Abby
The wine in my glass ripples as the violinist begins a new piece.
Usually, the music at a gala like this is enough to drown out all of the voices, but tonight, it only adds to the cacophony of noise threatening to overwhelm me.
All I can do is stare into my drink, where a kaleidoscope of colors flashes back at me as the lights from the chandelier reflect off the crystal.
I never know what’s in my drink at these events.
My husband Conor has a track record of drugging me, and truthfully, I don’t mind.
At least that way I don’t remember the things he and his friends do to me afterward.
Unfortunately, I’ve been nursing my glass all night, but all I feel is the familiar buzz of alcohol, nothing more.
That means that I’ll be restrained so that there’s no chance of me fighting back tonight…
or that he’s welcoming the fight. Either way, I’m screwed.
For the most part, he leaves me alone during the week.
But on formal occasions like this, his nature tends toward monstrousness.
Unfortunately, since he’s the mayor of Canada’s largest metropolitan city, they occur frequently.
I’m not sure what it is about getting dressed up and parading around with the city’s socialites that gets him so excited, but I’ve never escaped an evening unscathed.
Tonight will be no different, especially with the upcoming election looming.
This will be his second term as mayor, and it’s the first time in his political career that he’s behind in the polls.
I knew the moment his face flushed as his campaign adviser whispered something in his ear that it would be a rough evening.
As the gala comes to an end, I swallow down the last bit of my champagne and hope by some miracle that all the drugs sank to the bottom. That by the time I’m escorted into the back of the limo, hidden from the public eye, I won’t remember a thing Conor does.
The drugs never kick in.
“Right this way, Mrs. Fitzpatrick.”
The driver ushers me into the back seat, and I wait for Conor, but he never comes.
“Um, excuse me? Is Conor not joining us?” I ask as the car takes off without him.
“No, ma’am, Mr. Fitzpatrick isn’t joining you tonight.”
Slouching down into my seat, allowing my perfect posture to falter for the first time tonight, I breathe a deep sigh of relief. I’m sure I won’t make it out scot-free, but at least I can enjoy the ride home in peace.
“Did he leave any instructions for me in his absence?”
“Only that he would be at his office late and for me to take you home. Nothing else, ma’am.”
My phone is suspiciously devoid of any communication from Conor, leaving me with nothing else to do but scroll my socials.
Being Mrs. Mayor Fitzpatrick comes with lots of “friends,” although I know if it came down to it, none of the women who vie for my attention would be in my corner.
I’m sure they gossip about me behind my back, and who can blame them when my husband has fucked at least half of the group.
Honestly, good riddance. The more time he spends with other women, the less time I have to deal with the bastard.
My champagne buzz is already wearing off, melting into drowsiness as I watch the streetlights stream by and consider my husband.
I haven’t always hated him. At first, he seemed like the perfect man.
On top of the fact that he was the Conor Fitzpatrick, he treated me like a princess.
It wasn’t until we were engaged and almost married that the red flags started waving.
His kind gestures slowed while his temper surged, but by the time I started to really have doubts, it was too late.
Or so I thought. If I’ve learned anything in my thirty years, it’s that it’s never too close to a wedding to call it off.
Once I signed that document, everything changed completely, and his temper manifested as both physical and emotional abuse.
There have been countless times in our marriage when I thought I was going to die at his hand.
During the darkest, longest nights, I’ve even prayed for it.
It’s not like I’ve had anyone to turn to.
He made sure to cut off my relationship with my family when we got married, and nobody else would ever believe me.
The honorable Conor Fitzpatrick can do no wrong in this city.
At least that’s how it’s been for the past ten years. His recent negative polls can only mean one thing. Someone is on to him. I’d love to watch his downfall, but if he loses this election…I’m not sure I’ll live to see it.
The slam of a door startles me awake, and barely a second passes before I’m summoned.
“Niamh? Niamh get down here right now!”
Fuck. A glance at the clock shows it’s well into the early morning. I really thought I was going to avoid an assault tonight.
“Coming, dear!”
I wrap myself up in a robe and quickly make my way down to the kitchen, where Conor is propped against the island with a mess of papers laid out before him.
“God, Niamh, what the fuck took so long?” He looks up at me with bloodshot eyes full of disdain, but without the usual crazed lust that follows a gala night.
“I’m sorry, I—”
“Never mind. I have a job for you. Come sit, hurry. We have less than twenty-four hours to pull this off.”
I do as he asks and sit on a barstool across from him. I know better than to ask what he wants.
“Do you see all of this?” He slides the papers toward me, but doesn’t wait for me to read any of them.
“These are documents confirming your new identity in America. You’ll be going undercover in a town called Thunder Bay.
You see, there’s a bad family there. Their name is Santori.
They had a hand in the murders recently that are fucking up my place in the polls.
You’re going to go down there and get in good with them, then wait for my command on how to proceed. ”
“Um…okay…”
“Don’t ‘um, okay’ me. You don’t have a goddamn choice, bitch.
Your flight leaves tomorrow evening, and we have to give you a makeover.
You’ll go by a new name and have a brand-new identity, so nobody can link you to me.
I figured you could revert to your natural hairstyle.
Those hideous red curls are as stark a difference from your blonde look as anything.
And as for your name, you’ll go by Abby Reid—”
“Abby? You always hated that.”
Conor scratches his neck and rolls his eyes.
“You’re right. I never understood why your family called you by a stupid nickname of your middle name.
Niamh is a perfectly acceptable Irish name.
Why they wouldn’t use it I’ll never understand.
But I figured you’d have less of a chance of blowing your cover if you didn’t have to think too hard about what your new name was.
The rest of the information will be in a folio for you to study, along with the information on each member of the Santori family.
I expect you to know that shit like the back of your hand by the time you land in Thunder Bay. ”
“Yes, sir…”
“Go ahead.” He sighs. “I’m sure you have questions for me…” he says before mumbling “you stupid cunt” under his breath.
“Well, really only one. How exactly am I supposed to get in with the Santori family?”
Conor raises a brow and smiles. “You’re going to seduce one of the brothers. I don’t give a damn which. Hell, fuck them both for all I care. Their information is in the folio.”
He pauses and rounds the island, grabbing and inspecting a strand of my hair.
“It really is a shame you can’t go looking like this.
You were almost too ugly to stomach before I made your improvements.
You’d have a better chance if you could go there as you are now.
But regardless, Niamh, success is your only option.
” He drops my hair and makes his way out of the room, calling out as he leaves.
“If you manage to get them to look past your appearance, you should win them over on your knees. You always were the most incredible cock sucker.”
His footsteps grow quieter as he makes his way to his office, and the moment the door closes, I allow myself to breathe.
I was trying my best to pay attention to him, but it’s difficult when I have so much adrenaline flowing through me.
Looking down at the papers, I speed read through the assignment he just spelled out, but all I can focus on is one detail in particular.
In less than twenty-four hours, I’ll be on a flight out of here. And for the first time in my marriage, I’ll be free.