Chapter 12
CHIARA
I’m finally alone at the club. It’s peaceful with the music off, the lights dimmed. The place looks so different now. I like to stay here all alone for a little while before going home. Marco and Antonio hate that I close the club by myself, but I’m a big girl.
I’m sure Daddy has his eyes on me anyway. His goons are probably watching from some obscure hole, making sure his commodity is secure.
That’s all I am: an insurance policy for his business.
When he’s done using me, he’ll toss me aside like everyone else in his life. No one means anything to him. I think he lacks a soul. Maybe he’s one of those psychopaths. Or sociopaths. I always confuse the difference.
Even my uncles have more heart than he does, or at least I think so.
They’re all crazy sons of bitches, though.
No, really, my grandma was a bitch. She was mean, cold, and never offered any of her grandkids a nice word.
Maybe that’s why my dad is the way he is.
Or maybe he was born with it like Maybelline, just uglier.
I’m not close to anyone from my dad’s side of the family except my cousin, Raquel.
We were born weeks apart and are pretty inseparable.
Her father, Salvatore, is my father’s advisor.
He’s basically the man who wipes my dad’s ass if he asks.
Raquel hates him, but not because he’s abusive like mine.
Her parents are forcing her into a marriage she wants no part of.
She’s been promised to marry Carlito, one of the soldiers in the family, who’s fourteen years her senior. She has no one to help her out of this predicament.
My cousin is smart, currently a resident at a very prestigious hospital in New York City, and insanely beautiful with long, black hair and deep brown eyes. She constantly talks of running from this life and away from the grabby asshole she’s supposed to marry in six months.
I see Carlito here a lot, with a new girl grinding on his dick every week. Sometimes he pays for two at once. He definitely doesn’t look like a man who wants to get married. I bet he’s even cheating on her, and I doubt that’ll stop after the wedding.
My heart hurts for Raquel. I wish I had money to help her. At least I got away from a future with a man I didn’t want. Not to say this life is any better, with no choices to make of my own. But I’d rather work here and be alone for the rest of my life than marry into the family.
Running this club is the only thing I have, and maybe that’s why I take it so seriously. But even that’s an illusion. It’s not my club. It’s my father’s.
I decide to call Raquel to check in on her. She’s been working crazy long hours, but is actually off today because she had a party to attend for Carlito’s family. I wonder if she’s home yet. The parties in our circle run really late.
Reaching into my red handbag, I take out my cell and dial her number. She answers on the first ring.
“Hey,” she whispers, her voice sounding alarmed.
There’s a male and female voice in the background, and worry gnaws at the forefront of my chest.
“Raquel? What’s going on?” I ask with a low tone, my pulse racing in my ears.
“Carlito and my mom are talking about moving the wedding up by three months!” I can hear the tears in her voice. “I can’t marry him, Chiara. I’d rather die.”
“Don’t say that! We’ll find a way. I promise.”
But that’s a lie. There’s nothing I haven’t tried, between speaking to her parents and even my father. He told me to mind my fucking business, while her parents just patted my hand and assured me this is for the best.
Whose best? I’d asked them. Your daughter would rather end her life than marry a man she doesn’t want, but you think that’s what’s best for her?
I’d never spoken to my aunt and uncle that way. But I had to try and get through to them. Unfortunately, it didn’t work. I’m afraid of what Raquel will do if she’s shoved into a corner with no way out.
“I mean it, Chiara. I don’t want to live this way. I’d rather die.”
An ache builds behind my eyes. She’s fucked. We both know it. There’s nothing she can do to get out of this. Her mom wants this even more than her dad.
And Carlito? He’s obsessed with the thought of marrying her. He won’t give her up, even if her parents put a stop to it.
“There has to be something we can do!” I urge. “Maybe you can join a monastery and swear yourself to God or some crap.”
“Yeah, okay. Be serious. My parents wouldn’t allow that. They’d drag me out of there kicking and screaming. I wish there was someone else I could marry, even if I had to pay him to pretend. Someone more powerful than my father. Someone who can take him on. Take them all on.”
She sighs, the credence in her voice that I know and love no longer there. She sounds…lost. Defeated beyond measure.
We don’t know anyone who could help her by faking a marriage. She has no other viable options. No men out there would take on the mafia for her. Definitely not another doctor at her hospital. They’d run the hell away at the first sign of trouble.
