Chapter 6
CHAPTER 6
VALENTINA
M y chest heaves with the effort of holding in my cries.
Bile rises in my throat as the smell of blood fills my nose. The man that Emiliano had ordered to assault me is dead on the floor by the hands of the same man.
Emiliano looked like a man possessed when he slowly crushed that man’s throat. It was terrifying. I caught a glimpse of the madness that the Made men talked about in gatherings, but that wasn’t what had terrified me the most.
What terrified me the most was the satisfaction I had felt seeing that man slowly be crushed to death within the hands of such ruthlessness. Cazzo.
Romiro heads my way after Emiliano instructed him to take me to the house doctor. He reaches his hand toward me, but retreats when I flinch. He steps back to give me space so I can get up. Once I do, he tilts his head and points at the rope that’s tied around my wrists. I nod since I can’t speak around the gag.
As he steps closer, I take the time to appraise him. He has a jagged scar that runs from the middle of his cupid's bow to the corner of his mouth. His eyes lift to see me watching him and his lips twist into a flirty smile. It drops when I move back and yank the gag down for it to hang from my neck. I wince as I notice the redness forming on my sleeveless arm. I am going to fucking bruise.
“Come on.” Romiro breaks the silence, and when I look up at him, he motions for me to follow. I take slow steps toward the stairs, feeling a little disoriented. Once we reach the corridor, I follow Romiro in silence as he guides me through the place, and then we come to a stop in front of a wooden door.
Romiro knocks and a man opens the door, filling the frame with his tall, lean stature. I lift my eyes to look at his face and, holy shit, is he good looking. His eyes are a light amber shade and his blond hair is slicked back, wearing a long white coat. So, he’s the doctor. I squint my eyes at him, which makes him raise an eyebrow at me before he steps aside and lets us in. Romiro lets me walk in ahead of him before following.
“What can I help you with, Rom?” the doctor asks, as I take a look at the room. Dull cream walls and a black carpet muffles our steps. There’s a desk in the far back corner of the room with a laptop and some papers. Next to the desk is a door that nearly blends with the wall perfectly if it wasn’t for the black doorknob. I look to my right and see that there’s an examining table.
“Eli wants you to make sure she isn’t physically hurt,” Romiro informs him. I face them and scoff at the way he phrases it. As if that brute doesn’t want to hurt me. It makes both men turn to look at me.
“What the fuck are you two looking at?” My voice comes out soft, unlike how I intended. It makes Romiro laugh and the handsome doctor gives me a small smile. His smile might be breathtaking, but it seems cold, calculated, and almost deliberate in a sense.
“Would you get on the examining table, please?” the doctor asks me after he shoots Romiro a blank stare, who is still laughing. I send a glare Romiro’s way and hop on the table with my legs dangling off the edge.
“I just want to have a look at your cheek and your arm. They seem to be the ones that need immediate attention. After that, I'm going to check if your eyes are fine.” The doctor walks me through the examination, being careful not to make me uncomfortable. He grips my chin, turning my face from side to side before tapping my cheek. I wince, and he gives me an apologetic smile.
“I’ll give you an ice pack for this; it seems like it will be swelling soon. Do you have a headache?” My temples throb, and I feel a bit sick in my stomach.
“Yes,” I tell him as he examines my bruised arm.
“Could you tell me how it feels? Is it pulsing? Is it on only one side or both sides?”
“It feels like there’s something pressing on both sides of my head,” I explain.
He hums but doesn’t say anything, then walks off after he’s done examining my arm. When he comes back, he has an ice pack in his hand and two pills.
“Here’s some paracetamol for that headache and here’s your ice pack. Other than that, you seem to be fine, but I do recommend that you keep monitoring her and make sure she’s drinking enough water.” He says the last part to Romiro before he moves to the desk in the far corner and sits behind it to write something. I look at Romiro, who shrugs at me before asking the doctor.
“So, she’s fine?”
