Anna - 7
Isit by the window, watching Chicago's lights blur together in a haze of neon and shadow. I've stared at them so much that individual buildings no longer exist.
It's in these quiet moments, when I'm finally alone, that I allow myself to be vulnerable.
It's been four days since Bill was murdered before my eyes, and the wound still feels raw.
His absence is a gaping hole, a constant reminder of the sacrifices we make in this line of work.
The fucked-up thing is, we put ourselves in these positions voluntarily because we hope we'll make a difference.
My gaze drifts from the window to take in this once-lavish suite. I say once-lavish because the Starlight has become a cage that serves as my prison.
Now, I find myself playing the role of Luca's mistress, a position that makes my skin crawl with every passing moment. The fucking slimy potbellied asshole thinks he owns me. Every time his hands touch me, I want to throw up, but I have no choice but to play along. For now.
I turn to the five designer boxes scattered across the couch. More presents from Luca. He plans on taking me out for dinner to apologize.
One thing I've learned about Luca Romano is that he likes to drink, a lot. After dodging his advances on my first full day here, he stormed off only to return that night in a drunken rage.
"You're mine, you bitch. I'll fuck you whether you like it or not. Your body, your pussy, it's mine."
I reacted without thinking and slapped him. He didn't like that – I suppose, who would? He pinned me against the wall and, while choking me, tore off all my clothes. He thought I'd submit, and maybe, since he's a man who could kill me and get away with it, I should have, but I didn't.
I fought him naked in the hallway with everything I had. The last thing I remember was his fist hitting my face.
When I woke, I was on the bed, dressed in a robe, with a bag of ice on my head. The hotel doctor, someone I'm sure is in debt to the Bonventis, was standing over me.
He told me I took a nasty fall while Luca apologized over and over. When they finally left, I went to look in the mirror – didn't know you could slip and fall and wake up with a black eye and busted lip.
Now that my makeup can hide the damage, Luca wants to "take me out on the town."
Little does he know makeup can never hide the important things.
I walk over and examine the dresses. If I play my cards right, I can leverage tonight into getting some alone time outside this damn hotel.
I haven't been able to contact the FBI, and I need to. I'm winging too much shit to be strategic, and I need backup.
I decide on the red dress and walk into the main bathroom to get ready.
As I apply my makeup, my face stings where Luca’s fists landed. As I press more delicately to conceal the bruising, flashbacks of my first night here flood in – standing in this same spot, trying to get Bill's blood out of my dress.
I think of Gabriel, the bastard who brought me here to become Luca's captive. He should have just left me.
Why did he take me?
The question haunts me, and it's something I need to know the answer to.
I hear the front door unlock and know it's Luca. Through the mirror, I watch him enter the bedroom. He sits on the bed, the stench of stale cigarettes filling my nose.
"Whenever you're ready," he says.
I don't respond.
My blood rises. The fucking nerve to just say that to me after what he did.
God, I wish I had a gun.
I finish getting ready, and despite my hatred, the dress makes me feel powerful. I'm surprised by how much it covers – normally he likes more skin on display. He's probably trying to hide his handiwork.
Covering up his mistakes.
We walk to the car in silence. His driver nods and helps me inside.
As we start moving, Luca turns to me.
"You're quiet tonight, Sofia," he says, his fingers moving up and down my arm. "Is everything all right?"
I force a slight smile, playing my part. "Of course, Luca. I'm just overwhelmed by your generosity. The dresses and now an evening out."
He smiles and rubs my thigh. "Good. I'm glad you're happy."
I almost throw up in my mouth from his touch. His eyes linger over me. His smile irks me.
The car comes to a stop outside a restaurant. The soft glow from the vintage wrought-iron lanterns illuminates a sign that reads "La Sfera Nera" in elegant script.
The valet opens my door, and I step out, my dress catching the moonlight. I take a deep breath, mentally preparing myself for the next few hours.
Inside, the soaring domed dining room takes my breath away. Curved archways and rich wood paneling surround us. There are red and black leather chairs around each table draped in crisp white linens. Candles flicker everywhere.
At the room's center, a massive spherical light fixture in black iron and smoky glass bathes everything in intimate shadows.
Luca leans close.
"La Sfera Nera, the Black Sphere as you can see. Beautiful, isn't it?"
