Chapter 27
CHAPTER 27
VAL
I worked hard to keep my eyes open as we approached the front door of the dilapidated old house.
The overpowering stink of mildew and rot hit me in the face when we crossed the threshold. What had once been a beautiful middle-class Craftsman home had wasted away with filth and decay.
There was so much lovely detail put into the archways and the floors, all of it likely once a gorgeous cherry red, but now scuffed dry, chipped, and buckling in several places.
The armchairs in the living room had tiny cigarette burns on the arms and the cushions. And the couch’s backrest looked to be stained by sweat with something darker on the seat.
The leather upholstered rocking chair with antique brass grommets had a cracked wooden frame. A large section in the front had broken away. It probably still rocked back just fine but rocking forward looked impossible.
Luka swept his arm out theatrically in a ridiculous grand gesture to the living room.
“See?” he said. “You could’ve had all this. You could have made this house a home for us. All it really needs is a woman's touch. Could’ve been your palace after we fixed it up together.”
The only thing that would fix this home was a blowtorch.
Trash littered every room—food wrappers and beer bottles and crushed soda cans all over the place. Newspapers and magazines stacked so high they almost reached the ceiling.
Whether it was fuck-face Luka himself or the previous inhabitant of this house, whoever had lived there behaved like a damn hoarder.
We walked past the kitchen, and it oozed with the stench of rotting food and death.
Bits of fabric hung from a curtain rod over the kitchen sink window. At one time, the lace had been pretty, but now raggedy shredded strips fell off the wooden dowel, half eaten by insects.
An ancient refrigerator sat in the corner, and its door hung wide open with live mold spilling out of the containers inside.
Something about this house made me so sad.
If I looked closely, I could see the details revealing how deeply loved and cared for this place was in its prime. Now it seemed neglected past the point of no return.
For a moment, I wondered if that was going to be me.
Once Enzo grew up, had his own life, his own wife, his own children, and didn’t need to be on the run with me anymore, would he forget me like this house? Neglected and abandoned, left to rot away without a family to fill my days with love and light and warmth?
Without a partner to help take care of me.
Stefano's face popped into my head.
I remembered the date we’d had and how we lay in bed late into the night talking about the future we wanted. Growing old together, taking care of each other and our children, visiting our grandchildren.
That dream had quickly died between us.
The memory of us led me to wonder what Stefano’s truth really might be…
Was he truly the man I thought he’d become over the past ten years? Don Vignali, someday the king of all New York kings. Or was Stefano-the-mafia-boss the mask he forced himself to wear for the sake of his family? For the code.
Thinking about the Stefano I’d known first, the man I fell so hard for once upon a time, could that have been a mask worn by the mafia monster?
I just didn't know.
Luka’s voice startled me out of my thoughts.
“This home was built for my grandmother,” he said. “She was like you. A woman who understood her place and took care of the home. My mother, though… she was different. She didn’t deserve this house. I’d hoped to bring Benedetta here. But now I realize that’s not in the cards for us.”
“Because she didn't love you?”
I hadn't meant to say it out loud, but it grew increasingly harder to focus my thoughts or even control which of them came tumbling out of me.
My mind grew hazier, and my body throbbed with pain.
Luka’s eyes flashed with rage as he tightened his jaw and swung back a hand to strike me as he had at the school.
I couldn't control the flinch.
When he saw it, he smiled and dropped his hand.
As if he’d won.
Shit. Maybe he had.
“No, that’s not it,” he said. “It’s because her father wouldn't allow her to marry someone she loved. Instead, he sold her like a prized pig. So I moved on, and I thought for a time that maybe you were the kind of woman who could cherish this home.
“You know, as a poor widow with a child, living above a café, I imagined you would appreciate a home like this.”
I needed to keep talking, to keep the conversation going, to stay in the present and not lose my thoughts.
“I already have a home,” I blurted.
Talking meant I could ground myself, which meant I could stay awake and be alert longer. If I lost consciousness, especially after all the blood I’d lost, I might never wake up.
Although I believed Stefano would take care of Enzo, that wasn’t the life I wanted for my son.
Enzo and Stefano knew each other now, making it impossible to put the genie back in the bottle. That had no bearing on my aversion to handing Stefano the reins. He would not be the one deciding how to raise my son.
So I needed to fight.
And I needed to remember who I fought for.
My grandmother had always said, pain reminded us that we were still alive. When we felt pain, we had to remember why we pressed onward, why we continued fighting.
I pressed my hand against the bullet wound on my upper arm, trying to staunch the bleeding again.
And to feel the pain.
The agony came roaring back, and it sharpened my resolve.
If the ensuing adrenaline burst woke me enough to keep my wits about me, I would take as much pain as I could get.
So I kept my hand there, pressing harder when my eyelids grew heavy, or when my vision blurred.
Luka dragged me through the horrible, decomposing house until he stopped at a wooden door with peeling paint. Once he opened it, that door yawned down a steep staircase, fading into the darkness below.
Goosebumps raised over my skin, covering my entire body as I stared into the abyss.
“No,” I whispered.