“Yes, that’s what I said, Romiro. There isn’t anything wrong.” He replies as he continues to write. Romiro scratches his head.
“Then what the fuck are you writing?” he asks.
“I am writing a report for you to give to the boss.” Well, he’s definitely straight to the point. The room settles into a silence, the only sounds the shuffling of paper and the scratch of the pen.
After a couple of minutes, the doctor gets up and walks toward Romiro. He extends his arm and hands Romiro the sheet of paper. I decide to get off the examining table and head to the door.
“Wait a second.” It’s the doctor who stops me. I turn to look at him, but I’m met with his retreating back as he steps over to a large metal cabinet. Opening it, he picks something up and comes back my way. Once he reaches me, he extends his hand out. I look down at what he’s giving me and to say that I am shocked is the least of it. Clothes… He’s giving me clean clothes. I reach my hand out tentatively and take them.
“Thank you…” I say slowly.
“Doctor Callahan,” he supplies. My eyebrows shoot up. He’s Irish. Romiro is the one to inform me as to why an Irishman is within the establishment of the Camorra, when neither the Irish Mob nor the Italian Mob like each other.
“He works for the Camorra. He doesn’t have any affiliation to the Irish Mob.”
Doctor Callahan continues to look unbothered as Romiro scans the paper before sighing and folding it to fit into his jeans pocket.
“See that door. In there, you’ll find a shower, some toiletries, and other things you might need. Take your time.” Doctor Callahan points at the door near his desk. I nod and mutter a thank you as I pass him.
Romiro and Doctor Callahan remain quiet until I close the door of the washroom. I can’t exactly make out what they are saying through the door. It also doesn’t help that they’re speaking in hushed voices. I, instead, decide to look around the washroom. Pale green walls, black marble tiles, and a black-accented shower.
There is also a toilet on the far end of the room. Next to the shower, there are two brown cabinets. After searching both cabinets, I find that there isn’t anything but nine bottles, three shampoos, three conditioners, and three body washes. All vanilla scented. In the second cabinet, I find towels, also in threes. I’m starting to think that the doctor has a thing for the number three.
* * *
I didn’t realize how dirty I had felt, not until I finally showered and changed into some clean clothes. I try to dry my hair as best as I can with the towel, but it’s still damp by the time I walk out the door. Romiro’s pacing the room while speaking on the phone about something that doesn’t make sense, while doctor Callahan is sitting behind his desk, typing on his laptop.
Neither of them looks in my direction. But Romiro is quick to end the call. He runs his hand through his hair and slips his phone into his pocket.
“Come on, we need to leave.” He heads to the door and holds it open for me. I huff a breath of frustration and do as he ordered. Romiro lets me walk ahead of him, but not for long. I stop at the end of the long corridor, confused as to where I should go. There are two doors. Romiro comes to a stop next to me.
“So what’s the plan, boss?” His tone is teasing, as if he’s talking to a friend, but his friendly exterior doesn’t fool me. I know that behind that exterior lies a man willing to maim, kill, and absolutely destroy those who pose a threat to the Camorra.
“Not taking the bait, I see. Smart girl. Come on, this way.” He huffs out a breath at my refusal to speak to him and moves with the gracefulness of a panther to the door ahead of us.
We go through multiple corridors before we find our way to the one that had the cells, but instead, he heads to the elevator doors and presses the button. The doors slide open with a silent hiss. Romiro looks back at me and raises one eyebrow. It makes me aware that I have stopped a few steps away from him.
“Don’t make me grab you. I am rather fond of my hands.” He mutters the last part. I don’t know what he means.
He also doesn’t explain it to me when I give him a look of confusion. We step onto the elevator, and he presses the top button, a screen near it glowing red. It scans his thumb print when he presses the screen, then it flashes green and the elevator ascends.
Romiro doesn’t look back at me, just straight ahead as if he’s lost in his thoughts. The elevator doesn’t take long as the doors slide open to a sleek modern office with colors of gold, black, and some hints of dark green.
