as I look out the window. “Wherever there is.”
“Almost,” Gage says as we pass a welcome sign that looks straight out of a Hallmark movie where small-town girls return home for the holidays and reunite with their long-lost loves. Experience Wilding. Population of forty-five hundred. What the hell are we doing here ?
“I have a friend who lives here and will watch over you for a while,” Gage says as if reading my mind.
“So, I won’t be free. I’ll just be handed off to another. Forever a prisoner.”
“It’s the safer alternative to your half-assed plan.”
“How did you know I was planning on running tonight, anyway? You practically showed up out of thin air.”
“I have my ways.”
“How unbelievably vague.”
As we pull into the driveway of the large two-story home, the sight of the rich red and brown brick, black shutters, and two towering columns at the entry catches my attention. This is the type of home you’d read about in a book with a happy family, complete with a white picket fence, nightly family dinners where everyone talks about their day, and a cute little dog.
“This is your friend’s house?”
“Yeah, his name’s Vic. He has a guesthouse you can stay in.”
“Why aren’t I going with you?”
“I’m in Chicago. It won’t be safe.”
“And what if I don’t want to do this?”
“I take you home. I don’t want you somewhere unknown for anyone to just take advantage of you.”
“Even if I have to marry a psycho against my will? Do you know who they planned to marry me to? Manuel. He used to pluck the wings off the butterflies in our mother’s garden. A true fucking psychopath hurts harmless beings. I’d be whacked before we hit our first anniversary.”
Gage remains silent, much to my dismay. The sweet older brother who used to take me to get ice cream when I was upset is no longer here. Like everyone else in the family, he grew into a hardened Mafia man with little to no feelings. He cares for nothing but his own personal agenda and rules. If I didn’t feel so disgusted by the revelation, I’d be disappointed and heartbroken.
Gage blows out a breath. “I won’t take you back home. Just—”
The shrill ringtone of his phone pierces the silence, prompting him to swiftly answer, listen with a couple of grunts, check the time on his watch, then hang up.
“Listen, I have to go. I wanted to introduce you to Vic, but he’s taking longer than I thought. Will you be okay?”
“Yep.”
“You’ll be safe here. Vic will watch over you. Don’t run. Enjoy your freedom,” he says with a smile.
“That’s quite contradicting, don’t you think?”
Frustration bubbles inside me as he remains silent again, his gaze distant and uninterested. “How long will I be stuck in this place?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
“What will happen after here?”
“Haven’t decided that either. We need to wait for the dust to settle. I’m sure Alfonso has woken up by now and alerted our father to what happened, which means they probably know you’re gone and will be scouring all of Chicago for you. Take this.” He reaches into the pocket of his suit and pulls out a card.
As he hands me the card, I can feel its weight in my hand, a tangible symbol of limitless possibilities and funds. I stuff it in my pocket, knowing my dear brother, who has returned out of nowhere, will pay heavily for interfering with my plans of freedom. The credit card in my pocket feels scorching hot as I turn around and flash him a smile.
“Anything else?” I say with a sneer .
I’m so over everyone dictating my life.
“Give me your phone so I can program my number in.”
I reach into my bag and hand it to him.
“Shit, I’ll send you one. It’s probably for the best, anyway.”
“What?”
Gage turns the phone over, and the whole screen is cracked beyond repair. Alexa instructed me to use a burner phone and leave mine behind, so I don’t have much on it, but still.
Not having a phone is like losing a limb. Dramatic but accurate.
“Lovely. This night keeps getting better and fucking better. Anything else before I get in my cell?”
“I missed you, Ro, and I’m sorry for not coming back sooner.”
“Everything’s been fine,” I say, my words laced with bitterness at how not fine things have been over the years since he’s been gone.
There were small slices of happiness, such as college with Alexa and my pen pal, Rush, and I lost both. Out of survival, we’ve kept our circle small, so when you start losing loved ones, it affects you more than one would think. It leaves you with a sense of desolation as if you’re the only one left in the world.
Abandoned. Empty. Forgotten.
I reluctantly fix my eyes on the house that will become my captivity under Gage’s rule. Even as I’m cursing Gage’s horrible timing and the demise of my freedom and plans, my heart aches to wrap my arms around his waist like I used to do when I was younger.
I want him to tell me everything will be okay, but I’m too upset to have this heart-to-heart now. He’s different, and he screwed up my plans. Now, depending on how tightly the reins are drawn here, I am barely freer than I was at home .
“I only ask one thing of you besides staying here and not running.”
I direct my gaze toward him but opt to remain silent.
“Don’t tell anyone I’m back yet. I’m not ready.”
“Whatever you say, brother dearest.” With a swift motion, I slam the door shut, its force causing a slight tremor as his irritated grunt barely registers in my mind while I walk around the house to the back.
I’m greeted by the shimmering pool just before the small guesthouse. With a sigh of relief, I slip off my shoes and socks, eagerly dipping my feet into the glistening water. It’s deliciously warm and calms some of my nerves.
I love to swim, or rather, peacefully float in the calm waters. Experiencing the feeling of weightlessness, with half your body gliding on the water’s surface and the other half submerged, is pure bliss. It feels as if you’re simultaneously existing in two separate realms.
I walk toward the adorable bungalow-style guesthouse, with oversized windows and cascading plants adorning the front. I can already imagine drinking tea while sitting on the small porch. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.
The unlocked door protests with a loud creak as I enter the small living room and kitchen, only to find a surprisingly nice and impeccably clean space. The idea of sharing a house with a stranger fills me with a sense of unease, but being back here, I doubt I’ll cross paths with this Vic guy.
The echoing sound of my steps fills the room as I investigate the rest of the small guesthouse. The remaining stop on this tour is a cozy bedroom with a convenient en suite bathroom .
After shimmying out of my grass-stained jeans, I climb onto the bed, savoring its delightful warmth and cozy embrace.
I have just drifted off to sleep when a sudden, ear-piercing noise startles me awake. I remain frozen in place, debating whether it’s an intruder or simply a product of my own vivid imagination.
With narrowed eyes, I lean in closer to the door, my ears tuned in for any faint sounds. The room echoes with the chaotic clatter of objects being flung about, intensifying my feeling of being trapped without a way to escape.
I reach for my phone and remember how useless it is unless my aim and force can incapacitate someone, which isn’t likely. Shit.
Out of options, I resort to the most childish and stupid action possible. I place the blanket over my head and hold my breath.
The door slams open against the wall with a deafening crash, causing me to startle as something lands on the bed beside me. My scream is so piercing I’m convinced it carries all the way back to my parents in Chicago.
With a burst of energy and my fight-or-flight engaged, I tear the blankets from my body and leap out of bed. I make a beeline for the door, only to be halted in my tracks by a blinding light that engulfs the room, making me narrowly avoid a collision with a towering man.
Despite being of average height, I still have to crane my neck upward to meet his confused gaze.