Chapter 47 It’s All Going To Be Fine
It’s All Going To Be Fine
I’m learning to fight. It’s not like our play fights. This is real. I wish I didn’t have to. —Enzo
Izzy
My head throbs. My body aches.
The cuff around my ankle digs painfully into my flesh with the tiniest movement.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
That noise, that steady beat of water hitting the damp stone floor below has been the only sound since I woke. That, and my erratic heart beating—thumping—in my ears. Like a drum, preparing me for whatever’s next.
I don’t know how long it’s been. A few hours? More?
It’s dark here—wherever here is. Some sort of basement? There are lines of cages on the other side of the room, all with bars large enough to keep a human from getting out. Yet, each one is empty.
I don’t know why I’m not in one. Instead, I’m in an open corridor—maybe.
A heavy clank of metal jolts me.
Footsteps.
The door swings open.
“Ahh, you’re awake,” Marcus sneers at me.
If he’s expecting me to be shocked that it’s him, he doesn’t show it. Just strides in, confident as ever. Though, there’s something else behind that mask—anger? Fear? I don’t know.
I say nothing.
He sighs as he moves, stepping toward me until his boots stop just in front of where I’m chained to the floor.
“You kill three of my best friends. You ruin our business. And you think you can just get away with that?”
I can’t help it.
I laugh.
“Are you stupid?”
He rears back as if I’ve slapped him.
“You raped me,” I hiss. “And you thought you could just get away with it?”
He scoffs. “Rape? You fucking wanted it.”
Is he delusional?
“I was drugged! I couldn’t even fucking move!”
He rolls his eyes. “And that time you bounced on my cock like the little slut you are?”
My mouth gapes open.
“You held me at gun point.” I’m almost shouting now—or I would be if my throat wasn’t so dry. “You held a knife to my throat you imbecille23. Are you really this dense or just pretending to be obtuse?”
The pain comes before I register his hand lashing out, his palm connecting with my cheek.
Tears burn behind my eyes, but I force them back. “What’s your plan, Marcus? Enzo will come for me.”
He grins.
“Oh, I know. I hope he does. Then I’m going to kill him in front of you—let you watch as the life slowly drains from his eyes.” He smirks at me. “But first—I want him to watch you beg for my cock. Let him watch me fuck all your holes while he’s helpless. Only then will I end his pathetic life.”
“You’re insane.”
His laugh is maniacal.
He doesn’t engage further, just turns and walks out, the door banging shut behind him.
I need to get out of here.
When he comes back in, it’s possible I can overpower him with the element of surprise. But I need to get this cuff off me first.
My eyes dart around the space, cataloging.
There’s not much around. Just stone and metal.
I place a hand over my stomach, whispering to the tiny fetus growing inside me. “Ce ne andremo da qui24. It’s all going to be fine.”
Marcus has been gone for hours.
My ankle is raw from twisting and pulling at the cuff, desperately trying to remove it, to no avail.
I’m trapped.
My stomach cramps with hunger—or perhaps just anger from my child that I’m depriving them.
The door bangs open.
I jolt.
“Get up,” Marcus spits at me, his face screwed up into a sneer.
Slowly, I rise.
My balance wavers, the edges of my vision blurring. My knees threaten to buckle.
Marcus’s hand is rough on my arm, pinching the skin, as he grabs me.
He undoes the cuff on my ankle.
Now is my chance, but I’m too weak.
The punishing grip of his hold forces me forward until I’m pushed inside one of the cells. I cry out as my side hits the edge of the table in the center, sending me sprawling to the floor.
Pain ricochets through my stomach.
“Get on the table.”
I shake my head, pressing my fingers to my belly. Please.
Marcus’s face turns red; his eyes narrowed on me.
“Stupid bitch,” he hisses, picking me up from the floor and throwing me down onto the metal.
I kick out, flailing my arms and legs but he manages to secure me down.
He grips my necklace in his fist and pulls hard. The clasp breaks. It falls to the floor, broken. I try to scream.
“Shh,” he murmurs, shoving cloth into my mouth.
Tears pour from my eyes.
My whole body aches.
He raises a phone to his ear, glaring at me.
Enzo
Kai: Marcus has a property in the Catskill’s.
My phone rings.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Russo.”
I stiffen. “Who is this?”
I glance at the screen. No caller ID.
“If you ever want to see your wife alive again, come to the address I’ve just texted to you. Alone.”
My blood runs cold. “If you’ve—”
The line goes dead.
I check the address. It’s the same as Kai just sent.
I hurl the phone across the room.
It explodes against the wall.
Fuck.
My body moves before my brain catches up.
First stop: the armory. I grab a Glock and a knife, my hands shaking but sure.
Then I’m out.
No one dares stop me as I floor it through the front gates, tires screaming. Every second that passes feels like a lifetime. Every second is another one he could be hurting her.
It takes a couple of hours, but eventually, my tires rumble down a long driveway, trees decorating either side.
I screech to a stop outside the large farmhouse.
“Izzy!” I call out, banging open the door.
