Chapter 52 Bella
BELLA
Anthony is crying and I can’t reach him.
Don Leo is wedged between us like a wall of decaying flesh, and no matter how badly my heart aches to comfort him, I can’t.
So, I’m forced to repeat the same lie that I’ve been saying to him ever since Don Leo dragged us into his car.
"I'm here, peanut. I'm right here. You’re okay. You’ll be okay."
Don Leo chortles, and his jowls shake as he does so. His thick fingers pat the back of Anthony's head, and he turns his face toward him.
"Dry your tears, now." His words are wet and phlegmy. "You're almost a man now, so act like one."
Something snaps in my chest. Something that should probably stay leashed given the current circumstances but doesn't. "Leave him alone!"
The snarl tears out of me before I can stop it and suddenly, Don Leo's hand stills on Anthony's head.
The familiar oily smile turns toward me, and my stomach lurches when I see it spread wider as he leers at me with his sagging features.
"Then give me something to occupy my hands with, ragazza."
"You're sick."
I know exactly what he means, and I have no choice, none at all, if I want to keep Anthony safe.
Don Leo laughs, and his laugh reminds me of a hippo from an animal documentary—a snorting wet echo that sends dread shivering down my spine. His other hand finds my neck, and thick sausage fingers start stroking my skin with a hunger that makes bile rise in my throat.
When they brush the chain of my necklace, he pauses, and then gives it a tug to reveal the seven-pointed star.
Just like on the yacht, his eyes flare, and that pure, festering rage surfaces from underneath his oily smile.
"You don't know the half of it, ragazza."
His hand drifts lower, tugging away at the ruined fabric of my dress to expose my shoulders, my chest, and my belly. Ice sinks into my skin as he runs a fat finger over my body, and he licks his lips hungrily.
"Tell me something." He leans closer, and I hate that I can’t shy away from his rancid breath reeking of cigar smoke. "Did Romanov do this to you?"
I keep my jaw shut, refusing to answer him.
“No matter. He can’t fucking save you now.” His hand finds my thigh, and with a single brutal motion, he shoves it open even as I try to clamp it closed.
"That's it, ragazza." His voice drops an octave. "Fight back. I like it when they have some fight in them."
As much as I want to turn my face away from him, I don’t. Because as long as he thinks he’s breaking me, he won’t hurt Anthony. I’ll pay any price, suffer any burden, and endure any unthinkable scenario before I let this monster hurt him.
But still, it doesn’t stop the shiver tearing through me as he squeezes the sore flesh.
When he sees it, the self-satisfied smile on his face grows wider, and he leans in closer until his face fills my entire field of vision. Rolls of tanned flesh balloon out of his collar, and nothing—not even the expensive choking cologne he wears—can hide the nauseating sour scent of his oily skin.
"My Gia was a fighter too." Don Leo's tongue darts out to wet his lips, and then—oh God—he licks my cheek, a long wet stripe from jaw to temple. “She fought just as hard. Even had the balls to claw me in the face. And do you know what happened?"
I can't speak. I can't move. I can feel his stinking saliva drying on my skin. I want to scrub it off, claw my own face off so I can get the sensation forever away from me.
“So I broke her pretty little hands, and fucked her bloody to remind her that she was mine long before she ever dared to let that Russian put his whelp in her.”
Fear squeezes my throat, and my lips tremble at the awful confession of this monster.
“And when the fight finally went out of her.” His fingers hook around the necklace. "I took this pretty chain, wrapped it around her throat, and strangled her so that she’ll always stay mine."
My stomach roils, and I feel like I’m about to vomit all over this car—all over this monster and myself. He raped his own daughter, and then strangled her with the token of her husband’s love…
And for five years, I’ve worn it around my neck without knowledge of its awful, bloody history.
"How could you…" The word comes out strangled in my throat. "She was your daughter."
"Exactly." Don Leo's hand stops moving against my thigh. "She was my daughter. Mine to discipline. Mine to hurt. Mine to break if she ever fucking dared to step out of line. And now, so are you."
Suddenly, before I can respond, Anthony launches himself across Don Leo's bulk with righteous fury. His small fists connect with Don Leo's shoulder, his chest, and anywhere he can reach.
He screams in a voice filled with rage that I’ve never heard from him before. "Leave Aunt Bella alone! Leave her alone!"
