Chapter 23
GIANNA
The crowd by the reception desk was a godsend.
I’d mostly sobered up from the wine by then, the vodka gave me courage, and the fun I had at the roulette table gave me hope.
Because it was fun. An hour stolen from a life I could be living.
A life I wanted to one day live. And with the person I wanted to live it with.
It was almost as exciting as those stolen moments we shared in the beginning.
In my bedroom at night, walking in central park, on the beach.
Before he painted it with the blood of my family. Literal and metaphorical.
So the important thing I stole during that hour in the casino was a few chips that we were betting with. I hid them in my bra when he wasn’t looking.
And I must’ve looked like the worst sort of crazy lady as I fished them out to exchange them for cash. Just shy of five hundred dollars. Should get me far enough away from here.
I couldn’t take the bag with my clothes, because he was carrying it and it’d be too suspicious if I tried to take it to the ladies’ room with me.
As it is, I was shocked he just let me go.
I thought I’d have to climb out the ladies’ room window to get away from him, because he’d be guarding the door.
I kicked off the high heeled shoes as soon as I exited the hotel, and I’m sure they’re long gone by now.
My bare feet were all bruised and battered by the time I found a normal convenience store to buy some flip flops in, along with a tracksuit and a phone.
That left me with about 350 dollars to get out of Atlantic City.
Doable. But it’s not enough to live on. And I had horrible waking nightmares imagining myself having to sell my body for cash as I changed out of the crazy expensive dress and into the tracksuit behind a dumpster in an alleyway that smelled like vomit, piss and rotting garbage.
I considered keeping the dress, thinking I might be able to sell it. Or use it in my new streetwalking career. But then I tossed it in the dumpster. Because it won’t come to any of that. And I have so many pretty dresses at home. Which is where I’ll be soon. Not alone on the street.
I rushed to the beach and ran until I reached a spot away from all the loud noises and lights.
Where I could finally hear the waves licking the shore and feel the ocean breeze on my face.
Only there did I finally feel like I could breathe again.
Which quickly changed as I dialed the number my dad told us to memorize for emergencies and it didn’t even ring, much less go to a voicemail with instructions. It just gave me a sharp busy tone.
I dialed my dad’s number next and hearing his voice on the voicemail made me choke up, the ocean air cutting my throat as I tried to breathe. Same with Mom’s number. Same with Lidia’s.
I dialed the emergency number five more times after that. My hands shaking, my throat seemingly full of sharp glass.
I’ve just been sitting in the sand for at least an hour now, the night growing colder and colder, dialing and redialing my mom’s number just to hear her voice on the phone.
You’ve reached Bianca Codelli. Please leave a message or send a text. Thank you.
My sisters and I made her add the send a text part.
It was years ago, on the porch at the Hamptons house, a warm, early summer day, the wonderful scent of jasmine in the air and the sea sparkling like diamonds.
She’d just gotten a new phone. We all had.
It was before any talk of marriage. Before my first fiancé came and went and my curse became apparent.
Before my brother Antonio was killed. And certainly before Matteo working for Ferro took everything away from me.
I called my mom’s voicemail so many times that the battery on my phone started beeping, showing only 5% left.
What do I do now?
The only thing I can think of is going to the police. But what do I even tell them? That I’m the daughter of a NYC mob boss and I’ve been abducted by his rival? Best case scenario, they’ll think I have a mental condition. Worst case, they won’t do anything for me at all.
My family has no great love for the police, for obvious reasons. I’ve grown up mistrusting them, except the few that are family. But I can’t even remember their names, let alone where they live.
“Are you all alone here, little girl?” a sleezy, slurred voice asks from the darkness.
“Did you get lost or something?” another joins in.
“Don’t worry, we’ll save you,” a third says.
Right before five men materialize out of the darkness to surround me.
“And show you a good time,” the first guy says, which sends all of them laughing.
Even the calming sound of the ocean sounds like a hissing warning now, growing louder and louder. But I can hardly hear it over the pounding of my heart.
I stand up, clutching my plastic bag to my chest and take a step back, the sand lodging between my feet and the flip-flops feeling like shards of glass.
The men are of varying ages, most in their late twenties, except for the man who spoke first, the one who promised me a good time. He’s older, with scraggly shoulder-length hair and teeth that look too big for even his long skinny face.
“I was just leaving,” I mutter. It’s a totally inane thing to say. Especially since they’re standing in a closed circle around me and clearly have no intention of letting me go anywhere.
“I’ll call the police,” I say, raising the hand in which I’m still clutching the phone.
And like the universe is mocking me, the damn, useless thing beeps and the screen dies. That makes them laugh.
The air around them is thick with the fumes of alcohol and not all of them can stand up straight. But the old guy’s eyes are sizzlingly bright and I’m sure he’s sober enough to do know what he’s saying and deliver on it.
He takes a step closer, and I throw my phone at him, screaming, “Help!” as loud as I can.
I just keep screaming it, drowning out their laughter as they close the circle around me even tighter. I kick and punch too. Thrash in their grip as two of them grab me.
“A feisty one,” the man with the burning eyes says as they push me down into the sand. “She’ll be a lot of fun, you’ll see.”
Sand is in my mouth, tearing up my throat as I continue screaming. The sound of my new track suit ripping as they struggle to remove it sounds like an explosion. And it was brand new. What a dumb thing to think at a time like this.
The heat of the desert sun warms my naked skin where I only expected to feel winter cold. And a moment later the man pushing against the back of my neck goes flying into the rocks, landing with a satisfyingly loud crunch.
Matteo doesn’t say anything, he just grunts and groans and makes monster sounds as he beats them all up. Even the ones who are trying to run.
It’s only as I see him slam the head of the sizzling-eyed man into the ground, blood mixing with sand on his long face, do I realize this is real. That this isn’t some fantasy my mind’s come up with to protect me.
Men are groaning all around, some just breathing hoarsely, some crawling away, the thud of the man’s head against the ground the loudest sound.
I stand up, the top of my tracksuit hanging uselessly around my neck as I walk to him and lay my hand on his shoulder.
“You found me.”
He stops killing the man and stands up, cupping my cheeks in his bloody hands. The sand on them scratches my cheeks but they’re so wonderfully warm.
“I’ll always find you.”
“And you saved my life. Again.”
“I’ll always do that too.”
He hugs me close, holding me so tight I can hardly breathe.
But I don’t even want to breathe. I don’t need to.
Not when I have him supporting me. Looking out for me.
Saving me. My ear is right over his heart.
It’s thumping loudly in his chest, but growing calmer with each passing moment. Just like my own.
“Are you all right?” he asks. “Did they hurt you?”
“Not as bad as you hurt them.”
He releases me from the hug and drapes his jacket over my nakedness, then keeps his arm firmly around my shoulders as he leads me away from the dark, bleeding mounds in the sand that he created for me.
“I’m taking you home now,” he says and I nod. “And this will be the last time you run.”
I can’t promise that. Even though a part of my heart does. He’s saved my life three times now. Four, if you count locking me in that bedroom while he hunted and killed my family.
I wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for him. And I probably won’t survive away from him. In all the craziness that is my life now, that’s the one irrefutable fact. Painful as it is to know, it’s comforting too.