7. 7 Tori
7: Tori
Let me say that the ride back to my prison is somehow even more tense than my drive to the courthouse. The slightest twitch of Nico's finger sends me spiraling, wondering if he plans on sealing this marriage the old fashioned way—sex.
I couldn't do it, even with Alicia's life on the line. There's no way I'm letting her die, but there's also no chance in hell I could go through with that in a sober state of mind. I would need some kind of drug slipped into my drink to tolerate the smallest of touches from this man.
Not a man. A devil.
It's fair to say I've been through some shit at the hands of the Iron Triad, but I'd never been frightened by them to the extent that Nico chills my blood. He's a powerful man with a whole network under him, and a dark history that would make the bravest man cry.
Yet here I sit, beside him—his wife. What the actual fuck? My hands are gripping the tulle fabric of my dress, fisting in the material as I imagine myself tearing it apart and burning it. Burning this whole damn day, this entire memory.
Remember, you're a black widow. You will kill him.
Murder has never been my strong suit, because you know…I'm a fucking normal human being. Jesus Christ. Why is this a thought I have to have? Why does the thought of killing Nico soothe me when it should frighten me?
Killing someone should not be a comforting thought.
I'm turning into something dark, and I'm not sure I'm ready for that.
My body is so stiff with nerves, with anticipation, that by the time we reach what I'm absolutely certain is an asylum at this point, my muscles ache, coiled too tight not to be sore.
Marcus parks in front of the house where I was forced to change into this dress, opening his door and leaving. He doesn't come around, nor does he wait around the car like he had before. I watch him walk across to the yard and vanish behind the asylum's door.
Surprisingly, not having Marcus around makes me a hundred times more panicked, as if Nico can suddenly harm me more without his presence. It's not a smart notion, as Nico could easily hurt me even with Marcus around. Actually, he could hurt me more easily with him here, but still, for whatever reason, my mind has associated the goon with safety… to some degree.
“Mrs. Moretti,” Nico begins, placing his hands over my own, forcing them open. I hate the way he keeps calling me that. “I have some ground rules to lay out before I attend to business.”
In an attempt to snatch my hand away, I pull my arm back quickly, but my hand goes nowhere, sending all the force of my movement into my shoulder and hurting it in the process, as Nico’s grip is ironclad. Without hesitation, my eyes sear into his gaze, hoping he can read the deep distaste I have for him.
Your rules can kiss my ass.
“First, this is your home. You're not to leave it without a guard. Second, if someone were to show who is not part of the Niners, you must act as if we've been madly in love for quite some time now. Lastly, you must take the role of a dutiful wife.” He lays his laws down as if they’re the simplest of things he's asking for, but every bit of it makes me want to hurl. “Do these things well and Alicia will be safe. Hell, on good days, I'll even let you see her.”
I'm blinking too many times, biting my tongue so hard I forget how to move it, how to form words. It takes a few seconds, but eventually my mind spews the way it always does—unfiltered.
“That's a fucking joke. I don't know what kind of acting skills you think I have, but there's no amount of classes that could ever teach me to act like I'm madly in love with you. Not to mention, you're—”
My words are cut off, my cheek stinging from the slap he just delivered. My hand lands on the pain, stinging with humiliation.
You knew one day your tongue would get you hurt. Seems today is that day.
“I warned you, Tori.” He leans in, invading my personal space without a care in the world, his lips brushing against mine with each word he speaks. “I own you. There's no escaping this. No escaping me. Now, do as you're told before I have to teach you another lesson.”
He bites my lip as he drags it back, digging his teeth deep into it until I taste the tangy metal of my blood. My lip snaps back into place, throbbing with each beat of my heart while my cheek swells and stings like a motherfucker.
For the first time in a few years, I have nothing to say. No witty remark. No unfiltered thoughts. Just pure silence in my brain.
I think I'm in shock.
“Now, go inside and start unpacking your things into our room. The very one you slept so well in last night.”
He reaches across, opening the door for me, dragging his hand over my lap as he sits back and waits. Without taking my eyes off him, I back out of the car, feeling the soles of my heels dig into the grass beneath me.