The Capo of the Camorra is sitting behind a large glass desk, leaning back in his office chair. I guess even the devil looks magnificent in hell. He seems to be on the phone, answering whoever is on the other end with grunts muttered words.
Romiro and I step off the elevator, but I maintain eye contact with his boss. His eyes burn as they take me in. I guess he has a problem with the joggers and hoodie I’m wearing.
I narrow my eyes at him, which makes the left corner of his lips lift in a smug smirk. Ass. His gaze then flickers to Romiro, who sits in one of the two chairs positioned near the desk, but they quickly move back to me.
“Listen, Carmine. As much as I would love to come to help you to rein in your wild son, I have more pressing matters at hand.” His tone suggests anything but what he just said, but his eyes don’t move from mine. The smirk on Emilino’s full lips doesn’t disappear, even as he continues to take in the scowl on my face. He throws his phone on his desk after ending the call, not waiting for a response.
“Can you two stop eye-fucking each other? It’s making me uncomfortable. If you want, Eli, I could leave.”
My head snaps in Romiro’s direction. His attention moves from me to Emiliano to get a better look at our faces, grinning from ear to ear.
“You know, I’m starting to believe you’re just a clown for the Camorra’s Capo.”
Romiro’s expression doesn’t change at the insult I hurled his way, but he leans back into his seat. Amusement dancing with something else in his eyes.
“She’s funny, I like her. Can we keep her?” He turns his head to Emiliano. Does this asshole think I’m a doll or some shit? Emiliano shakes his head at him and turns my way.
“Sit.” His command comes out the way you’d expect it to from a Capo. Authoritative, domineering, and assertive. Leaving no room for argument.
“Should I bark as well?” He doesn’t answer, his expression bored as he stares at me. My mouth lifts in a sneer as I stomp my way to the chair opposite Romiro, who’s sitting there, now trying to hide his grin behind his palm. I cross my arms over my chest and sit down, staring at the wall behind Romiro.
“Well, what’s the plan, Eli?” Romiro’s the one to speak up after a beat of silence.
“We’ll be leaving for New Hampshire soon. I just need to sort some shit out first,” he replies. The sound of papers shuffling fills the room, but it stops when a noise erupts from my stomach. Oh my fucking God. I can feel my face turning red as the heat travels up my neck. Someone clears their throat.
“Romiro, go grab her some food. I can’t exchange a dead body for someone alive. She’d be useless dead.”
Of course, it would inconvenience them if I were to die. I roll my eyes and decide to pick at my nails instead.
A chair scraping against the floor and footsteps heading in the opposite direction should sound alarm bells in my mind. But they don’t. I continue to pick at my nail bed until a small bead of blood forms on the surface.
I can feel a pair of eyes on the side of my face, but I refuse to look up. Emiliano clears his throat, and with a sigh, I finally look at him.
The asshole has one thing working for him, for sure—his looks. Other than being Capo, of course. I raise an eyebrow, prompting him to say what he wants, but he just continues to stare.
“What?” I blurt out, unnerved by the way he’s looking at me. He just shakes his head and runs his hand through his hair, leaning back in his seat.
“I have a question.” God, could I sound any more demanding than I do right now. His gaze comes back to me, and the corners of his eyes tighten.
“What is it?” He doesn’t seem to be happy about my sudden curiosity.
When will you let me go? Is what I want to ask, but instead, I ask, “Why are you going to New Hampshire?” I just want to go back to my family. I want to see my sisters and hug them. Kiss my mom and Nonna and tell Marco that I love him. Eat my mochi ice cream in peace while reading my cheesy Matteonce books.
“We,” he says. What? I frown as I look at him. “We are going to New Hampshire. You’re coming with us,” he elaborates.
No. Despair claws at my throat as the tears fight to build up, but I just push away the feeling.
