38. Aurora
Chapter 38
Aurora
T he cell door creaks open, and I roll my head in the direction of the sound. A burly man enters, a skull mask covering his face. His presence is menacing and I bolt up, swinging my legs over the edge of the cot to be better prepared for a fight—not that I stand a chance.
He stands on the threshold, one hand resting on a gun holstered on his hip. “Stand. Hands on the wall,” he barks, his tone gruff and commanding.
This isn’t either of the guys that came by earlier. His accent is much thicker and there’s more of an edge to his words. Aside from kidnapping me, there’s something off about him.
On shaky legs, I stand and face the wall, pressing my hands to the coarse brick. His footsteps are like a countdown to impending doom and with each step he takes, my body tenses even more. When he’s standing behind me, I can smell the vodka and feel a sense of foreboding before he yanks a hood over my head. The force has his hands slamming into my shoulders and my knees buckle beneath me before I catch myself, pressing my body into the wall.
He runs a hand over my hip and tugs me back into his crotch. I bite down on my bottom lip to keep a sob from spilling free. Please don’t let him do what I think he intends to .
A shiver trickles down my spine when he groans in my ear and grinds into me. His grip is harsh, trapping me between his body and the wall. He chuckles, as if my fear is exciting for him. “I wonder if they’ll leave me to enjoy you when they’ve finished. If you survive what they have planned.”
If he’s the prize for surviving, I hope I don’t make it through this .
His fingers wrap around my bicep, digging painfully into the flesh as he spins me toward the door. I stumble over my feet, thrown off balance and disorientated by the darkness of the hood. There’s no consideration given for the difference in our strides as he drags me down the corridor. Why would there be?
Unable to see, I listen as we walk, counting the creaks of doors and any other noises that might give any sign as to where the hell we are. Within a matter of minutes, I’m forcefully pushed into a chair. The hood is whipped off, pulling on the strands of my hair as it goes. I hiss at the unexpected pain, squinting as my eyes adjust to the natural bright light filling the space and blinding me.
I scan the room, trying to take in as much as possible. Exposed stone walls surround us, and above, a rusted tin roof rattles with each gust of wind, mingling with the pitter patter of rain falling on it. There’s nothing notable in here except a table, some chairs and a camera, all of which are facing me.
Dark black spots are splattered sporadically across the floor, forcing me to wonder how many other lives might have been taken in this very room. We’re clearly in a warehouse, but I wouldn’t have a clue if we were still in America, let alone in New York.
Another man approaches, also wearing a skull mask. He smells like he’s bathed in aftershave and I frown, trying to place where I’ve smelled that particular scent before. It’s right there, on the edge of my memory, but I can’t quite grasp it. I’m still trying to place it when he grabs my wrist and ties it to the arm of the chair. The rope is so tight it burns my skin and every move I make only has him pulling it tighter until it’s digging into my flesh.
The door at the other end of the room creaks open, and a woman enters, her long blonde hair tied back, showing off her makeup-free face. If I passed her on the street, she wouldn’t draw my attention. She looks normal. The fact that she isn’t surprised to see me tells me all I need to know. She’s here for me .
My curiosity gets the better of me, and I find myself watching her as she walks across the space. She inclines her head to the masked men as she strides toward me, her head held high, an aura of importance around her. She comes to a stop at the table, throwing the gym bag in her hand on top. Our eyes meet and the corner of her mouth lifts before I drag my gaze away.
Six men stand, dotted around the room, each with an automatic gun cradled in their arms ready to shoot. For a second, I wonder if I’ll get out of here alive if I just comply and give them what they want, but I dismiss the idea almost as quickly as it forms.
They clearly have plans to kill Romeo and want to use me to do it. But what they probably don’t count on is the fact that I’d rather die than know that Romeo is gone because of me . My eyes sting before I force the emotion away and sit taller in my seat, ignoring the way the rope rubs at my skin. I want to prove to myself that I’m strong, that I can love even after all the heartache. To sacrifice my life for his. I want to make him proud. And the only way to do that is by being strong for him .
My focus shifts back to the woman who is pulling items from her bag, but from my position, I can’t make out what they are.
When she’s done, she moves across the room, a calmness emanating from her that I wish I could embody. Instead, the pounding of my heart feels like it’s echoing around the room for all to hear. I focus on the tangible things, like the black jeans she’s wearing with rips in the knees and the white oversized shirt that probably wasn’t a good idea for today. Unless she’s in charge and one of the men will do her dirty work.
“Do you know why you are here?” There’s no trace of an accent, and the lack of one throws me off slightly.
I lift my chin, holding her stare with a bravado coated with indifference that’s all for show. “Yes.” She tilts her head to the side, folding her arms and jutting out a hip. “You intend to kill Romeo Bianchi, and you’re under the impression that I mean something to him.”
