Chapter 7
Alessandra (Alex)
“We’ve gotten the list back, Uncle. The names of everyone present at the drive-by of the hospital are there, including the motorcycle club, as you’ve asked.”
I manage to overhear my cousin speaking to my father as I’m on my way past his office. I know I’m eavesdropping again, but this time, it wasn’t on purpose. I can’t help it if I unknowingly happened to stride by at the perfect time, and boy, how perfect it is. I’m not the least bit surprised to discover my famiglia has been digging into who all was present. One thing stands out front and center; however, it means he’ll know who Goliath is. His real name. Possibly.
Excited flutters fill my stomach, and I have to refrain from jumping with the news. I mean, I could go for seeing the big, gorgeous biker again, and this may be my way into making it conveniently happen. I’m not a stalker or anything, but if we happen to be in the same area of town at some point and run into each other at a coffee shop or something, and it leads back to some pent-up quick alleyway sex, I’m not one to snuff fate. I’m down for as many orgasms as that hunk of sexy Santa wants to offer. Maybe this time he’ll feel like exploring the South Pole and I’ll be all in on his face getting personal with my vagina.
“Alessandra,” Mamá chastises, effectively busting me in the act. “You know better than getting involved in your father’s famiglia business.”
“It wasn’t intentional; I was going to pop in and see if anyone had sent the firm flowers for the funerals since I won’t be there. My boss died, and I don’t want to come off as insensitive to my colleagues.”
Her hand cups the side of my face, her eyes softening, “My sweet girl. You’ve grown into such a thoughtful young woman. I’m so proud of you.”
“Thank you, Mamá.”
“You know I’ve missed you, no? That we want you to come home, where you belong?”
I nod. This isn’t the first time I’ve heard it this trip. It’s not what I want, though. I told Papá I’d only be here for the holiday, but he’s back to doing what he does best, putting his hands in all the pots and controlling the fate of the famiglia . I was finally feeling like I was beginning to get somewhere in Alabama. Is it New York? No, it’s far from the biting cold that hits you for half the year, sharp enough to make your bones ache and your teeth rattle… but it has its own charms, some I’ve grown to fondly think of. Like the massive pear trees and all their gorgeous blooms. I swear I’ve never seen such beautiful foliage and that amount of green for most of the year, and let’s not forget the southern drawl most of the men carry down there. Something about the way they talk gives me warm fuzzies all over; now toss in Goliath, and yeah, my freedom to be my own woman… and I’m ready to call it my home. I’ll always return here to visit my family; it’ll have a chunk of my heart for as long as I live, but I need my freedom as well, and no matter what I do or become here, it’ll never happen.
“Oh no, are you alright?” she asks, brow wrinkling as she takes me in closer.
I do feel a little off. The back of my neck prickles with sweat, then my temples. A hot flash hits me out of nowhere, which is crazy because I’m always cold. The flutters in my stomach disappear, leaving behind the swirling sensation of dread. I was fine, excited even, but now I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck. “M-Mamá, w-what’s that smell?”
“It’s the vodka sauce, your favorite. I told you I’d make it for later.”
“Oh God,” I retch.
Her mouth pops open, “Wh-”
I miss whatever she's going to say next as I make a mad dash for the closest bathroom. My head hangs over the toilet when I finally flick the lock for Mamá to come inside. I don’t know what’s wrong with me; I was fine one moment, then not the next. My vision swims as Mamá wets a towel in the sink, then wrings it out. She lifts my hair, placing the cool cloth on the back of my neck. She repeats her moves, handing me a second towel to wipe my mouth, and she moves to dot my brow. “I’m sorry, this bathroom is disgusting now.”
“Shh, relax. Just concentrate on inhaling and exhaling. I grabbed a bottle of water for you.” She twists the lid off, handing it to me, then she roots around in the cabinet, coming back with a miniature-sized new mouthwash. “Use this, then let’s get you up to your room.”
“The smell, I don’t know if I can go back in the hallway.” I manage to get myself up and swish a bit of the mouthwash around, spitting it into the sink, then drinking a couple gulps of the water. I’m already feeling a little bit of relief, but the sensation hasn’t completely disappeared. “I’m not being rude,” I say, the last thing I want to do is hurt her feelings. She’s right; vodka sauce is usually my favorite, but just the thought of it makes me want to puke again.