Without another word, I do as I'm told, opening the door to the now-clean home. It seems that while we were out, the house had a little remodeling done. Cleaned, dusted, and with some new furniture, it seems almost homey, like a scene cut out of a home style magazine. Maybe that's where he got the idea?
I push forward, ready to rid myself of this dress. My body jolts to life at the thought, racing upstairs to the room where Nico killed a small part of me.
My head feels so light, the room is tilting ninety degrees. I'm tripping over my own feet as I try to find my balance, realizing my breathing is the cause of my sudden vertigo. My breaths are quick, shallow, and too panicked to be helpful.
My hands shake, unable to stop even after I open and close them repeatedly. I'm bouncing on my feet, trying to shake off the nervous energy that suddenly consumes me whole. My stomach twists and I gag on the reality stuck in my throat. I open the window, hoping fresh air will ease the onset of nausea, finding myself vomiting out of it instead.
I wipe my mouth with the dress and then struggle to get out of it, unable to reach the zipper. The longer I'm in it, the worse the panic gets, threatening to eat me alive. My hand grips the banister tight as I descend the stairs toward the kitchen, finding the sharpest knife and slicing my way out of this puffball. There's so many layers that by the end of it, I have shredded scraps of tule, lace, and satin strewn all over the floor.
My screams aren't loud, more like grunts trapped in the back of my throat. There's been a massacre in this kitchen, and the dress isn't the only victim. My dignity, my pride, my freedom—they feel like a distant memory.
I need to save myself.
My breathing is still fast and labored, exhausted from tearing this wedding gown to pieces. I leave the mess in the kitchen and march my way back upstairs to get changed, back to the room where I was branded like cattle.
I’ll say one thing, having my clothes—the clothes not even Blaze, Thorne, or Ryder thought to bring—is the only comfort I have left in this house. I unpack it all carefully, as ordered, and needing to feel something I grab my shirt that says, ‘bite me ’ and a pair of my most comfortable jeans, the ones with the holes over my knees. It's stupid, but when my clothes are back on me, I give myself a hug, almost as if I’ve missed the me I was when I wore these. It’s like embracing an old part of me again.
Tears swim in my eyes and I can't stop the emotions from coming in tsunami-sized waves. At least I can have this part of myself. Wanting to see all my clothes and reminisce, I lay it all out and put them away again with a smile, already planning what I would like to wear tomorrow.
Does it bother me that it sits beside Nico’s button-down shirts, blazers, vests, and slacks? Of course, but I try to only focus on my clothes, because I am great at pretending like things aren’t going to shit.
I’ve done it all my life.
Exploring the house for the best route to the asylum helps ease some of my anxiety as I try to plan my great escape. How often are the grounds guarded at night? Are there posts or patrols? Do they change shifts? And if so, how often? There are so many things I need to watch for, plan for, make sure to get my timing right on, because when the opportunity presents itself, I’m searching the asylum for Alicia and getting us the hell out.
There are a decent amount of windows in this house that let in the natural light, giving the space a warm feel despite the current hostage situation. It honestly resembles a house I once pictured myself living in with a husband I loved and adored, and even that fantasy has changed now, because I can only picture myself living with Blaze, Thorne, and Ryder all together. It’s never just one of them. It's always all three.
Fuck. I miss them so much. I got too attached. Now it all hurts a thousand times worse.
Once I'm through exploring the place again, I take a seat on the couch, finding myself so exhausted I end up passing out. Hours later—or what I can only assume is hours later—the low hush of voices stirs me from my sleep, the low orange glow of the setting sun cast over the furniture in the living room.
My brain is fogged with sleep, but it knows I need to be listening in, absorbing everything I can about what’s happening around here. It takes me a second, but I realize the voices are coming from outside the window. Without giving myself away, I listen intently for anything helpful.
I strain my ears, recognizing Nico’s voice easily, but it’s the second voice that sends chills down my spine. I could never forget that voice after what he did…after his woman shot at me and hit Ryder instead. My interest is suddenly spiked, and it takes everything in me not to turn around, leave this house, and march right up to Valen and kill him myself.
He almost took Ryder from me.
“Fuck off, Nico. I did what you said and it cost me Katie. I’m owed,” Valen demands, and I know I’m joining the conversation late, but something tells me even if I started listening in at the beginning, I’d still be lost.
