I could barely see, but one of them picked me up.
My stepfather spoke above me which told me that I was in his arms, “Gianni called, wanting to know what was taking so long.”
Footsteps sounded.
They must have been carrying me off.
Vito spoke further away, “I was almost done warming her to the idea. Why did you stop me?”
“It didn’t look like you were warming her. It looked like you were going to do something else. We don’t need you making anymore. . .mistakes.”
“I. . .I was going to be good this time, Father—”
“Just call our men and tell them to have the car ready. You fucking sick bastardandyou took too damn long.”
“I needed time—”
“Now we’ll have to give her to Gianni in this goddamned ballerina outfit.”
No.
I opened my mouth to speak, and my throat burned in pain.
“And call Gianni. Tell him we will be less than ten minutes. Tell him not to worry. The wedding is still on.”
No. God help me.
I was trapped in a life I didn’t want, forced into a role I never asked for. And as much as I wanted to fight, to run, I knew deep down that there was no escape.
I did my best to not feel like some pathetic victim and give up.
Pain blazed on my throat, neck, and arms.
So what?
Every bruise, every scar Vito left on me would heal, but what Vito, Maximo, or even this Gianni could never touch was the fire burning inside me.
I wasn’t theirs.
I never would be.
And I would survive, no matter what it took, which meant that I would play their game. . .at least for now.
That being said. . . I may have been trapped, but I refused to let them steal things within me they could never own—my will to fight.
My light.
My unwavering soul.
For now, I was powerless, a pawn in their deadly little mafia game. And I was sure that the night ahead would be filled with nothing but uncertainty, sickness, and dread.
But, maybe, just maybe, I would find a way to take back control.
Because despite the fear gnawing at my insides, I clung to the hope that I could save myself.
I could gain back control.
Suddenly something cold and damp pressed against my face—a cloth. It was rough against my cheek and carried with it an overwhelming chemical stench. The scent filled my nostrils in an instant—sharp and cloying—forcing its way into my lungs.