“Here,” she hands me a clean towel. “Hold it over your nose and mouth so you will only smell the fabric softener on the way to your room. Let’s get you in bed. Do you think it was something you ate? I don’t think anyone has been sick lately. Probably the De La Rosas; their children are always coming down with something. Little menaces.”
“Mamá!”
“It’s the truth, terrible little devils. I’m so grateful you and your cousins were never like that. Now let’s go; we have to get you feeling better. It’s almost Thanksgiving, and my Christmas tree has to go up in the entryway before anyone else comes over.”
“You’re crazy, you know not everyone will freak out if your tree isn’t up, right?”
“It’s your stomach talking, so I’ll allow it. Never mention not decorating my Christmas tree early again,” she orders with such a straight face that anyone else would take her seriously. However, I know she’s being her usual dramatic self, so I chuckle as we get to my room, and she pulls my blanket back for me. I climb into my bed, allowing her to cover me up to my chin.
She beams at making me laugh, hustling into the bathroom to grab the wastebasket along with another hand towel. “You just rest, amore mio .”
I wake sometime later, groggy and disoriented. I’d taken some medicine earlier with a bit of hot tea and broth, Mamá insisted, and when she gets like that, you just go with it. My face itches, something smells weird and as I shift to itch my nose, I realize I can’t move my hands.
What in the ever-loving fuck is going on? I’d hoped to get another blissful glimpse of Goliath in my dreams, but it didn’t happen, and now I feel like I’m caught in a bad dream altogether. I shift, and then something touches my nose again. My eyes shoot open as I immediately attempt to sit up. My lids part, only to meet the stare of a stranger.
He was touching my nose! Hovering over me, he has a towel in one hand, entirely too close to be appropriate in any manner. Was he about to smother me? I attempt to scream, but his big, glove-covered hand clamps over my mouth. I’ve never seen his face before; he’s definitely not one of my father’s men, or he’d know better than to ever come into my room, let alone have the nerve to touch me.
“You scream, I break your jaw,” he threatens, his dialect telling me he’s definitely a New Yorker, and a poor one at that. Brooklyn maybe? Sometimes I can pick out someone if they grew up there versus around here. Regardless, I’ve learned from my training that in this instance, fuck what he says, because there’s a good chance one of my cousins or someone will hear me and be able to help save me. I can’t fight him off, so I buck around, screaming like a madwoman. I’ll probably end up puking all over him once I get too warm from this, but maybe not if he decides to smother me completely.
“Stupid bitch,” he hisses, yanking me out of the bed. His rag falls, and he doesn’t reach for it, thank God, but he does something even scarier. He heads for the far side of my room, dragging me with him towards the window.
It’s open.
How did the chill in the air not wake me up before him touching me? I must’ve been exhausted, or whatever was in the tea Mamá gave me was stronger than usual. This is so bad.
I keep trying to scream, but it’s hard with his meaty hand clamped over half my face and his tight grip around me crushing my ribs. “I oughta off you right here and leave you for your famiglia to find ya. You’d like that, huh? Me to strangle ya?”
This dipshit. I swear I’d give him a piece of my mind if he’d move his fucking sausage fingers for a moment. Wracking my mind to not panic, I go through the steps I was taught. The past threatens to claw at my mind, memories of when I was a child threatening to assault me and effectively cripple me in the process. I survived my best friend’s tragic murder; I can survive these assholes. They’re forever trying to get to me. I’m always on the offense, but I let myself believe I was safe at home. Being in Alabama has made me let my guard down here, thinking my father and cousins have everything under control, as they always do. The famiglia is powerful, but our enemies have always been plentiful. Didn’t I learn as much from my childhood? I was just at her grave, it should’ve served as reminder enough to always watch my back, check my fucking windows, under my car… everything! I feel so damn stupid right now, that trapped little girl at a bad man’s mercy once again.
Inhaling, I collect my thoughts from spiraling and relax my muscles to the point my body drops, and I become dead weight. I have to keep screaming; we’re taught as women to always be loud, as it’s one of our greatest defense mechanisms. I do the best I can, but it’s difficult to do so and also suck in enough air to not pass out. Terror and rage claw at my mind, my vision growing hazy. Shaking myself out of it, I randomly jerk my head, dislodging him enough I can draw in a swift breath.