“That was your own damn fault, Valen. She shouldn’t have tried to shoot her. Tori wasn’t part of the kill list. You should be grateful Katie was shot instead of her, or I would have made her fate worse than death. I don’t owe you anything.” His voice holds that same coldness to it, promising something I know he could accomplish.
I struggle to put the pieces together, to understand exactly what they mean. It’s obvious they’re talking about their last meeting, the one the boys and I were involved in, but why is Nico not trying to kill Valen right now?
“I owed you a favor and it was more than repaid, Nico. It cost me some of my men, my woman, and most of my reputation. Things were not supposed to go down like that. You weren’t supposed to let the guys in the room.” Valen sounds livid, and by the way his shadow is almost kissing Nico’s, I know he’s stepped into Nico’s personal space. “My men were meant to kill them in the other room while our meeting occurred.”
“Plans change. The guys had grown more attached to her than I realized, and she to them. Had Katie not done what she did, the guys could have been killed on the way out. They would be dead as they should be, and she would have been easier to grab.” Nico sighs, his voice heavy with annoyance, as if he’s irritated for even having to explain this.
I can feel that panic rising in me again, realizing that the whole warehouse meeting was something orchestrated by Nico. He wanted Blaze, Ryder, and Thorne dead. Kidnapping me wasn’t because I went to save Alicia, but because it was his plan from the start.
He wanted me way before that, maybe even from the moment I stepped into his office. The favor was meant to separate me from the boys, to kill them so that no one would search for me… save me. Nico already owns my only family, Alicia. The only people left who care about me are Blaze, Ryder, and Thorne.
“You got the girl, so what’s it matter? Things still went how you wanted them to. She’s yours now, and soon Diablo will be, too. So why can’t I just have my pick? Give me Alicia, she’s just right.” Valen continues his demands, and as reality crashes around me, I’m left watching Nico’s shadow, seeing his hand go behind his back, pull a gun out and shoot right at Valen’s head.
“I told you no,” is all he says to the dead body now lying on the ground. I can picture those lifeless eyes, same as Katie’s…void and cold. “Marcus, dispose of this idiot, and bring dinner to the house. I’ll be eating with my wife from now on. Let Raul know he’s in charge of the meeting tonight. Don't come bother me.”
Fear prickles deep in my bones, washing me so cold I worry I'll never feel warm again. His footsteps sound like thunder, each step echoing in my head as he approaches the front door. My eyes are wide and my face is all too panicked to not give away what I'd just heard.
Does it matter?
Would he be mad to know I heard it all?
Ten seconds later, the door swings open and his eyes land right on me as if he knew exactly where I'd be sitting. He smiles, but as usual, it's void of any care, or any semblance of comfort. He enters casually, closing the door behind him before he confidently strides towards me.
“I see you did as you were told.” He gestures toward my clothes, assuming that if I'm wearing it, then I must have unpacked. He's not wrong, but I hate that he's right.
“What's the point of all this, Nico?” I cut the bullshit. Because I'm not pretending to be his wife with him. He can stick his dick in a beehive if he thinks I'll ever play the role of a dutiful spouse.
“The point?” He scoffs, pausing his steps two feet away from me. He stares down at me, never losing that intimidating aura as he drops the fake smile. “Why, Tori, do you really not get it?”
“What's there to get? You kidnap me, you hold me captive, you keep me in line by having Alicia around, and then you marry me. I may be smart, but even I can't follow your madness.” I huff, still on the verge of a panic attack that will knock me on my ass. My breathing is hardly controlled and my vision is blurring around the edges. My chest feels tight and my heart aches as I stare into his dark eyes.
“It's not about you, Tori. It's about what you bring to the table.” He takes a long step toward me, brushing his knuckles over the cheek he'd slapped in the car.
“Sarcasm?” I quip, because I'm not dead yet.
He actually laughs, a light chuckle that I don't expect. “No, my wife. Your family.”
My family?
“You mean, the fact I don't have any?” I arch my brow at him, wondering if maybe he has me confused for someone else at this point.
“No. The fact that you're a missing child, and I know exactly who your parents are.”
Wait, what?