“I want to go back to Chicago,” I say, and he gives me a blank stare, his fingers tapping against his desk.
“Let me make myself clear, I don’t give a fuck what you want.” My jaw clenches when he condescendingly adds, “Princess.”
I narrow my eyes, fists balling in my lap.
“I didn’t do anything!” I argue. The corner of his lips tilts up into a harsh smirk as he leans over the desk.
“I don’t think you understand. I don’t give a fuck what your involvement is in your Dad’s business. You are guilty in my eyes by association.” His eyes are cruel, a snarl morphing his handsome face. I dig my nails into my thighs, my throat closing up.
When I go to protest, the elevator doors open and Romiro stalks in, pushing a cart with food and drinks, snapping the tension in the room. The smell of warm bread fills the space. Notes of sweetness and saltiness intertwine and reach us.
He comes to a stop in front of us with the cart positioned in front of me. There is an array of three different kinds of bread, some caviar, and pule cheese. There are also three different desserts, water, and some sort of juice.
“Let’s eat,” is all he says before he begins to transfer the plates onto Emiliano’s desk. We eat in silence, but I can’t concentrate on anything other than the questions brewing.
* * *
We’ve been on the road for the past hour and a half. I don’t know where we’re headed, but Romiro keeps bugging Emiliano to stop at a gas station. We see a huge sign pointing to a gas station that’s coming up in a few miles, and Emiliano steers the car into the lane to head into the gas station.
“How come you don’t have a driver?” I ask before I can stop myself.
He shrugs. “I do, but I prefer driving myself.” His eyes stray back to the road before Emiliano looks at me sternly through the rear-view mirror and adds, “Don’t think about pulling any kind of shit. No one will help you.”
I roll my eyes, already tired of his repetition. The man has nothing to say to me other than threats. And like I previously thought, it’s kind of losing its edge.
As the car comes to a stop outside of the gas station, Romiro gets out, muttering something about his poor bladder, while Emiliano stays in the car. He rolls down his window and takes out a cigarette pack.
Extending his arm back to me, he offers me a cigarette, at which my nose wrinkles and I shake my head at him.
I watch him put the cigarette between his lips and pull out a lighter in the shape of a dagger. He lights the cigarette and takes a couple of puffs before blowing the smoke out of the window.
“Why did you take me instead of just attacking, since you could come and go from Chicago as you please?” My question comes off selfish. I don’t want him to attack and hurt my family. I would die for my family.
His eyes meet mine in the rear-view mirror once more. They look colder than they did a couple of seconds ago. They narrow as he blows out another puff of smoke.
“If I’d just attacked the Outfit just like you suggested, then I wouldn’t be getting what I want.” He seems so set on getting revenge on the Outfit, but for what? I don’t know.
“And what is it that you want?” It’s a risky question to ask since his mood seems to run hot one second and cold the next. Silence chases the question away, and we sit there, him watching me and me watching him. Something passes through his eyes, and he opens his mouth to say something, but then clams his lips shut. Tension settles into each crevice of the car, making it almost unbearable. Until the car door opens and breaks the moment.
“Man, gas station toilets are the fucking worse,” Romiro grumbles, his frustration and disgust clear as he runs a hand through his hair.
“Are you done?” Emiliano asks him as he puts the butt of the cigarette in the console. Romiro simply nods.
“Watch her, I need to grab something.” Without another glance our way, Emiliano opens the car door and heads toward the gas station doors.
“Did you kids behave yourselves while I was gone?” Romiro twists himself slightly to face me, his voice light and teasing. I chew on the inside of my mouth to stop myself from smiling.
“Are you always this…weird?”
He almost looks exasperated by the question as he places a hand on his chest as if wounded.
“Are you always this catty?” he rebuttals. I shake my head at his childishness.
