Chapter 3
Three
Meek. Quiet. Obedient.
The words blur together on the board, a mess of white streaks layered over themselves until they’re almost unreadable. My fingers tremble as I press the chalk to the surface again, but the line comes out jagged, my grip faltering. I can barely feel my hands anymore.
The air in the room is thick with chalk dust, clogging my throat, coating my lips, turning my breath into something dry and shallow. My nails bite into the stick of chalk, brittle and raw, blood threading through the fine white powder caked under my fingertips.
Meek. Quiet. Obedient.
Again.
And again.
I don’t know how long I’ve been here. Minutes? Hours? It doesn’t matter. Time is just another thing I’m no longer allowed to own. I keep going. Because I have to. Because stopping isn’t an option.
Because stopping would mean failure. And failure would mean ? —
A sharp snap echoes in the silence. I flinch. My breath stutters.
The chalk is gone, shattered in my palm. A small, broken piece tumbles to the ground, joining the graveyard of discarded fragments at my feet, dusted with streaks of red.
I can’t stop. I can’t stop. My arm shakes as I reach for another piece, my fingers stiff and uncooperative, my nails a throbbing mess of split beds and exposed skin.
The moment my hand wraps around a fresh stick of chalk, the door behind me creaks open. The sound spears through the suffocating silence, but I don’t turn around. I won’t turn around.
I keep writing. I wait. Wait for him to end this. But it’s not him.
“ Oh, mio Dio !”
The gasp comes from behind me—sharp, horrified, wrong. Not him. My governess.
She’s seen the mess at my feet. The blood, the broken chalk, the wreckage of what I’ve done.
“Stop, mia cara ,” she pleads, her voice trembling. “You must stop.”
She doesn’t understand. I can’t.
If I stop now, it means I’ve lost. It means I’ve failed.
And if I fail ? —
There won’t be anything left of me.
It’s quiet at first. Waking. But the remnants of my past cloy my senses, causing confusion and old memories to surface. Fear surges through me and my eyes pop open when my movement is met with resistance.
Where am I?
What the hell happened?
My pulse pounds behind my eyes which are heavy as if my body isn’t ready to wake from its slumber .
It’s so dark I wonder if I’m even awake. Panic swells within me when I realize that I can’t move much of my body. Have I been paralyzed?
No. There is something cold and heavy on my wrists as well as on my ankles. I open my mouth to scream, but the gag muffles the sound.
They found me.
My father’s men.
They are dragging me back to Italy to be sold to him . The man who wants me in his bed. The one they all answer to.
Tears threaten to fall and my lower lip trembles against the gag at the thought of what he will do to me. What they both will do. My father isn’t one who likes to be defied, and neither does the man he sold me to. I’ve met him several times, and I’ve seen what he does to the women on his arm.
Breaks them. Hollows them out and then casts them into his brothels to be laden with drugs when he no longer finds them useful. I’ll kill myself before I ever let that happen.
I resist the urge to groan at my own naivety. Elio’s proposal was a lighthouse in a sea of engulfing waves, and I thought—I hoped—that he could save me.
Now he’s only made it worse for me when I return.
Where are you Elio? Why would you leave me like that?
A small gasp rushes over my lips at the sensation of firm hands cradling the back of my head. Light pierces through the darkness, overwhelming my senses and causing me to blink rapidly, momentarily dazed and blinded by the sudden brightness.
“ Non combattermi, piccola cerva ,” a stern voice says in Italian. It’s deep and gravelly. I’m not going to be able to afford the therapy I’m going to need to unpack how his low timber just sent shivers of something I don’t want to name through my body. “ Fai quello che dico o sarai punito .”
Don’t fight him?
Do as he says or be punished?
Who the fuck does he think he is?
He’s scowling, his hazel eyes burning straight into mine as he bends toward me. I hunch my shoulders, scrunching my eyes close as I turn my face away and attempt to make myself a smaller target, readying myself for what will come next.
Warily, I open my eyes seconds later when I hear the click of a seatbelt. The man pulls the blankets off me—the reason why I can hardly move my hands and feet. A heavy pair of silver handcuffs are locked tightly around my wrists. In my panic, I barely noticed the weight. Looking down, I can see that my feet have been tied together with a brown fraying rope.
Ignoring the tension in my body, he picks me up in his arms easily before standing to his full height and walking toward the front of the plane. I’m still gagged, and the material stifles the whimper of pain that shoots through me as he walks. He doesn’t seem to notice or care because he keeps going without a single glance down at me.