I nod.
The ma?tre d' waves us forward. Luca's hand rests on my lower back as we pass a dark wooden bar, where immaculately dressed bartenders serve fine wines and craft cocktails. Every detail screams wealth and status.
I then realize this is far more than a restaurant. It's a haven where Chicago's made men and elite players broker deals, forge alliances, and plot vendettas over plates of pasta.
Following the ma?tre d', we're led to a secluded room where a table is waiting for us.
Our waiter, a tall, thin man in a black suit, appears out of the shadows behind us and pulls out my chair.
"Please, have a seat, ma'am."
"Thank you," I say with a smile.
He pours a deep red wine for Luca, who sips and nods with approval before my glass is filled. Then the waiter disappears back into darkness, waiting to be called.
I sip my wine and study Luca over the rim, his face flickering in candlelight.
I use, or try to use, my FBI training to observe his movements to see if I can gain any insight into what he's thinking. I notice the lines of stress etched on his forehead. "You seem like you have something on your mind," I say, trying to make conversation.
He hesitates. "There's a lot going on right now."
"Why don't you tell me about it?"
He takes a drink of his wine and laughs. "No, don't worry about it," he says as he reaches for the basket of bread and holds it out to me. "Here, take one, best bread in Chicago."
I place a warm piece on my plate.
Ugh, I need him to tell me something. Anything.
I reach for my menu, but Luca snatches it away. "No need. I'll order for us."
He signals the waiter and orders in Italian.
Think, Anna. Think. How do I get him to open up?
"Please, Luca," I say, voice soft. "Tell me what's bothering you."
He smirks at me and pats my hand. “Nothing is.”
"You know, when I was with the man before you, he'd talk to me. Said it helped."
"Yeah, well that son of a bitch is dead, isn't he?"
My chest tightens, and I fight the urge to drive my fork through his eye. His casual disrespect of Bill makes me see red. But I can't react. I need to stay calm.
I can crack this idiot.
"I'm sorry for bringing it up," I say, as I think of my next move.
He waves dismissively. "Forget it. How's the wine?"
"Does this have anything to do with the Russians?" I ask boldly.
Luca chokes on his wine.
"The Russians? What, what makes," he says and leans forward, "What do you know about the Russians?"
Shit, what DO I know about the Russians?
"I know the Irish didn't like them. I know Enzo Bonventi doesn't like them, which means you don't either."
"Did your dead Irish friend tell you that?" he snarls.
I breathe through another wave of murderous rage.
"Maybe. He mentioned things sometimes."
"Like what?"
I search my memory for anything from FBI files or Bill's briefings of this operation.
"I know they want to take over. The Siberian is determined."
Luca's eyes widen.
Got him.
"Shit, maybe you do know something after all. For a mistress," he says between bites of bread. "Well, your dead friend lied. The Irish don't hate the Russians – or didn't. They were working together."
The Irish and Russians together? Bill never mentioned that.
I raise an eyebrow. "So you're going to war with two families?"
Luca slams his fist down. "The Bonventis don’t go to war, we finish them."
"How will you defend against both?" I ask, leaning back with my wine. "The Siberian is powerful. He won't back down easily."
I notice Luca's breathing growing heavy and his anger rising. Time to dial things back and return to playing mistress.
"Enough. I don't discuss business with women, especially you."
I sip my wine to hide my nerves.
I need to create some space, so I excuse myself to the restroom. Inside, I take a deep breath.
My reflection shows my makeup still hiding the bruises.
Okay, I’m not getting anything else out of him tonight. Now I need to focus on contacting the FBI. I need to get out on my own. How, how do I do that?
Think, Anna, think.
Oh my god, the safe house business on Miracle Mile!
I smile at my reflection, fix my dress, and head back out. As I pass the bar, a familiar scent stops me cold. My pulse jumps before I can control it – the cologne I feel I'd now know anywhere. I turn to look at the man at the bar as he turns to me.
"Sofia?"
Oh shit. It’s Gabriel.
For a moment, I'm frozen, my body slowly burning with an unwanted rush of heat.
Again, I find myself in the shadow of his towering presence.
The top buttons of his shirt are undone, revealing hints of tattoos that draw my eye.