“Only to people who kidnap me and try to punish me for the mistakes of others.” My tone is sharp. I tilt my head, trying to get a better sense of what he might be thinking. But Romiro isn’t the easy kind to read. His friendly exterior might somewhat deceive those who aren’t looking deep enough, but behind it, there is an emptiness in his eyes. No, not empty, but almost haunted.
“Well, in our world, there are bound to be those who fall in the middle of conflict. You, unfortunately, are the one to fall in this situation.” He is so dramatic; I’m surprised he didn’t think a stage actor was a more suited job. I roll my eyes at him and lean back into my seat.
“Where are we headed?” I ask while looking out the window. The gas station's parking lot is deserted. The sign reads ‘Rob’s gas station.’ But the only letters that are actually working are the r , one of the a’s and one of the t’s . Rat.
“We’re headed to the airport,” he responds, just as his phone rings and he picks up.
“Yes, Lucio, we're on our way.” He pauses for a minute.
“What the fuck do you mean?” Romiro’s voice is tense, his shoulders brunching up as if ready to fight.
“Right, just wait till Eli and I get there. Don’t make any decisions.” Ending the call, he rubs a hand down his face.
I can see Emiliano leaving the gas station. He has his phone up to his ear, clearly talking to someone. His face is all harsh lines, brow furrowed. He ends the call when he reaches his car door and slides in with the gracefulness of an arctic wolf.
Neither of them speak or even make a sound. Emiliano just starts the car and drives out of the gas station’s parking lot. It doesn’t take long for us to reach the airport. The car doesn’t take the same route as the other cars and heads into a separate lot. I give a tight smile to the man who opens my door.
I can see the change in Romiro’s expression. Becoming more serious, his smile disappearing. Emiliano doesn’t change at all. Unlike Romiro, he doesn’t hide in sheep’s clothing. He carries himself with the knowledge that he is well deserving of his position.
“Is the jet ready?” Romiro’s voice is void of any emotion. It causes a cold shiver to skitter down my spine. A tall woman is the one to answer as we approach the jet.
“Yes, everything is ready for flight.” Emiliano walks toward the stairs that lead up to the jet and Romiro nods. He looks at me and motions for me to walk ahead of him.
I’m reluctant to do so, as my Mom has always told me to not give my back to a predator. Especially one I don’t know what they’re capable of. He takes a couple of steps toward me, just enough so he’s able to whisper.
“I would never hurt you and, this might surprise you, but neither will Eli.” His tone is gentle, and he sounds so convincing, but he’s the enemy. I can’t trust someone who wants to use me as leverage.
I swallow down my fear and move toward the stairs, making sure to grab the railing as I take the steps. There are two flight attendants standing near the door of the aircraft.
Both are smiling and each have their hair in a slick bun. I give them a small smile as I head past them into the jet. The carpet is a soft magenta, and the chairs are a cream leather with brown wood armrests.
Emiliano is already sitting in one of the chairs, typing something on his phone. I decide to go to the chairs farthest away from him. Romiro looks between the two of us and seems to decide he wants to sit next to me. He flashes a smile as he plops into the seat opposite mine.
“Go away.” I really want to be left alone. I’d rather sit by myself than sit with the clown of the Camorra, but he doesn’t seem to mind my disdain.
“No, I think I’d like to stay.”
The corners of my eyes tighten as I narrow them at him.
“How old are you?” I ask.
“Twenty-seven, you?” he replies. Great, I am surrounded by two men in their late twenties. One who has the emotional intelligence of a rock and the other has the mental age of a twelve-year-old.
“I’m twenty-one.”
He nods and turns to look at one of the flight attendants.
“Emilia, I’d like a Cosmo. Please,” he orders.
My eyes bulge out of their sockets. Romiro laughs when he sees the look on my face after he turns back around.
“I like fruity drinks.” He shrugs when his laughter dies down a bit. The rest of the flight, I don’t speak to either of them. Not that I want to. The exhaustion must have caught up with me, because the last thing I remember is closing my eyes and feeling a warm blanket covering me.