No answer.
Inside, there’s two options, one staircase leading up, one going down.
I pick down.
Taking the stairs two at a time, I almost trip getting to the last steps. A metal door in front of me sits slightly ajar.
Pulling my gun from its holster I push it open gently, my eyes on high alert.
What I see has my blood running cold.
Izzy is naked, blood coating her thighs. She’s strapped to a table in the center of a cage, her face contorted in terror.
Bound and gagged, her tear-soaked eyes meet mine as she tries to scream around the cloth covering her mouth.
My knees threaten to buckle but I force them to move. I reach the cage in two strides, but the door is locked.
“Hold on, baby.”
She shakes her head, staring behind me as if she’s trying to communicate something.
Then everything goes dark.
My head pounds.
Ears are ringing.
I groan, blinking my eyes open.
My breath stutters.
My arms are pulled over my head, my feet barely skimming the floor.
Izzy meets my eyes through the metal bars in front of me. I’m caged in. She’s no longer gagged, but tears are pouring from her eyes.
“You shouldn’t have come,” she whimpers, and the miserable sound guts me.
I shake my head, despite the lingering pain as I do. “I’ll always come for you, Cuore mio.”
“He’ll kill us both.”
“Not if we kill him first.”
She laughs humorlessly, exaggerating as she roams her eyes around the space. “How do you plan to do that?”
The odds aren’t exactly in our favor right now. Both of us are locked in cages. I’m strung up; she’s tied down. Marcus is nowhere to be seen.
My nose wrinkles as I breathe in, the scent of mildew thick in the air.
I can't stop my eyes from focusing on the dried blood running down her legs. "Did he touch you?"
She shakes her head. "No. Not in the way you think."
Then why—
“The baby?” I ask her, dread and hope curdling in my stomach.
She sucks in a breath, confusion in her face, before she shrugs. “I don’t know.”
“They’ll be okay,” I tell her—or perhaps myself, I’m not sure.
“How did you know?”
I grin—sheepishly—despite everything. “I found your gift.”
The door clangs open, the low metal groan filling the still air.
Marcus steps inside.
“Oh good! You’re awake,” he croons, striding closer with the confidence of a man who thinks he’s won.
“What’s your plan here, Marcus? You know my papa will find me and then you’re a dead man,” I hiss at him.
He shakes his head, the clattering of keys against metal echoing around us as he unlocks the door to my cell. “Not if I’m long gone before he finds you.”
Silver glints from his right hand.
Izzy notices it at the same moment I do.
“Marcus!” she cries, pulling his attention onto her. “Leave him alone, it’s me you want.”
He laughs, low and maniacal. “True, but what better way to make you suffer than to watch him hurt?”
Before I can blink, he brings his hand up, red splashing across my chest as he slashes an uneven line. It cuts right through my tattoo—the one I got of Izzy’s name at eighteen. It’s not a coincidence.
Izzy screams, while I hold in my grunt, desperate to not show her how much this hurts. The pain and fear in her eyes would bring me to my knees if I could move.
“I’m okay,” I mouth to her just as Marcus pushes the blade slowly into my side. I can’t hold in my cry as he rips it back out. Then his fist is slamming into my gut.
I lose track of the pain after a while. I focus on Izzy. On her perfect face that’s marred by tear tracks. One that holds depths of heartbreak.
But then suddenly—
The torment stops.
My body hangs limp, my head struggling to keep from lolling forward. Blood drips onto the floor below.
In my peripheral, Marcus steps back. He turns, leaving me in my cell.
But then the keys jingle as he unlocks the door to Izzy’s.
“No!” I roar, the sound loud, breaking free from deep within despite the lack of energy left inside me. “Iz!”
She locks eyes with me, then nods, closing them–resigning herself to whatever waits for her.
Marcus chuckles at her. He unbinds her from the table—the bruises around her wrists and ankles sends anger coursing through me.
I pull at the restraints holding me up, but they're strong.
“Izzy, baby. You gotta fight.”
She looks at me—so much resignation in her expression. Marcus steps in front of her view, blocking her from me.
“If you don’t want me to hurt him again, then you’ll do exactly as I say.”
There’s silence until he taunts, “Use your words.”
“Okay,” Izzy whispers—a broken sound.
“Iz, don’t listen to him. You fight, okay? Get both of you out of here.”
She sucks in a breath. I can’t see her, but I can feel her brain whirring, the cogs turning.
Marcus turns toward me. “You’re going to watch me fuck your wife, and she’s going to love every second of it. Just like the good little whore—”
Before he can finish, Izzy lunges forward, her hand curling around the knife in his hand. Blood drips as her palm closes around the blade, but the surprise is enough for his grip to loosen and for her to grasp hold of it.
She kicks out at him, sending him stumbling back as he hits the metal bars.
Izzy wastes no time. She brings the knife up above her head then swings it down—once, twice, three times. She stabs him over and over until she’s sure he’s dead, then a couple more times, just for good measure. The vindication—the satisfied gleam—in her eyes is clear.
She needed this.