Don Leo looks back as Anthony’s hand claws his face, and then he moves—lightning fast—his meaty hand sweeping in an arc that connects with Anthony’s face. The crack echoes through the car and Anthony goes limp.
I can’t stop the raw and horrified scream ripping itself out of my throat. "ANTHONY!"
Don Leo’s hand around my neck shifts until he has me pinned against the window. But he continues to look at Anthony as he flexes his fat fingers.
"I was going to make him watch." He settles back into his seat, his bulk shifting as he does. "But no matter. We have plenty of time for that later."
I struggle against the hand pinning me down, trying to reach Anthony as I strain against Don Leo's grip. I need to see if he’s breathing. I have to make sure he’s still alive. Make sure that the monster sitting between us didn’t just kill the only thing I have left in this world.
Don Leo turns his full attention to me, and he’s rushing towards me before I can scream.
The impact comes from nowhere.
Something slams into the car from behind with the force of a charging bull, and gravity shifts. Don Leo goes careening forward, his mass carried by the sudden change in momentum, and his head hits the center console.
He gives out a grunt, and then falls forward, motionless.
A space now exists between me and Anthony that I didn't have before. I start scrambling forward, hand reaching out to touch him.
BANG!
The first gunshot slams into the rear window, spiderwebbing white impact points but unable to shatter it.
BANG!
The second gunshot hits the driver’s side window. The driver reaches down for the gun at his hip.
BANG!
The third gunshot hits the same exact spot, and this time, it breaks through the glass right as the driver pulls his gun free.
His head snaps back in a violently graceful arc.
Fragments of bone and brain spray across the front of the car, and then he slumps forward onto the steering wheel.
The horn wails in a long, sustained, horrible note that doesn’t end.
The gun falls from his fingers and disappears by his feet.
From the corner of my eyes, Anthony starts stirring awake.
"Run." The word comes out of me automatically. I clamber over Don Leo’s motionless body, grab Anthony’s arm, and give him a shake to wake him up. "Run, peanut. Open the door and run."
"But Aunt Bella—"
"Now! You don’t have time!" More gunfire rings out, and I can hear Don Leo groaning, already starting to come to. "Be brave for me, peanut. Be brave, stay low, and run."
Something in my face convinces him. With a look of determination, he reaches for the door handle, pushes it open, and then he's gone—small legs pumping with each step as he rushes into the chaos.
The relief is so enormous it almost undoes me.
He's safe. He's running. He's alive.
I look at the driver slumped over the steering wheel and my eyes are drawn toward the gun he dropped. Scrambling towards the front of the car, I reach with all my might, but the gun remains just out of reach.
If I can just reach it—if I can just—
I strain and will my fingers to stretch longer until I swear I can feel them brushing the metal of the gun.
Five meaty digits clamp around my ankle like a vise, and Don Leo snarls. "Did you think me finished, you little bitch?"
There’s a gash above his ear, blood runs down the side of his face in a thick red stream, and he looks furious. The theatrical cruelty from before has been stripped away, leaving something rawer underneath. Something honest.
Something that tells me he no longer plans to toy with me, and is going to just skip right to killing me.
I kick him as hard as I can with my free foot. The tip of my heel connects with his face, and meets a temporary resistance for a brief moment before it punctures his eye.
He roars in pain, a high, angry scream that cuts through the car horn's endless droning. His hand releases my ankle and flies to his face. I take my chances, and throw myself toward my door, shoving it open.
For one second, one beautiful second, I think I'm going to make it when I step outside—
Only to feel his hand close around my ankle again.
I go down hard. Hands and knees against asphalt, and my skin tears from the rough surface. I kick back at him, my heel connecting with something, but he doesn't let go this time. He drags me back toward him as he slides out of the car like a fat slug.
Then his weight descends on me.
It's like being crushed under a landslide, and it drives the breath out of my lungs. He turns me over until I’m forced to stare up at his vile face. The pavement is hard and unfeeling against my back as he closes his fat fingers around my throat.
“Die, you fucking cunt!” He screams as he presses me into the ground. “Die! Die! DIE!”
Then, he starts to squeeze.
The horn is still wailing. The world is going dark at the edges. And the last thing I think, as Don Leo's face looms above me with blood streaming from his ruined eye and murder in the other—
I never told Slava I loved him.