Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
MIA
Four months ago
"Another twenty laps and I'll call it a night," I mutter to myself, gasping for air as I grip the pool's edge.
My muscles burn from the intense swim session, but the fatigue only fuels my determination. The Olympic triathlon is a little over six months away, and I can't afford to slack off.
Pushing off the wall, I knife through the water with powerful strokes. The rhythmic laps help clear my mind of everything except the singular focus on my training.
When I finally haul myself out, exhaustion weighs heavily on my limbs. I glance at the poolside clock and it reads 11:30 pm. Most people would have been asleep hours ago, but not an elite athlete gunning for Olympic glory.
Coach Henderson was kind enough to give me unlimited after-hours access so I could train around my day job shifts. I make a mental note to get him a thank you gift soon.
Just a little over six more months of this grueling pace. Then it will all become worth it, when I hear my name announced as I mount that Olympic podium, gold medal gleaming against my neck.
Goosebumps rise on my arms and I shiver, quickly rubbing my hands over my body to try and get some warmth back while I search for my towel. I grab my bag to check if my towel is there, but it’s not.
As I stand up from searching my bag, the door at the far end of the locker room swings open with a creak. Two burly men in dark suits stride in, their eyes immediately locking onto me. A jolt of fear spikes through me at their predatory gazes.
"Well, well, ain't you a pretty little thing," one of them leers, openly raking his eyes over my swimsuit-clad body.
I grab my duffel bag and clutch it tight to cover my body as much as possible and start backing away. "Wh-who are you? You can't be here!"
The other man chuckles darkly. "Don't you worry your pretty head about that, sweetheart. We're here for you."
My heart pounds as they advance, cutting off my path to the exit. I whirl and sprint for the back door, clutching my duffel bag with a white-knuckled grip.
Big mistake, because they're on me in seconds, their meaty hands clamping down on my arms from behind in a bruising grip. I cry out and thrash wildly, but I'm hopelessly overpowered.
"What the hell? Let go of me, you creeps!" I shout, trying to free myself from the iron grip of the two men.
My wet feet slip against the tiles as I struggle to break free. "You're hurting me! Stop!"
Their fingers dig into my arms hard enough to leave bruises. Panic rises in my throat. What do they want with me?
"Shut up and come quietly if you know what's good for you," one of them growls.
"Who are you? What do you want?" I demand, my voice shaking.
They ignore my questions, roughly dragging me towards the changing room door. I stumble and nearly fall, my heart pounding.
"Please, just let me go!" I beg, hating the desperate note in my voice.
The taller man sneers. "No can do, sweetheart. Boss's orders."
Boss? What boss? My mind races with terrifying possibilities.
"Look, I don't want any trouble," I plead. "I'm just a triathlete training for the Olympics. I don't have anything you want!"
"That's where you're wrong," the shorter one says with a nasty grin. "Turns out, you're exactly what the boss wants."
Cold dread washes over me. This can't be happening. It has to be some sick joke or a terrible misunderstanding.
I open my mouth to scream for help, but a meaty hand clamps over my face, muffling my cries.
I shiver violently as they shove me into the harsh, unforgiving neon glow of the changing room. My bare feet slap against the cold tile, leaving wet footprints in my wake.
I blink against the sudden brightness, trying to make sense of my bizarre and terrifying situation.
That's when I see him. My father is standing hunched in the corner, fidgeting anxiously and avoiding my gaze. His presence sends a spike of confusion and hurt through me. What is he doing here?
Before I can cry out to him, I'm shoved down onto the central bench. The cold from the wet swimsuit and my still-damp skin makes me shiver uncontrollably.
Sitting across from me is a short man with slicked back hair and an expensive suit. Despite the dingy setting, he exudes an air of menacing authority. His dark eyes rake over me, making my skin crawl. He looks like a toad on a throne.
"What... what's going on?" I stammer, my voice trembling as badly as the rest of me from the chill and the fear coiling in my gut. I look to my father, silently pleading for an explanation. "Dad…"
Papà's shoulders hunch further but he stays silent and he keeps his gaze fixed on the floor leaving me with no answers.
The short man's dark, beady eyes rake over my scantily clad, wet form in a way that makes me want to vomit. I wrap my arms around my midriff, trying in vain to cover up.
"What do you want from me?" I demand, mustering what little bravado I can.
The man ignores my question, standing up and pacing in a slow circle around me like a predator seizing up its prey. His goons keep me pinned between them.
"Pretty little thing, ain't she?" he muses in a gravelly tone. "Hair like fine silk, legs that go on for days."
A calloused hand snakes out to caress my cheek and I flinch back, repulsed.
"Don't fucking touch me," I spit, slapping his hand away.
His eyes glint dangerously and I tense, worried I've provoked him. But he just chuckles lowly.
"Got fire in her too. I like that."
Leaning in close enough for me to smell the cigar smoke on his breath, he smirks. "I'm gonna have fun breaking you in, bella."
I stare at the short, menacing man in disbelief, his words ringing in my ears. "Who the hell are you?" I demand again, my voice trembling with barely contained fury.
He smirks, clearly enjoying my distress. "Carmelo Barone. Your new husband, bella."
The air rushes out of my lungs as if I've been punched in the gut. Husband? What is this twisted game they're playing?
"No..." I whisper, shaking my head in denial. "That's not possible."
But the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach tells me this is horrifyingly real. I whirl towards my father, who still refuses to meet my gaze.
"Papà!" I cry out, desperate. "What is this? What have you done?"
He flinches but stays silent. White-hot rage flares through me at his cowardly refusal to speak up.
"Answer me, damn it!" I scream, struggling against the bruising grip of Carmelo's thugs. "Why are you letting this happen? I'm your daughter!"
Papa's jaw clenches but he doesn't utter a word. Doesn't even look at me. The betrayal cuts deeper than any knife.
"How could you do this to me?" I sob, hot tears spilling down my cheeks. "I'm supposed to be going to the Olympics! You're ruining everything!"
Carmelo chuckles darkly and I want to claw his eyes out. "Plans change, bella. You belong to me now."
"No!" I scream, thrashing wildly. "I won't let this happen! You can't do this!"
But his men's grips are unbreakable as they haul me up, dragging me towards the exit despite my frantic struggles.
"Papà, please!" I beg one last time. "Don't let them take me!"
But he says nothing, just stares hollowly at the floor as they drag his daughter away to become a possession of this vile little man.
I scream until my throat is raw, panic and despair clawing at my insides. This can't be happening. It has to be a nightmare. I will wake up soon.
But the cold, harsh reality continues to unfold no matter how hard I fight against it. Everything I've worked so hard for, all my dreams and ambitions, are crumbling to dust.
As they shove me into a sleek black car, the magnitude of what's happening finally sinks in like a lead weight in my gut.
My life as I knew it is over.