39. Aurora
Chapter 39
Aurora
B lood runs down my chin, dripping into my lap as my head lulls forward. I try not to move. The excruciating pain radiating from my cheekbone only gets worse whenever I do. My fingers dig into the splintered wood on the arms of the chair, the stabbing sensation a welcome distraction.
Sucking in a lungful of air, I fight to contain the grimace of pain that shoots through my body. Every inch hurts from the assault I’ve been subjected to.
I’ll hand it to her; Anastasia has been brutal with the onslaught of blows she’s forced me to endure. My face is swelling, and despite my pleas, she’s remained uncaring. When she crouches in front of me, I notice through my swollen eyes, the latex gloves on her hands covered with specks of my blood. She changed into white overalls before getting to work on me, a cap covering her hair. “Have you had enough, Aurora?”
Yes, God, yes.
Lifting my head, I meet her eyes before spitting the blood pooling in my mouth onto her black boots. “Is that all you’ve got?” I taunt.
Throwing her head back, she lets out a throaty laugh as she stands. “Oh, babe, you haven’t seen anything yet. If I wasn’t under strict instructions to keep you alive for him, you’d already be dead. I don’t make it a habit to play with my food.” Turning away, Anastasia walks over to the table, lifting up objects and putting them back down as if deciding what to use on me next. With a casual air to her command, she says, “Get her up and in the chains.”
Two men come forward, their faces hidden by the same skull masks. They untie the rope from my wrists and roughly force me to stand. My legs buckle beneath me as a numbness seeps into them. The room spins as they yank me around like a doll. The taller of the two comes to stand behind me, pushing my arms together and caging me in. With my wrists outstretched, the other binds them and I jolt forward from the force when he tightens it.
As much as my mind is telling me to run, my body is too weak from the abuse it’s suffered. God, I wish I had strength to fight them off. Or at the very least, try to make a break for it, but I feel so out of it and woozy from the pain and blood loss that I can’t concentrate on even the smallest of things, let alone dodging the inevitable gunfire.
My arms are yanked above my head, and the cool metal of a hook slides against my skin. Disorientated, I tip my head back, staring at the chain hanging from a low beam in the ceiling. They winch me up until my feet hover just above the floor. The pain as my arms pull at the sockets is momentarily distracting. At least until the panic overcomes me and my feet scramble to touch something solid.
Anastasia comes to stand in front of me, a mask now covering her face, leaving only the blonde of her hair and a slither of her eyes. There’s an emotion in her eyes that looks like… regret? That can’t be right. My brow furrows, and I blink, trying to focus, but it’s gone.
I’m definitely imagining things, because there is no way this psychopath is empathetic toward me. Who even does this sort of thing for a job?
Shaking my head to clear the thought, my focus drops to the metal bar Anastasia is holding. She moves around me, dragging it across the floor behind her. The noise it makes is grating and an unwelcome reminder of the circumstances I find myself in. And the pain she will inflict .
Stay strong, Aurora .
I won’t beg.
An image of Romeo pops into my mind. He’s smiling at me, the love I feel for him reflected in his inky blue eyes. I’d give anything to be back in his arms.
The first blow of the pipe hits the back of my thighs. Despite being aware of the weapon and her intentions, the contact is still unexpected and the pain unbearable. I cry out, my body thrashing around. The confines of the rope pull harder on my arms, the burning sensation almost enough to mute the rest of the pain in my body. I suck in a breath as I fight to suppress the bile clogging my throat and the need to beg her to stop that sticks to my tongue like a poison I refuse to spit out.
With my eyes closed, every muscle in my body tenses, and I hold my breath, waiting for the next hit. When it doesn’t come, I crack open one eye to find Anastasia walking across the room to the camera. She removes the lens cover before nodding to a guy I hadn’t noticed before sitting with my uncle and a few of the masked men behind the camera. He’s sitting in front of a laptop and after a few quick keystrokes, a red light illuminates on the front of the camera.
“Thank you for joining us on such short notice, Mr. Bianchi. I believe I have something of yours.” She steps to the side, and I lift my head, looking into the camera as best I can through eyes that are swelling.
My tongue feels heavy in my mouth and the bruise forming on my jaw hurts when I speak. “It’s a trap. Please, Rome, don’t come.” My words come out small and unintelligible.
I drop my head, urging my body to garner the strength I need for him to hear me. When I raise it again, my mouth parts, the words on the tip of my tongue before they’re stolen by a fist connecting with my jaw. I cry out as nausea crashes over me.
