Chapter 24
ALESSIA
I wasn’t sure how long he worked on me.
The minutes when I was under his knife felt like hours, and the time between sessions seemed like mere seconds. He had drawn out removing my clothes, taking pleasure in my fear, milking every ounce of terror from my quivering body without even harming me.
Only after I was naked before him did Rico begin his real work.
He explained that back in his homeland, he was called ‘the Surgeon’ for his skill with a knife.
His technique was something akin to the Chinese death by a thousand cuts.
Slowly and methodically, he sliced his knife across my delicate flesh countless times, turning me inside out, one cut at a time.
My arms. My stomach. My legs.
Cut after excruciating cut, I bled and silently wept.
He was precise and meticulous, moving at a torturously slow pace. No single cut was deep enough to endanger me nor give me substantial enough pain to allow me the mercy of passing out. I was forced to lie there awake, listening to him hum as he mutilated my body.
I was glad I couldn’t see his work. The feel of warm blood dripping down my cool skin was nauseating enough.
How long could someone survive this brand of depraved torture?
How much blood could a body lose before the organs gave up and shut down?
I didn’t want to die. I was utterly terrified, and there was no escape from the fear.
The pain was intense, but it was the fear that was crippling.
I prayed in my head, over and over, that I would live to see my family again.
I swore vengeance if I could get free.
I cursed Sal and Rico a thousand awful deaths and struggled with blame and guilt.
The one thing I didn’t do was beg to die.
Soaked in my own blood and urine, drifting in agony and lost in a sea of fear, I was steadfast in my desire to live.
We were alone for the entire duration. I had no idea if Sal remained nearby, or if I’d been left entirely alone with Rico, which is why it startled me when the door clicked open.
I couldn’t see who had entered, but I could see Rico when his chin lifted, and his spine went rigid.
His response sent a new surge of panic racing through my veins.
“Frederico, tell me if I’m wrong, but I don’t believe the boss gave orders for retribution just yet.” The voice was confident, steeped in power and control.
Rico paled, but his rigid stance remained unyielding. “They took the life of my cousin—there must be blood taken in return.”
The newcomer strolled closer until I could see his penetrating eyes holding Rico captive.
He was older than me, perhaps late thirties, and much more refined than my torturer.
Aside from swirls of ink against his skin, he could have been a powerful politician or business mogul in his expensive suit with a neatly groomed beard.
Each calculated step he took was a measured warning.
He never dropped his gaze to my flayed, bloody flesh as if this was something he’d seen before and was unbothered by the image.
“An arrangement has been worked out—the girl was not part of the bargain.” Finally, the man’s eyes drifted down to me, and a whimper forced its way past the tape still glued to my lips.
“You’re fortunate, however. She’s still alive, which means you’ll survive this ordeal, but there will be consequences.
” His eyes flitted back up to Rico, who dropped his chin to his chest, finally conceding submission.
“Thank you, Matteo. I didn’t know there was an arrangement,” he muttered in broken English.
“That’s because you never asked. This will be your only warning—step out of line again, and it will be the last move you make.”
Rico nodded and scurried from the room like the sewer rat he was.
My chest shuddered with the force of a restrained sob, overcome with emotion.
It sounded like I was going to be freed, but perhaps I had only heard what I’d wanted to hear.
When Matteo peered back down at me, the space between his brows lightly creased, and his lips thinned as he studied me.
He took out his phone, hitting a number on autodial. “Get Jacobs here immediately and bring a woman’s robe, something soft.” He hung up as soon as the words were out and slipped his phone back in his pocket. “We’re going to get you cleaned up before I return you to your father.”
He took hold of the corner of the tape over my mouth and pulled it free in a single yank.
The sudden pain and immense relief I would be going home brought on a deluge of uncontrollable sobs.
One-by-one, Matteo freed my arms and legs from their restraints, but when I tried to sit up, he pressed my shoulder back down.
“I’ve got a doctor coming. I know you want to get out of here and aren’t crazy about being naked, but you have to wait a little longer.” His words were clinical, emotionless—he may have been freeing me, but it was not out of the kindness of his heart.
