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Like one of the guards let himself in the house in the middle of the night to watch—of all things—reruns of I Dream of Jeannie.
Like the other guard, apparently, sometimes snuck away at night to go screw some girl a block over.
I cataloged all of this, clinging to each bit of information because it was all I had in the world at that point.
On the fourth day, I heard footsteps on the stairs.
I should have been filled with dread, should have had my stomach tightening, my heart hammering.
What did I feel instead?
Relief.
Because, one way or another, I was going to get out of this goddamn basement.
Maybe that would be freely and with Arturo's blessing.
Maybe that would be under the cover of night while I snuck out.
Or maybe it would be with parts of me in garbage bags.
But it was out.
Out was all I cared about at that point.
"Christ. When was the last time you showered?" Arturo's voice called, making me stiffen, having an idea I knew what was to follow. "Go home. Clean up. You can't represent this family looking like that."
And there it was.
The order I expected.
I was completely on my own now.
Christopher would come back. Of course he would. But maybe it would be too late at that point. And if I survived this meeting, I would likely have a new guard, one who didn't care if I ate or used the bathroom. At least temporarily, until Chris could get him to leave.
I took a deep breath, making sure the handcuff key was safely tucked under my tongue, looking up as the door slid open.
Arturo Costa looked rough.
Dark circles framed his eyes even though he had seemed to spend most of his time in bed. His skin was pale, his face bloated. Likely from all that crappy food he'd been ordering. And not to mention all the alcohol I was sure he'd been drinking.
"What? No pleading for your life?" he asked, voice low, almost bored-sounding.
I couldn't help but wonder if that was because Lorenzo wasn't around. Clearly, Lorenzo was the workhorse of the family, was the one who handled the day-to-day operations of a massive criminal empire.
Arturo was the sort to sit on his throne and look down at all the peasants, not the sort to actually work. He thought he was above all of that. But now he had no choice but to deal with it all.
Good.
I was glad he was struggling.
I hoped he hated every moment of it.
"I'm too cold and tired," I told him, letting my voice be a little weaker than I wanted it to.
I was a woman with some pride. I had been doing so much my whole life, handling everything for everyone, never breaking under the pressure. It killed me not to be able to lift my chin, to give him direct eye-contact, to let my attitude slip into my voice.
But men like Arturo Costa, they liked women small and weak and subservient.
I had to play my part if I wanted to survive.
"Well, that will make you think twice about trying to involve yourself in business that has nothing to do with you."
Nothing to do with me.
Meanwhile, I had been the one kidnapped because of said business.
Asshole.
"Am I going to stay down here forever?" I asked, going ahead and forcing my lower lip to tremble.
"That depends."
"On?"
"Many things. You are currently the reason I will be out of a not unsubstantial sum of money every month."
"I was actually thinking about that," I started, then launched into it, making sure not to sound too sure of myself, mumbling a lot, kneecapping my sentences.
In the end, he was quiet for a long moment.
"Why would you know all of that?" he asked, suspicious.
"My father would sometimes leave town without notice for days or even weeks," I claimed. It was pure and utter bullshit, but I damn near believed myself when I said it. "I was always worried about our business, about our debts," I added, looking up at him.
"He was never very reliable. I will think about it," he told me, turning, making his way to the door.
"For how long?"
"However the fuck long I want to think about it. Couple days. Couple weeks. Get comfortable. I'm not done punishing you for what you've done. You need to learn your lesson before we can talk about the next steps."
With that, the door slammed, locked.
I really thought I had him.
I thought I was convincing enough.
Maybe I had been.
But then I'd made a mistake.
I'd questioned him.
To men like Arturo Costa, the world revolved around them. Your time meant nothing.
Shit.
Days? I could handle days.
Weeks? I wasn't so sure about that.
And I didn't think I could handle months, either, if those months were going to be filled with men coming in to punish me.
He had made the decision for me, then.
I had to escape.