I tried to back away from the door. I knew what basements meant. People disappeared into them, never to be seen again.
“You don't get to say that to me,” Luka shouted.
In the next second, he claimed a fistful of my hair again and jerked me after him down the stairs.
My options were to be dragged down or thrown down, and I didn’t need a concussion on top of everything else, though I couldn’t be sure I didn't already have one.
I complied just enough to stumble down the stairs.
“What exactly do you want from me, Luka?”
“Only what I deserve. And you’ll call me Donnie, you disobedient bitch.”
The only thing you deserve is a bullet between your eyes.
I bit my tongue to keep from sharing that one out loud.
“And what do you think you deserve… Donnie?” I asked.
“The same as every man. A beautiful woman to keep my home, warm my bed, raise my children, and serve me. Just like God intended. No more, no less.”
Oh, mother of Christ. I prayed Stefano came quickly, so I could escort this spineless coward straight to hell.
I stopped in my tracks. The basement was by far the worst part of the house, and it had nothing to do with the smell.
Photos of Benedetta covered every inch of the back wall. The images ranged from when she’d been a young girl around the age of ten to earlier today as she left Stefano's house in the gorgeous sheath dress she wore that morning.
“What are you, her stalker?”
A sneer marked his lips, his entire face.
“I'm the love of her life,” he said. “And she’s mine, the Juliet to my Romeo. Which barely makes you Rosaline, doesn’t it?”
The last part didn’t quite make sense, but I didn’t have the patience for fucking Shakespeare references.
But if he thought of himself as a star-crossed teenage boy who would end his own tragedy by killing himself, I sure as hell wouldn’t stop him.
“Then why did you bring me here? You want me to… what? Clean the basement for you?”
“You misunderstand. Caring for my home is a privilege reserved only for my wife. You had your chance, but that’s gone now. Honestly, I should’ve taken it from you the second I found out about Enzo's father.”
He just kept talking and talking as he trudged across the basement, his fingers still entangled in my hair.
“The second I saw the engagement announcement, it was all right there, staring me in the face. Vignali standing there beside my Benedetta. How much Enzo looks like him. I knew then what had happened, just like I knew you were nothing more than a worthless whore.
“But I’m a decent man. I still gave you a chance. An opportunity to better yourself, to provide a better life for you and your son. You just weren't smart enough to take it.”
I shook my head to keep it clear, to keep myself thinking.
“So you brought me here because I wouldn’t date you?”
Luka looked at me in surprise and clicked his tongue.
“Really, Valerie? This isn’t even about you now. I brought you here because everyone knows the best way to kill a rat is to lay a trap. And every trap needs something the rat wants.”
“So I’m the bait,” I seethed through my teeth.
“Something like that.”
He yanked me to the back of the basement, spun me around, and shoved me against the wall plastered with photos. Before I could react, he’d pinned me there against the cold concrete with nothing other than his hand on my throat.
I wanted to fight him, but my arms weighed so much. My failed attempt only knocked a few photos off the wall.
Holding me there with one hand, he fished around for something dangling beside me.
Metal clinked near my ear, then a harsh, cold weight settled around my neck with a heavy click. Then my wrists.
I could hardly hold myself up anymore.
Luka stepped back, tilting his head, grinning like a madman as he admired his accomplishment.
I stepped forward to pull away from the wall, but the cold metal stopped me short and jerked me back with clinking and rattling. The back of my head cracked against the stone, rustling more photos as I thumped against the wall.
The sick fuck had chained me to his Benedetta gallery.
His gaze moved up and down my body as he continued patting himself on the back.
“Let's see if your lover is as smart as you think he is. What do you say? Can he follow the clues to find you before it’s too late?”
“What do you mean, it’s too late?” I asked.
My eyelids fluttered as I struggled against not only the chains, but also my quickly draining strength.
“Too late for what?” I repeated, now slurring consistently.
“Well, for starters, Valerie, you won’t be able to put pressure on that wound anymore.”
He slid his fingers beneath my sweater and violently ripped at it. The sleeve split, tearing away from where it had stuck to the bullet wound.
I bit back a scream, still not willing to give him the satisfaction of my pain even as I broke into a cold sweat. Hot blood ran down my arm, splattering against my hip.
He tapped his stupid fucking chin without realizing he smeared my blood on his stubble.
“You’ve already lost a lot of blood. And judging by how much you’re still bleeding, I’ll give it an hour. Maybe a few more minutes because it's so cold in here and that might slow it down a bit. Do you think he’ll get here before you die?”
A dark laugh escaped me.
“Doesn’t matter if I’m dead or alive. He's going to kill you.”
“He won’t catch me. But hey, you know what? Since I’m such a nice guy, I’ll give him a fighting chance.”
He reached into his pocket, pulled out his cell phone, and showed me the picture he took earlier at the school.
Me, on the floor, glaring at him from a pool of my blood.
“I’m going to print this as a little gift for him. Put it somewhere fun. The courier will have to fetch it first, then deliver it. That could take up to an hour, depending on traffic, I guess.”
He shrugged and smiled like the evil man he was.
“So Valerie, is there enough time for him to find you?”