“Oh, my God!” she exclaims in a hushed tone. “My mom just said she’ll take care of moving all the arrangements. She thinks I’m old and that there’s no reason to wait. She said I need to have children soon. I can’t believe she’s doing this to me!”
My face grimaces with disgust. Raquel pregnant with that animal’s kids? I can’t even think about it without hurling.
She sniffles, her composure breaking down. The pitiful whimpers coming from her mouth cause my own tears to run past my cheeks.
I know how she feels. When I thought I’d have to marry Michael, I thought my life was over. I even considered jumping off a bridge, as awful as it sounds. But when you’re stuck with no way out, you create one.
I hear her shuffling around, heavy static coming through the phone. “I have to go. I think she’s about to come to my room.”
“Bye,” I mutter. But she’s long gone.
I let out a harsh breath. This is insane. We’re grown women, yet we have people telling us what the hell to do, planning out our entire life as though we’re inept to handle our own shit.
Stuffing the phone back into my handbag, I get to my feet, needing to lock up the place and go home to a nice, warm bed.
I head for the exit, opening the door to a muted street, except for the crickets breaking up the silence.
There are a few other businesses in this area, including a cigar and sex toy shop that’s long closed.
My car is the only one in the parking lot, which is the nightly occurrence since it’s already past three a.m.
Taking out my keys, I start to close the place down when the loud screeching of multiple sets of tires coming from around the corner has my heart racing like a stampede of wild horses. It must be some teenagers out for a joy ride.
I fumble with the keys, the cars getting closer, my heart now beating in my throat.
Shit. I have to get the hell out of here. What if they see me and stop? What if they hurt me?
My hand trembles with the keys still attached to the door.
Close the damn thing and run to your car!
Suddenly, the noise stops as though it never was. The cars must’ve left. The relief comes like a grenade.
Crunch.
Crunch.
Loud thuds of someone’s feet crash against the pavement, and my eyes widen with the rapid pacing of my breathing.
My stomach dips, diving with the fear taking over all my thoughts. My mind says to go, but my body won’t budge.
Multiple footsteps now.
My knees buckle. An icy cold tremor runs down my body.
Don’t turn around.
This is a dream.
They’re not here for you.
A shiver runs down the entire length of my body, and I tremble out a breath just as a hard body presses into my back from behind. A man’s bulky chest shoves into me until my cheek lands flat against the cold door.
He takes deep, calm breaths, the feel of them running up my neck, bathing me in more fear than I’ve ever known.
“If you scream—if you so much as flinch—I’ll kill you,” says a deep, husky voice.
Wait.
I’ve heard that voice before.
It can’t be…
Before I have a chance to discern if the voice really belongs to the man I spent hours flirting with, a strong, masculine hand is on my mouth, covering my lips with sticky tape.
“Fire! Fire!” I scream, trying to fight him off, the adrenaline within me battling for control, remembering my boxing coach telling us to scream “fire” when faced with trouble, because people tend to ignore the word “help.”
He grabs my hair and pulls hard until I’m met with a pair of hazel eyes staring from within a black ski mask.
Now there’s no doubt. It’s him. The man who called himself Brian Smith.
Here I thought he actually liked me, but it was just a game he was playing.
As though wanting me to know it’s really him, he pulls up the mask and smiles, lips twisting viciously.
I narrow my gaze, and his smirk only deepens.
“Nice to see you again, Chiara Bianchi. We’re gonna have a lot of fun together. I promise.” His other hand lands over my mouth and nose, covering it with something white.
I grumble, struggling against him even as I start to drift away. Before everything turns hazy and black, I hear his deep, throaty voice.
“Don’t fight me, baby. You’ll lose.”
My eyelids dangle between sleep and wakefulness. It’s hard to open them. I’m so groggy and lightheaded, like I’m just waking up from a nap cut too short. There’s a slight headache at my temples too.
Light filters through my lids, and I groan, fighting against it, hoping to keep my eyes closed forever. My body feels liquified. I can barely move my limbs.
Where am I? What happened?
I pull my right arm up, but something tight holds it hostage, straining against my wrist. I try moving the other hand, but the same thing happens.
What the fuck?
And that’s when I remember the events that led me here.
Brian fucking Smith.
I recall everything now. The cars. The fear.
Now I’m bound, gagged, and tied up.
“Help!” I scream, but it sounds more like a whimper with the damn tape he put on me.