There are hushed voices filtering back from the front of the plane, and as we get closer, a small group of men appear in my line of sight. They’re all smiling, leaning casually in their chairs with glasses of brown liquor in their hands.
Panic explodes in my chest as we get closer.
I shake and twist, attempting to loosen myself from his hold. The plane falls silent, and the hushed conversations cease as all their eyes cast on me. I scream at him from behind my gag, the words muffled, but there is no way in hell he misses the meaning behind them.
“Enough,” he growls, throwing me over his shoulder, his large palm smacking my backside three times in quick succession. “I warned you not to fight me. Keep it up and there is more where that came from.”
Shocked into reluctant submission, I relax my body slightly, still on edge about what is to come. I’m bound, gagged, and at the mercy of whoever these men are or work for.
Please don’t be my father.
Please don’t be my father.
When we reach the small group of chairs at the front, he slides me down his body, his arms tight to keep me from attempting to escape. Not that I can do much since my feet are bound. My eyes widen when one of his hands snakes to the back of my head, his fingers weaving like dark branches in my hair. A groan leaves my bound lips at the tight grip. A warning.
“Listen very carefully, piccola cerva ,” he warns me, his voice low and seductive, like the snake to Eve in the garden. “If you are a good girl, nothing will happen to you. But—” he pauses for a moment his grip on my hair causing me to wince slightly at the sting of my roots pulling against my scalp. “If you aren’t, nothing will save you from your punishment. Is that understood?”
The gag in my mouth may keep me silenced, but I know for a fact that my eyes are communicating my emotions clearly.
Fuck off .
The man smirks, his eyes darkening as he takes in my defiance, but he doesn’t say anything further. He picks me up in his arms again before setting me in an empty seat next to one of his men. He reaches over and removes my gag. Immediately, I run my tongue over my dry lips. The problem is the rest of my mouth is dry as well, so it does little good.
Bending down, he buckles me before removing my handcuffs. A sigh of relief surges through me, and I rub my wrists where the metal dug into my skin.
The way he regards me tells me all I need to know, and I’m not ready to test out disobeying him. Not while on this plane, at least. There is no escape for me here. I need to create a plan so that, when the time comes, I can run.
He takes a seat in the empty chair next to mine, ordering a glass of water and some small snacks. The one attendant on board rushes to obey him, and when she comes back, he easily dismisses her.
“Drink,” he commands, handing me the water. I shake my head. For all I know, it is drugged. The man narrows his eyes at me. “That isn’t a request, Gia.” My eyes widen when he says my name as if he knows me. “You are dehydrated. Drink.”
“No.” I huff out a breath and turn away from him. The tactic doesn’t work. He reaches for my chin, takes it in his grasp, and forces my gaze to his.
“Shall I remind you that if you don’t obey you will be punished?” There is an edge to his tone that has my heart galloping in my chest with fear. I’ve heard that tone before—right before the sting of a whip ripped through my flesh. “Refuse to obey and I will exact that punishment right here, in front of my men. Is that clear?”
Heat suffuses my cheeks, and I nod my head as much as I can in his grasp.
“Good.” Letting go of my chin, he hands me the glass. “Now drink.”
I take it with trembling hands. I don’t realize how weak I am until it nearly slips from my gasp. Gripping it with two hands to keep from dropping it, I take a sip. Once the first taste of water hits my tongue, I gulp down the rest of the glass. Even without food and power, I still had access to water, but after going without food for so long, even water becomes hard to stomach.
“Easy,” he whispers, taking the glass from me once it’s gone. “You don’t want to get sick.”
I’m not sure why he cares. Well, he’d have to clean it up or have the attendant do it. I suppose he would care about that—and the smell.
“Have some of this.” he hands me a small plate with some cheese, meat, and a few crackers. It isn’t much, but the sight of food has my stomach grumbling in dire need. “Take it slow.”
Gratefully, I take the plate from him, setting it on my lap before picking up some cheese and meat to plop into my mouth. Flavor explodes across my tongue and I’m ravenous, but I do as the kidnapper says and take it slow. I only eat about a quarter of the plate before I am full. It isn’t a happy full, like when you’ve stuffed yourself at Thanksgiving, but my stomach is starting to rebel against eating any more, even if I should.
“Good girl.” He takes the plate from my lap and hands it to the attendant. After a beat of silence, he leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees, and stares me dead in the eye.
“Now tell me, Gia,” he demands. “Where is your brother, Elio?”