Something’s not right, the air’s weird. It tastes funny. No, that can’t possibly be right.
He snickers, the sound dark and demented, and so help me, the first chance I get I’m kicking him straight in his tiny chipmunk nuts. The chump was dumb enough to come in my famiglia’s home; my father will have an absolute field day taking his wrath out on these fools. “Gotta get outta here, this place will be ashes soon enough.”
His comment hits me everywhere all at once, and suddenly, I’m attempting to scream for an entirely different reason. The taste… no, it was also the smell. When I drew in that deep inhale, it was tainted with something. With smoke.
Oh no.
No.
This can’t be happening. The panic bashes into me like a semi-truck. Emotions I’ve learned to control over years of focus suddenly no longer heed my instruction but threaten to consume me. Tears fill my eyes, clouding my vision as I’m passed through the window to an equally big man who’s been waiting to do his part. This one has dark flesh, making his angry brown eyes pop out against his skin. The other guy was Italian, I’d know the accent meshed with New Yorker anywhere.
I do what any sane woman would do in my situation. I choke on a sob, let my head go limp, and the moment the man holding me takes a step down the ladder, I rear back, headbutting the fuck out of him.
“Shit!” he growls, squeezing me to the point of pain. “You’re going to pay for that.” I know I will. There’s no doubt in my mind if these men get me to wherever they plan on going, I won’t be alive for long.
So, this is what the hospital drive-by was about. It was me all along. Even with the new identity and fake papers, I’d still been hunted all in the name of my papá, of my famiglia, and their ties to the business. It never ends.
Tears streak down my cheeks, coating my face and chin in salty trails. Make no mistake, I’m no weak woman, only one caught off guard in an unusual circumstance. The fact it’s happening after being vigilant for so long is more frustrating than anything. Knowing my family home is on fire and my parents may be trapped inside, along with soldati and possibly Enzo, stabs away at my heart. I should be able to save them. This was far too random. It’s the only way they could’ve gotten past Papá to see this out.
With another burst of energy, I rear back again, but the man’s careful, expecting me to fight him at this point and moves out of the way before my head connects with him again. Not one to be evaded, I pitch forward and fall out of his hands. It’s about five feet from the ground, so the landing doesn’t hurt, just momentarily stuns me that it actually worked.
“Help! Papá! Enzo! Helpppp!” I manage to wail as loudly as possible before a boot connects harshly with my thigh, and then he’s on me, hand covering my mouth.
“You’re more trouble than you’re worth,” he retorts, but the other guy jumps the remaining feet down to land beside us.
“No, she’s not. We’ll get money for her, more than we can spend. Our orders are not to kill her. Pretty sure they want to do that part.” He grabs my legs so they can carry my restrained hands and legs while also covering my mouth. I’m sobbing at this point. My thigh screams in pain, and I’m sure there will be a size fourteen boot bruise as a reminder of this horrendous night. I couldn’t run right now if I wanted to. Hell, I probably couldn’t even crawl it hurts so fucking bad, but none of it matters, only the fact I can smell smoke and see flames coming from the side of my childhood home.
They make it to a dark green van advertising a florist not too far off the property and open the back door. I’m launched inside the already running vehicle, landing hard enough to make me cry out and then groan as I attempt to roll to my back. The door slams shut, and then I’m momentarily encased in quiet stillness. The vehicle vibrates back here with the engine on and Christmas carols playing lowly. A tall, skinny white dude is patiently waiting in the driver’s seat. He taps his fingers to the tune on the steering wheel, but my vision is too blurry to see anything of significance other than his side profile as tears continue to fill and spill over. I’m so angry, scared, and hurt I couldn’t turn the silent sobbing off if I tried to at this point.
The side door slides open at the same time the passenger’s is wrenched free as both men clamber inside. The passenger barks, “Drive! We need to get the hell outta here before too many people see that fuckin’ house burnin’ down.”
I stare at the ceiling as the van lurches forward and the Christmas carols get turned up. Eartha Kitt croons the lyrics to Santa Baby through the space, and one name comes to mind.
Goliath.
Please help me.
If these guys did more than light a fire and my father and cousins are dead, you’re the only one who can possibly save me.