16. Marisol
16
MARISOL
My hands hurt.
No, it’s my wrists. They’re screaming out in white-hot pain. And my shoulders too.
Did I get drunk last night? I feel awful.
I need to find a toilet so I can throw up, but I can’t move my arms.
“Someone’s finally up.”
I jolt, chains rattling as I look around, bleary-eyed. I’m in a garage. Two rusty, discolored cars with parts stripped off hunker down on either side of me. The air is warm and stagnant. Junior looms in front of me.
He snatches the front of my shirt, swinging me toward him.
“It’s good you’re awake. I was starting to get bored.”
I glance up— ow, even my eyes hurt—and icy horror drips down my spine. He’s tied my hands together with a rope and thrown me onto a giant grey hook that dangles from the ceiling by a thick chain. My bare toes skim along the dusty concrete, and even when I stretch, I can’t get any purchase beneath me.
Junior’s wearing dress shoes, grey trousers, and a crisp white button-up. It all looks so out of place in this grimy garage that for a split second, I wonder if this is a dream, but no, the pain is all too real. I look down, relieved to see I’m wearing my t-shirt and leggings, even if my shoes are missing. Did he drug me?
“How…” My throat is so dry that my voice comes out as a croak. I swallow and try again. “How did you find me?”
“It wasn’t that hard. Turi’s not nearly as clever as he thinks. I had a guy trail you, with a little heads-up from someone on the inside—and I don’t mean Dom the Butcher. That oaf’s too busy eating Turi’s ass to actually be useful.”
“Who?” I groan.
Junior leans in with a finger to his lips. “ Shh , that one’s a secret. Thirsty?”
Fuck, fuck, fuck . This is not good. I wriggle my hands as much as I can, but the rope binding my wrists is so tight that there’s no space for movement, and my skin’s already tender under the abrasive fibers. Pain pricks up and down my arms with every twitch. How long have I been up here?
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Junior says, glancing up at my hands. “You’re gonna rub your wrists raw, and it’ll hurt worse.”
He hauls me close and shoves a bottle of water into my mouth. I choke and sputter as he empties the entire water bottle over my face and then tosses the empty container onto the ground.
“What I want are simple answers to simple questions.” He presses down on my neck so that even more weight is applied to my already strained shoulders and wrists, and I scream from the pain.
“Please! I’ll tell you what you want to know!”
I have to get out of here, right now. My eyes dart around the room, looking for anything I could possibly use. He has me facing away from the door, so all I can see are the cars next to me and the dusty brick wall. Everything smells like gasoline, and I can’t hear any noise outside the shop, although the bright patches of sunlight leaking in from the ceiling tell me it’s daytime.
Junior grabs my jaw and wrenches my face to his. His mouth reeks of meat, and he’s got gasoline on his fingers. I gag.
“That’s not very polite,” he says with a frown, and his grip on my jaw tightens so much that I start to whimper.
“Wha—” I try to say with my jaw forced open.
Junior releases me, and I quickly spit out, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. What do you want to know?”
I shouldn’t be apologizing to this monster, but I’m not ready to die over my pride.
“That’s better,” he says and scratches at his chin absentmindedly. There’s puckering along the back of his hand that looks like an old burn. “Where was I? Oh yeah, why don’t you tell me about your relationship with Salvatore Luporini?”
What?
That’s what this is about? I wrack my muddled brain, looking for any insight into what Junior wants.
CRACK!
Pain explodes in my face as Junior backhands me.
“I told you I was getting bored. Start talking.”
I speak before I even know what I’m saying. The pain is blinding. “He watched over me at his house. He took care of me. And then he let me go, and I ran. That’s all.”
Junior considers this. “When was the first time you met him?”
“On the train, same time I saw you.” What is he getting at? What is he looking for? I can barely think through the raw pain in my face and the rest of my body. Every cell in my body is suffering.
“And you fell in love with him, eh? In a week, you wanted to marry him?” His voice drips with sarcasm.
The bullseye on my back. I told Salvatore marrying me was only going to whet Junior’s interest. Junior watches with a growing frown. His hand twitches. I have to tell him something, and I have no fucking idea what he’s looking for here. I’m certain if I tell him yes, he’s going to torture me to get at Salvatore. But if I tell him no , he’s going to torture me and then kill me.
Junior jerks like he’s about to hit me again, and I scream out an answer, “Yes! We’re in love!”
“Oh, really?”
My heart sinks. I’m praying I can play the part of ditzy lover and make him think I’m not a threat. Maybe he’ll underestimate me enough to give me an opportunity to escape.
“And then he just let you go scot-free? With a car and a fuckton of cash and Daddy Matassa’s ring?” Junior fingers the necklace around my neck and draws it up out of my shirt. “His special little ring, you can just have ?”
It’s my ring , I think with a jealous flare. “I didn’t know whose it was. He just gave it to me.”
Junior barks out a laugh and jerks the ring so that the chain cuts into my neck. My whole body sways on the hook. “Has he told you what they call him?”
I say nothing.
“They call him il Diavolo ,” Junior says. “They say I’m fucking crazy, but the shit he’s done out there is so fucking evil that he’s got all the other families whispering about il Diavolo when he comes around. You knew that? That you’re in love with the fucking Devil?”
I don’t have to pretend for a shiver to pass through my body.
“I didn’t know,” I whisper. “Please let me go.”
Junior sucks in air through his teeth. “Nope, I don’t think so. How about we show Turi I can be a scary guy too and send his ring back? Maybe with a little souvenir? He already has so much, so we’ll have to be a little creative about what to give him. How about a finger? Or an eye?”
“Please,” I beg as I hold back tears. I know Junior won’t like me being pathetic—I have to keep it together—but I’m out of ideas. “I’ll do whatever you want. Just let me go.”
He cocks a smile at that. “Whatever I want, eh? I think I’d like that.”
There’s a banging sound outside, and I snap my head toward it eagerly, but Junior doesn’t even look up. The way his gaze travels over my body makes me shiver, but I grit my teeth in determination. If he gives me an opening, I’ll do whatever it takes to lower his guard. There’s no shame in doing what I have to do to survive. I just need to get outside of this building and pray we’re not in the center of some middle-of-fucking-nowhere cornfield.
I stick out my chest as much as I can, even as nausea roils through my stomach. “Anything.”
Behind me, something metallic bangs again. My back tingles. Whoever it is, I hope they don’t shoot. Junior looks up past me with a wary expression. I’m too scared to hope. I choke back a sob.
A huge swath of bright sunlight cuts across Junior’s face as the sound of metal against metal rumbles behind me.
“ NO !” Junior screams out against our intruders.
A deep voice calls behind me and—oh thank god —relief threatens to drown me. “Don’t fucking touch her.”