Tsk ing, Anastasia admonishes, “No talking to our guests, Aurora, or I’ll cut out your tongue.”
She presses a knife onto my lower lip, tracing it over my chin and down the center of my chest. I can’t hold back the tears that tumble down my cheeks when I feel the pressure of the blade on my thigh. An agonizing scream is ripped from my lips as she presses the knife harder until it slices through my skin.
Tremors wrack my body when she pulls the bloodied blade away and holds it up to the camera. My eyes flutter closed and my head lulls forward as I try to breathe through the dizziness. Behind my eyelids, starbursts pepper my vision.
I sense Anastasia step forward, crowding into me. Squinting, I bare my teeth, my mind unable to focus on any one particular area of pain. Her hand fists my hair and she forces my head back. The harshness of her gesture doesn’t match her words when she keeps her voice low for only me to hear. “You shouldn’t bleed out, but when you get back to your room, wrap it up tightly.”
My brows tug together at her concern. It feels so out of place with what she’s done to me, but I don’t have time to digest it. She releases me and turns toward the camera, the knife covered in my blood still held up.
Romeo’s words cut through the quiet of the room. Even through the laptop speakers, they hold an air of authority. “What do you want?”
I don’t know how long I’ve been gone, but I miss him more than my freedom. My chest compresses as I exhale heavily, disappointment seeping into my bones. I’ve failed him . Because of me, he’s going to come here and they’ll kill him. I close my eyes, biting down hard on my tongue to keep from crying out for him.
Anastasia throws the knife onto the table, picking up a rag and wiping her hands as she moves to stand back in front of the camera. “The people that have hired me are asking for you to shut down your operation. In its entirety .”
Romeo huffs out a laugh and I can picture him lifting his chin and straightening the cuffs of his shirt. “My family has been in this business long enough for me to tell you that will not happen. Do whatever you want to her.” He pauses, my shock barely reaching the surface before he continues, “And Aurora… ” He spits out my name like it revolts him. “I hope they make your death brutally painful.”
He fires off something in Italian that I don’t understand, my mind unable to even contemplate trying to translate it. Was he hoping I’d understand?
The guy on the laptop looks alarmed. “He left the call.” His words hang in the air, an eerie atmosphere settling over the room.
Panic swells within me, wrapping around my throat and choking me. This is just Romeo making sure they understand that I mean nothing to him, so that they let me go. So that they give up on the idea that I can be used to get to him. He doesn’t mean what he said.
He can’t mean it .
My uncle stands, his chair falling to the floor behind him. The shock on his face is quickly masked by a look of indifference as he rounds the table. There’s a venom in his tone, speaking volumes of the control he’s losing when he says, “It looks like you might have been telling the truth after all.” He inclines his head toward me. “Take her back to her room,” he demands.
Two men rush forward, unhooking me. My body crumples to the floor, every inch searing in pain. I flinch when a large hand wraps around my arm and I’m pulled up forcefully. The hood is thrown over my head again. I want to tell them that it’s pointless; I have no strength to leave and I can barely see, but I keep my mouth shut.
As we move, I hear Anastasia ask my uncle, “What will you do now?”
I don’t hear his response; a metal door clangs shut behind us, cutting off their conversation. It doesn’t take a genius to work out that I’m of no use to them now. Their plan has failed, and I doubt they’ll just let me go.
It feels like an eternity before we arrive back at my cell. I’m thrown inside, falling to the floor without the strength to keep myself upright. It’s only when I can be sure that I’m alone that I curl in on myself, allowing the tears to fall with abandon.
He’s leaving me here to die.
The more I think about it, the more it becomes reality. What purpose would he have for telling them that they can kill me? He doesn’t know where I am or who’s holding me, aside from what little information Anastasia gave away.
He’s taken the foundations we’ve built and set them on fire, content to watch them burn to the ground. Whatever I thought we shared, it didn’t mean a single thing to him and I’ve risked my life for someone willing to leave me here at the hands of depraved monsters.
How can I love a man that is willing to abandon me so easily? Especially after my dad did the exact same thing.
Should I, by some miracle of God, make it out of here alive, I’ll put the entirety of the Earth between us. No country will be far enough away.
I’m furious at myself for allowing him to encourage me to want to live. For being na?ve enough to think that what we had might bloom into something more. But what I’m most angry at myself for is for fantasizing that we might be something and that it was worth existing for him .
There’s one thing I’m certain of, and that is that Romeo Bianchi is no longer worthy of having a piece of my heart. He doesn’t ever get to own any part of me.