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My father as good as sold me to the Viper for no other reason than so Vito Rossi could brag about the Escobar name - like the infamous Pablo Escobar was actually a relation. He’s not, but I don’t think anybody cares past the kudos of the celebrity of a renowned cartel leader. And that meant there's never going to be any help from dear old papa. My mother is long gone. Dead, murdered, or fled. I have no idea. But whichever it is, she’s certainly better off than if she was here. Life with a man who would sell his own daughter was exactly how you’d expect it to be, for her as well as me. I’m glad she escaped. My only regret is she didn’t take me with her, whether in this life or the afterlife.
But right now, I have another challenge on my hands.
I study my two kidnappers from the corner of my eye. They are twins, I think, though one has a few days’ growth of stubble, making him appear a little different. Not different enough to be merely brothers; they’re too uncannily alike. Both have jet-black hair but the stubbled one, Cal, has been the most vocal so far, cursing and blaming me for their situation.
The other, the one who took off his balaclava first and who I’ve yet to learn the name of, is quieter but no less intimidating. He has a rugged handsomeness and a brooding presence to him. His eyes, a piercing blue, are filled with a darkness suggesting a past full of violence and danger. It is he who commands my attention. He appears to be in charge, and his calm and confident demeanor suggests he's used to being in control. The other has a softer look to him, but there's still a hardness in his eyes that tells me not to underestimate him.
I can already tell these are dangerous men, and of course, their ballsy actions confirm as much. But there's something about the way they move and the way they speak that tells me they are not common criminals. These men are not mere foot soldiers, following orders. They are professionals, and they know what they're doing.
I shift in my seat, trying to shake off the unease that threatens to overwhelm me. I don't know what they want with me or what they plan to do. All I know is they're dangerous, and I'm at their mercy.
Nevertheless, call me naive, but although I’m unsure of what my future holds, I can't shake the feeling it’s better than the alternative.
Well, that’s a no-brainer, isn’t it? My life with Vito during the past six months has been one that has driven me to contemplate suicide. Not that there has ever been the chance. The Viper is careful to make sure of that.
I suppose Vito might have killed me, and there have been times I’ve prayed for that, too. Six months of being confined to the Viper’s quarters in the compound with nothing to do, no one to talk to. Six months of humiliation, rape, and beatings have been enough for me to lose the will to live. I’ve learned to compartmentalize. To lose myself in my subconscious. To lock away the pain, the degradation, the violation, and the defilement so it doesn’t drive me insane. I can do all that again.
The only thing that keeps me going is the fragile filament of hope that I might escape, no matter how unlikely.
Today, I thought that final thread was going to be severed.
But today, I have escaped, and I doubt there’s anything worse these two men can do. But I still need information.
"Who are you?" I finally break the silence, directing the question at the quieter one I’ve decided is in charge. “Where are you taking me and what do you want me for?”
He doesn't answer immediately, instead studying me like I’m a bug under a microscope. Vaguely, I wonder what he sees, but I don’t really care. Just like when I was under Rossi’s thumb, I’ll seek to find out what I can, store away whatever knowledge I can acquire, and use it to free myself by whatever means possible.
I was naive and unsuspecting when the Viper came for me. But I have learned.
Learned to read people. Learned to blend into the background while I listen. Learned to filter information and tuck it away until it becomes useful.
Learned to protect my sanity, even while I was unable to protect my body.
People underestimate the resolve of someone who has nothing left to lose because they will do anything.
And so will I.
Chapter Five
CIARAN
She’s feisty, this Maricela Escobar. I like that in a woman.
She’s easy on the eyes, too, which is a surprise. I’d expected her to be much older, given the Viper is well into his fifties and has an ‘adopted’ son, who must be a similar age to his fiancée. I use the word adopted loosely since word on the street is that as a boy, Kaiden was handed over to the Viper as payment for a debt. Since then, the guy has pretty much become an unpaid lackey, doing all the dirty jobs the Viper doesn’t want to be associated with, if everything I hear is true.
Something about that knowledge makes me wonder if the same is true for this girl's situation. There’s a gauntness in her face and her frame and the kind of fatigue in her eyes, which speaks of hardship. Part of me wants to find out what could have put the look into the eyes of a young woman who has been living in the lap of luxury, a bona fide Mafia princess, but I push that part down.
It won’t do any of us any good. She’s nothing but a means to an end.
A lesson.
And as joint head of the Irish Mafia, no one would ever mistake me for a good man.
Our old man beat whatever softness our Ma instilled in us right back out again.
“That’s none of your concern,” I tell her coldly, but there must be something in my voice, because Callum narrows his eyes at me, then drags his eyes over the girl in a way that grates against my nerves.
She straightens her shoulders, and I can almost see her strengthening her will against whatever it is she believes. “I think you’re quite mistaken there. Since I’m the one you kidnapped, I think it concerns me very much.”