She raises a brow. “Well, aren’t you a smart cookie?” She pauses, no doubt for dramatic effect. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Aurora, but we’re smarter. Did you really think we would make a move without all the facts? You may have started out as a pawn in his plan, but you quickly moved into his bed. Very quickly, might I add. I have no doubt that he will come for you and when he does, these men will be ready.” Turning away, she moves toward the camera.
“I won’t do it. Whatever it is, I won’t be complicit in it. You might as well kill me now,” I scream.
Chuckling, she prowls back to me, a dark look swirling in her gray eyes. I think I might have made a mistake . Her hand shoots out, fisting my hair and pulling it back with force. I roll my lips to keep from calling out at the unexpected pain.
She’s calm and her tone is deadly when she says, “You won’t have a choice, Aurora.” She leans closer, her perfume enveloping me. “I know a million ways to bring you to the brink of death. You’ll be begging me to make it stop, and the only way will be for you to do what we ask. And don’t think that just because your uncle is paying us that we’ll spare your life.”
My uncle?
A groove forms between my brows and I open my mouth to voice my question, but I’m cut off.
“Now, now, Anastasia, don’t get carried away just yet. You’ll ruin the fun.”
Where did he come from?
I’ve been so caught up in what she’s doing to me that I didn’t notice another person enter the room. I need to keep my wits about me if I want to stand a chance of getting out of here alive.
Anastasia releases me and my focus shifts to the man that just spoke. I take him in, moving from his polished shoes, over his navy suit pants and up to the matching double-breasted jacket covering his broad shoulders. When I reach his face, there’s a hint of familiarity. He has an air of authority about him, and in my periphery, I don’t miss the way every man in the room stands a little taller.
“I can see the cogs turning in that pretty little head of yours, Aurora.” He shrugs out of his jacket, carefully draping it over the table. As he walks toward me, he rolls up the sleeves of his baby blue shirt. “It’s been a long time, bambina . I don’t blame you for not recognizing me.” He comes to a stop in front of me, his hand reaching for me before he drops it back to his side and he regards me. “You look just like your mother.”
My voice comes out small and disbelieving. “Dad?” I feel foolish the moment the words leave my lips. Of course he’s not my father. It’s been a long time but not that long since I last saw him.
He chuckles, taking a seat in a chair one of the other men places behind him. “No, Aurora. I’m your zio .” At my questioning stare, he clarifies, “Your uncle.”
Shaking my head, I reply, “I don’t have an uncle.”
He smooths a hand over his rounded stomach and leans back in his chair. “ Oh, mio caro , I see your parents kept many things from you. Well, I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but your father is dead.” He flicks his wrist, indicating over his shoulder. “Floating somewhere in the Hudson River. Or at least that’s what my sources tell me.”
He winks and I know his sources are him . Romeo has been chasing a ghost. My stomach drops, knowing my father is gone for good this time. And my ‘uncle’ is responsible for his death. I swallow down the nausea and chew on my lip as the grief I didn’t think I’d feel at this news wraps around me.
Did he have my mom killed too?
My throat constricts, and a stabbing pain takes up residence in my chest. I want to cry and demand an answer to my question, but I don’t want this monster to see the effect he’s having on me. Schooling my features, I welcome the numbness that seeps into my body as my uncle—if I can even call him that—lays out his plans for me.
His demeanor is casual and his tone level, like he’s recounting a shopping list rather than his murderous plan. “I’ve been working with the Bratva”—he waves his arm, indicating to the other men in the room—“for the last six months. It all just happened, really. They want a bigger piece of the pie and I want to go home. I’m getting older and so returning to Sicily to take over the operation there makes sense.
“I see your confusion, Aurora. Decades ago, it was our family that ran the mafia. We’re only righting the wrong that was done. I have no interest in an American arm of the operations, so once Massimo and Romeo are gone—along with most of their men—the Bratva will take over New York.”
All of this is over territory and greed.
The thought that I could die, that Romeo could die, because my own flesh and blood wants to have it all, is sickening. This is too much, and it’s all my fault. Had I not kept that note from Romeo, I wouldn't be here and he wouldn’t be walking into a trap .
My uncle's voice pulls me back into the moment. “So, you see, that is how we’ve ended up here. We’ve drafted in the lovely Anastasia. She’s… what would you call it?” He taps his finger on his chin before holding it up as a sinister smile spreads across his face. “Ah, yes, a contractor. Romeo will watch as Anastasia inflicts a great deal of pain on you.” Standing, he stares down at me and adds, “I don’t want to ruin all the surprises. You can use that imagination of yours to figure out how this all ends. But don’t be mistaken, you won’t be leaving here alive.”
My mind works furiously to figure out a way to make this reality not be true. At each turn, I come up empty. There is no getting out here or making this right. My uncle walks away to the table where Anastasia is laying out more items and my attention shifts to the camera.
Like a lightbulb going off, an idea forms. It just might be the only hope I have of protecting Romeo and getting a message to him so he doesn’t come for me.