Chapter Three
SHAY
Mr. Lombardi leads a stranger into the bedroom, and his immediate appearance terrifies me.
He’s a giant. The top of his head narrowly misses the top of the doorway, and his muscular frame blocks the light coming from the living room. His golden eyes stare at me from behind a curtain of black hair hanging over them. His big arms and barrel chest strain his leather jacket at the seams.
The lack of furniture in his home and the size of his body suggest he spends more time in the gym than in his own home.
His menacing form doesn’t move from the doorway.
I scream, but the noise comes out as a muffled groan from behind the duct tape.
Tears threaten to fall from my eyes, though I won’t let them spill.
I’m scared, but I can’t show it. If I show weakness, this bastard will take advantage of it, the same way his boss did.
He takes his first step toward me. I recoil, but the bonds on my arms and wrists restrict my movement. I can’t get away.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” his voice is deep, husky, and under different circumstances, I might’ve called it alluring. His eyes flick over my body, but whenever they linger on my breasts or panties, he jerks his head away.
“Well, getting the tape off your mouth is going to sting. But I don’t mean to hurt you,” he says.
He presses a knee onto the bed, and the mattress sinks with his weight. He hovers over me, reaching a hand towards my face. I throw my head to the side, avoiding contact.
“Let me take it off,” he insists. He’s calm and serene as if talking to a wild animal and trying to still its aggression. “It’s going to be okay. Everything is going to be okay.”
How is anything okay? A few hours ago, I found out I had been sold to the mafia at birth. Nothing is fine. This situation is completely fucked up.
I stop pulling myself away from him and allow his fingers to get closer. He does his best to avoid touching me, focusing instead on grabbing a corner of the duct tape.
“This is going to sting. I’m sorry,“ he repeats, and like a band-aid, he tears the tape off in one go.
He gets off the bed and takes a step back.
Almost expectantly, he shoves a finger into each ear – a wise move.
With my newfound freedom, I start to scream.
A flurry of ‘Help!’ and ‘I’m being held captive!
’ bursts from my mouth, until my throat hurts.
We’re in an apartment building, after all.
One of his neighbors is bound to hear me, right?
He shows no care or concern for my screeching. He stands a few feet away, waiting for me to get it all out.
I scream until my voice gives out. He patiently waits for me to stop.
“There’s no use in screaming.” His words are menacing and scare me.
“My home is protected by the best soundproofing money can buy. You never know when unsavory sounds may happen.” He takes a step closer to me again. “Can I untie your hands?”
I nod. I don’t know what to say to him. I’m stunned and scared, like a deer in headlights.
“Introductions, that’s what we ought to do, right?” He braces a knee against the mattress and works at the rope around my wrists. Is that blood on his jacket?
“My name’s Roberto, but most everyone calls me Rocco. Can I ask what your name is?”
Kindness and a soft voice are the last things I expected from this monster. Somehow, I thought he’d be worse than Mr. Lombardi, but he hasn’t done anything without a gentle touch.
“Shay.” My voice is hoarse from the shouting. The second my wrists are free, I untie the ropes around my legs myself, and Rocco retreats to the same place he stood when I was yelling.
“Your clothes are over there,” he points at a spot on the floor. I know where they are, from the moment when Lombardi stripped them off me. I just haven’t gone for them because I’m too afraid to move.
“Get dressed and we can talk about this.” He turns away from me while I get dressed.
When I am dressed again, he looks at me over his shoulder and starts to speak. “Well, Shay, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I apologize it had to happen under such… such awful circumstances.” He scratches the back of his head.
So, he knows this situation is screwed up? Good. His acknowledgment of it eases my worries, but only a little. For all I know, he’s playing some long game, gaining my trust before he takes advantage of me.
But if he wanted to do that, wouldn’t he have done so while I was tied to his bed?
He turns to face me fully. “I can’t imagine what’s going through your head right now, but we’re in a similar boat on this one.”
“No, we’re not.” I reply.
“I didn’t want this, either. But it’s the situation we’ve found ourselves in,” he sighs.
“I’m supposed to be a gift. That’s what Lombardi said. How can I believe you didn’t know?“ I ask.
“You were meant to be a gift for his son.” He pauses, then, “I’ll tell you what, circumstances might not be the greatest, but you’ve landed in a better spot, than with Lombardi junior.
” He smiles as if what he said is some joke, but doesn’t realize I’m not in on it.
He looks at my face and realizes the humor is lost. “Look, I understand that this must be hard for you. I’m sorry that you’ve been put in this position, but there isn’t anything we can do about it. ”
If that’s what he wants to believe, I’ll let him.
He might be okay with playing house for Lombardi, but I’m not.
As soon as an opportunity presents itself, I’ll run.
I’ll get away from this place and these people, and leave them in the dust. For now, I’ll bide my time and wait for a prime opportunity.
“I’ll do my best to ensure your stay is comfortable, but I need you to understand the severity of this situation.”
“The severity?”
Rocco’s showing me strange and unexpected gentleness.
He’s not approaching me, he’s not forcing himself onto me, and he wants to explain things as best he can.
It doesn’t help that he’s handsome, as well.
It would be much easier to hate everything about him if he was old, fat, and ugly like his employer.
Jesus, am I really appreciating his looks while I’m his captive? Maybe there is something wrong with me.
“You belong to the mafia now, Shay.”
A sudden wave of anxiety rushes over me and knocks the wind out of my lungs. I collapse onto the bed. What does that even mean? The mafia? What have my parents gotten me involved in?
“You must be tired. Why don’t you rest, and we can continue talking in the morning?” he asks.
It’s a welcoming offer. I need time to process what Rocco has told me.