Chapter 22
Lucia
I’m kneeling on the back seat with my face pressed against the window as I frantically search the darkness for Romeo. He’s been gone for almost twenty minutes, and I’m struggling to remain in the car like I promised.
The sharp crack of a gunshot echoes in the distance, turning my blood to ice. Minutes later, two more ring out, and I lose the battle.
I lunge for the door handle, but it won’t budge.
He’s locked me in.
I scramble through the gap between the front seats and place my knee on the centre console as I lean forward to frantically search the dashboard for a button to release the lock.
It’s pitch-black, so I flick on the overhead light, but as soon as I do, I hear, “Capo, vieni, sta nella macchina (Boss, come, she’s in the car)!”
I whip my head around, trying to pinpoint where the voice came from, just as a shadow looms at the rear window. A split-second later, the glass shatters, spraying tiny shards that resemble ice across the seats.
The rear door flies open as I lunge forward, desperate to get my body fully into the front seat, and away from them, but a hand clamps around my leg and yanks me back with brutal force.
I’m trying to grab whatever I can as I’m dragged backwards. The steering wheel, the gearstick, the driver’s seat, but it’s no use, they are too strong.
When all else fails, I start to kick and scream. I may be overpowered, but I am not going down easily. I won’t let these stronzos take me without a fight.
I twist, I squirm, I buck, and the second they haul me out of the car and someone clamps their arms around my waist, pressing me tightly against their chest, I whip my head back with all I’ve got, feeling the satisfying crunch as it smashes into their nose.
Another fucker steps in front of me when the guy behind me starts calling me every derogatory word in Italian.
The guy before me receives the same fate when my leg juts out, kicking him straight in the nuts.
He crumbles to his knees, and despite the fear that is rocketing through me, a satisfied smile curves my lips.
My elation doesn’t last long because a third man appears from the left and strikes before I get a chance to lash out, smashing the butt of his gun into the side of my head, and my world goes instantly black.
When I come to, I’m slumped forward. My head is hanging like a dead weight, and for a moment, I’ve got no clue where I am. I remain deathly still, making no sudden moves. I breathe. I think, and give myself a moment to get my bearings.
My head is throbbing and making it hard to concentrate, but after a moment, the flashes come hard and fast.
The struggle.
The gunshots!
Romeo.
I swallow down my sob as panic claws at my chest. I don’t even know if he’s okay. Did he fire those shots, or did someone fire at him?
Tears burn the back of my eyes, and my stomach churns. If something happened to him, nobody would even know I’m missing, but on the flip side, without him, I couldn’t possibly go on.
For some reason, that thought brings me a sense of comfort. I can only hope that when the time comes, my end is swift. But knowing the things I know about Giuseppe Salvatori, it isn’t going to be merciful.
I take a quick inventory of my current situation. My hands and feet are bound, and the cable ties around my wrists are already biting into my skin.
My nostrils flare as my breathing grows shallow and ragged against the tape that has been put over my mouth.
I’m in a car, I know that much, wedged between two other bodies. I’m trying to concentrate through the haze and make sense of what they are saying.
They’re speaking in rapid Italian, but thankfully, that’s my first language, so I can understand every word.
“She broke my nose,” one of them says.
“She busted my fucking balls,” says another.
A loud, cocky laugh cuts through the murmur of voices. Distant, like it’s coming from a speaker. They must be on the phone.
“Her father said she was feisty,” the voice drawls, smooth and amused. “I like that. A woman with fight makes breaking her so much more satisfying.”
The words hit me like a slap. They’re so sharp and final.
Breaking her.
They’re talking about me like I’m a possession. A challenge. Something to be bent, used, and discarded. My heart slams against my ribs, but there is nowhere to run. I’m wedged in, shoulder to shoulder with these animals.
“Should we take her back to the house?” one of them asks.
“No,” the voice snaps, his tone colder now. “Straight to the airstrip. The plane will be ready for takeoff when you get there. I’m not keeping her in the country any longer than necessary. I can’t risk losing her again.”
“Okay,” one of them replies.
“Will we have time to go back to the house and pack our things?” someone else asks.
“I don’t give a fuck what you do once you’ve delivered my wife,” he growls. I’m not his fucking wife. I’ll never be his wife! “Did you take care of the pezzo di merda (Piece of shit) and his mother?”
“Vito and Carlo were with her when he showed up. He walked right into an ambush, the buffone (Fool),” the guy to the left of me chuckles, and it takes every ounce of strength I have not to elbow him in the ribs.
“He didn’t see it coming. We spotted the girl in the car when we heard the gunshots, so we grabbed her and got the fuck out of there. ”
“Good, good. I’m sure Vito and Carlo will show up eventually, or not. I don’t give a fuck either way. If they were stupid enough to get themselves killed, that’s on them.”
I feel the guy to my right’s body stiffen when he says that, and I can tell he didn’t like what he just heard. I don’t blame him. My father would’ve done the same, but Dante would never leave one of his men behind.
“We should be there in about an hour and a half.”
“Just get her here in one piece. Don’t do anything stupid, and take the back roads as a precaution. You can’t risk getting pulled over. Not with that bitch in the car.”
Bitch?
Fucking stronzo.
Silence follows, and when the vehicle slows considerably, showing the driver’s immediate obedience, I get clarification of who’s on the other end of the line, even though I already knew. The devil himself. Giuseppe Salvatori. The bastardo behind it all.
I’m not going to pretend I’m not terrified, because I am. Whatever awaits me when I reach my destination is not going to be pleasant, but if he thinks I’m going down without a fight, he’s delusional.
The first thing I’m going to do when I’m faced with that psychopath is spit in his filthy face.