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I could push his buttons to see where his allegiances lie, but I decide against it. I feel the same pull toward Celia as my brother and Matteo do. I wouldn’t harm her in any way. I want to protect her, but to do that, we need more information.
“Now, we make them pay,” I respond before turning on my car. “Take Antonio to Celia’s apartment and see what you can get her to tell you, then bring her to the house for dinner.
“What about our meeting?”
“I can handle the meeting alone,” I respond before pulling away from the curb, pointing it toward the club.
We are going to get the truth out of Celia because that’s the only way to protect her. But the question remains: Does she need protection from the Irish or from us?
CHAPTERELEVEN
CELIA
This can’t be happening.I slam the door shut behind me before crumbling to the floor, my bag clutched tightly in my hands.
The voice said she’d be taken care of, that if I did what they said, nothing would happen to her, and we could go on with our lives. But why did they send me her finger?
A shrill scream tears at my lungs. My mind is a complete blur as I curl into a small ball, my heart ripped open for the world to see. My pain feels as if it’s bleeding all over the floor as I sink deeper and deeper into despair.
I need to keep it together, to focus on the task at hand, but I can’t seem to wipe the image of her severed finger from my mind. Terror wraps tightly around me, pulling me deeper into the depth of my emotions. It rips through my body, my heart pounding in my chest as I reach for my bag and pull out the small box.
Open it. Open it and see what they did.
My mind calls out to me, but I refuse. Knowing that once that box is open, there will be no coming back. Another scream bubbles from my lips. My fingers rake down my arms, hoping the pain will bring me back into focus. Hoping it’s anything else but my sister’s severed finger in my bag. I scream for my sister. I scream for strength. I even scream for the voice in my apartment to put me out of my misery. I scream for anyone to come and save me from this despair. But no one comes. No one answers my pleas, and I sink deeper.
I can’t fight it, and if I’m being honest, I don’t want to. Giving in to these emotions gives me a moment of peace. A moment of clarity that no matter whether I get the information for these men or not, my sister’s life will be forfeit. They don’t give a shit about either of us; they only want information to bring the Genoveses down. Maybe the only way to save my sister is to trust the men they sent me to destroy.
Am I fucking nuts?Psychotic laughter bubbles from my lips as I sink deeper into my emotions. Instead of fighting to keep my mind focused on the task at hand, I sink deeper, begging the darkness to take over so I don’t have to deal with these feelings anymore.
“Celia!” I vaguely hear someone calling my name as they pound loudly on my front door.
I should call out to them, beg them to save me, but my voice is stuck in my throat. Clogged by all the emotions bubbling out of me.
“Celia, open the fucking door,” another voice rings through the door, begging me to let them in, to let them help me.
Someone heard my screams, my pleas for peace, and they’ve come to rescue me. But can they be trusted? Can they help me get control over the pain? Can they save my sister?
“We’re going to kick in this door. I’m counting to three.”
I crawl away from the door, sobs wracking my entire body. I know the voice on the other side of the door is serious, that they will get in here by any means necessary. I don’t care who is calling out to me. It could be the men holding my sister here to end my suffering. I welcome it. Anything to stop the pain radiating throughout my entire body. I know I should fight, but what’s the point if I can’t change the outcome?
“Three!” The sound of wood splintering and crashing to the floor fill the room.
My head pops up, prepared to accept my fate when someone kneels in front of me.
“Piccolo passero.” Little sparrow,the voice whispers, nuzzling their nose into the side of my face. Inhaling deeply, I catch a whiff of a masculine, woodsy scent with a hint of oriental flavor and something distinctly him, unique to one person—Matteo. It’s a comforting smell, one that lulled me into the deepest sleep that night at the club when Mr. Black attacked me. A smell that means protection and makes me feel safe.
Screams and sobs mix as someone else’s hands flit all over my body, but I’m unable to stop. Now that I’ve opened the floodgates to my emotions, they are like a hurricane, engulfing anything in their path.
I don’t want to feel. I don’t want to be here. Please, I beg you to leave me be.
“We aren’t letting you go,piccolo passero.” His deep voice rumbles through my body, and I snuggle further into his arms, clutching his shirt in my hands as my mind calms, allowing me to think past the pain radiating through my body.
“They cut off her finger…” I sob, tilting up my head and seeing his golden eyes filled with pain and anguish.
“Who?” another voice filters to my ears as fingers caress my cheek.
Turning my head slightly, I see Antonio’s face pinched in anger, but there’s a softness to it. He grips the back of my neck, pulling me toward him and planting a kiss on my forehead. My emotions calm further but still simmer under the surface, ready to break free at a moment’s notice.