This was business.
I wasn’t going to argue. Matteo appeared to be running the show and claimed he was going to take me home—if that meant walking there naked, I’d do it.
He took out his phone again, and this time, I recognized the curt greeting on the other end, and the sound brought on a new wave of silent tears.
“I’ve got her. She’s a little worse for wear but otherwise okay. I’ll get her to you as soon as the doctor has looked her over.” Matteo glanced down at me. “Yeah, here she is.” He held the phone out, and I took it in my shaking hands.
“Daddy?” I rasped.
“Lessi, thank God. Are you okay?” The relief in his voice and the use of my old nickname did me in. My aching chest swelled with warmth as tear after tear cascaded down my blotchy cheeks.
“I’m okay. I want to go home,” I whispered shakily.
“I know, sweetie. You’ll be home soon—now give the phone back to Matteo.” I did as he instructed, a sense of calm settling over me after hearing my father’s voice.
The doctor showed up not long after and tended to my wounds.
Some were shallow enough to have stopped bleeding on their own, others required sutures and butterfly bandages.
The process took at least an hour. As each cut was doctored, he gently wiped the excess blood from my skin and moved to the next.
Only when every square inch of me had been treated did he help me into the ivory robe that had arrived with him.
Another thirty minutes later, Matteo was pulling up to my parent’s house.
My father met us at the car while my mother watched from an inside window, most likely instructed by my father to stay safely inside.
Each movement I made was painful, but it was infinitely more bearable knowing I was going home.
My father opened my door and gingerly helped me out of the car.
Matteo came around to the passenger side, and the two men eyed each other like big cats caged next to one another at the zoo.
“Thank you, Matteo. Your cooperation will not be forgotten,” offered my father.
Matteo’s lips curved up just a fraction. “You owe me a marker—and for the record, we still want Sal.”
My father clenched his teeth, his lips thinning. “You and me both. I sent men to his house to collect him, and he managed to slip through our fingers. He’s on the run now—it won’t be easy to find him.”
“Sal escaped?” I blurted, a trickle of fear dancing down my spine.
Both men stared at me in surprise.
Sensing their unasked questions, I explained.
“Sal was waiting for me at my apartment. I didn’t know I shouldn’t trust him, so I let him in.
He started acting weird, talking about the past, then he jumped me and held a cloth with some chemical to my face, making me pass out.
He was the one who turned me over to Rico—said he wanted to start a war. ”
Matteo dropped his chin in a nod. “We’ll all be on the hunt for him. In the meantime, I’ll be in touch.”
My father held out his hand, and the two shook hands uneasily. When the moment was over, Matteo sped off in his flashy car, and dad ushered me inside.
I spent the next hour being fussed over until I was finally able to escape to my old bedroom.
Dad had called Luca to let him know I was home safe.
Luca wanted to come by, but I told my dad I didn’t want to see him.
I wasn’t ready yet for a number of reasons.
My dad assured me he would take care of informing work and keeping Luca at bay.
With that settled, I curled up in bed and lost myself in sleep.
I dreamed I was alone somewhere in the arctic north, lost with nothing but the clothes on my back.
There was enough light cast from somewhere behind the horizon that I could see the endless white landscape where not even trees dared to grow.
I spun around in fear, clueless how I would survive in such harsh conditions.
The biting wind tore at my body, creating blinding pain where numbness had not yet set in.
Even breathing was painful, the frozen air like razor blades against my sensitive lungs.
How would I ever survive? My hand came to the strap on my backpack, and I knew innately I had a blanket tucked inside the bag, but I couldn’t touch it.
Why? The heavy cloth would give me the protection I needed from the brutal outdoors.
Why couldn’t I wrap its soft warmth around me?
A particularly violent gust threw me to my hands and knees, the icy ground brutal and unforgiving. Sitting back on my knees, I glanced at my bloody palms, fear allowing the cold to further penetrate my bones.
I would not survive, not like this.