I try to make them out in the dim light, then remind myself I shouldn't care.
"What are you doing here?" he asks, standing.
I shake my head and scoff. “You know, I have a question for you.”
He smiles, “Well, I asked you first.”
“Why did you do it?" I ask, ignoring him. “Why did you take me that night?"
His jaw tightens, and he steps closer, forcing me to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. The scent of his cologne brings me back to our dance.
“You look breathtaking," he says.
“I need an answer.”
He hesitates for a moment.
“The truth?”
“When does a woman want anything else?”
"I have a sister," he says quietly, his voice rough.
"She's the only blood family I have left.
I swore I'd always protect her." His eyes darken, and it seems like he wants to reach out and grab me, but he restrains himself.
"When I saw you there, in the middle of the chaos and blood, something just…” he says and lets out a sigh, “I just…
you needed protection, and I acted on instinct. "
His admission catches me off guard, but the hell I’m in with Luca pushes me forward.
"You don't know me," I say in a low tone, trying to contain my emotions.
"No," he agrees and takes my hand, bringing it to his lips. "But I'd like to," he says, pressing a gentle kiss to my skin.
"What's this from?" he asks, his thumb brushing over a small scar.
I'm shocked.
“Uh, no one's ever noticed that before. I was climbing a fence when I was little. Cut myself on the metal," I say and try to pull my hand away, but he holds firm, his thumb continuing to trace the scar.
"I notice everything about you, Bella."
I feel the air between us start to burn. He's still holding my hand, and I know I should leave, should return to Luca, but my feet won't move.
"I should get back," I say, though my body betrays me by swaying slightly toward him.
Gabriel leans in, his lips brushing my ear. "Don't enjoy your evening too much without me, Sofia. I'll see you again soon."
As he pulls back, his stubble grazes my cheek, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. I step away, my breath shaky.
"Thanks, you too," I manage to say before turning and walking away, my skin still tingling from his touch.
Approaching the table, Luca looks up. "Everything all right?" he asks.
"Yes," I nod, "all is well."
I decide not to mention my encounter with Gabriel.
We eat in silence. Luca orders champagne, pours me a glass, then finishes the bottle. He orders two more while I nurse my single drink.
By dessert, he's slurring badly and reeking of alcohol.
His hands are on me as we leave the restaurant, and I fight not to cringe.
In the car, his hand slides to my thigh. I tense but force myself to relax. I take his hand and lean into him.
"I want to do something special for you," I smile, moving his hand away.
“Oh yeah, really? Back at the Starlight?" he slurs, licking his thin lips.
No, you fucking idiot.
"No, something special. To thank you for everything," I say, biting my lip.
He mimics my tone drunkenly. “What did you have in mind?"
"You've given me all these beautiful dresses. I want to get one myself, something that'll make it impossible for you to resist me, something..." I trail off suggestively.
"I gave you lots of dresses."
"Yes, but that's the point. I want to choose something special for you. Tomorrow," I stroke his thigh. "Just think where you could take me in it."
He seems to consider, or try to. "Okay, okay, sure, baby, anything you want," he slurs, falling against me as we turn.
His hands grope my breasts, and I fight down revulsion. I can't risk him changing his mind or repeating the other night, so I allow it briefly.
I push him back against the seat, still stroking his thigh and moving higher.
"Maybe a little blowjob while I wait for this special dress."
"Just one more day. I'll make it worth the wait. Can you do that for me?"
He spreads his legs, gripping my hair. "I think I deserve one."
As he pushes my head down, I struggle not to vomit.
You can do this, Anna. This gets you to the FBI, which means you can put this bastard in prison.
I reach for his zipper. "Are you ready?" I ask, masking my hatred.
No response.
I look up to find him passed out cold.
"Thank fucking god," I whisper, sitting up and taking a deep breath.
We arrive back at the hotel, and the driver helps Luca up to the suite. He manages one last whiskey before collapsing on the bed.
"Need anything, ma'am?" the driver asks before leaving.
"No, thank you," I say and watch as he exits the room.
I change and slip into bed. My plan is in motion. Tomorrow I contact my handlers. I rub my face and smell Gabriel. His scent still lingers on my hand from where he kissed it.
I close my eyes and briefly see his face before falling asleep.