Page 82 of The Agreement


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The blood drains from my face. “Are...are you the one who messaged me on my phone all those months ago?”

Even before he nods, I know he is. My heart somersaults into my throat. My stomach seems to bottom out. "Wh-what do you want?” I take a step back, trying to put distance between us only, he moves forward.

"How can you ask me that question?” His smile widens. “After all the messages we’ve exchanged over the years…"

My pulse booms at my temples. “I never messaged you back, you creep.”

“Is that anyway to speak to your future husband?”

“Future husband?” I swallow. “You’re crazy.”

“Tell that to your father; he promised you to me.”

“My father has no say in my future. I’ve severed all links to him.”

“Then he won’t be here to help you, will he?”

“Leave, before I c-call the cops.”

“You know you won’t. You may have left the mafia, but you’re well aware calling the cops will lead right back to your father, and possibly, endanger his businesses.”

He’s right. Being suspicious about cops is too ingrained in my blood. I glance about the room, then back at him.

“I... I’ll complain to my father. He won’t be happy about you threatening me,” I burst out.

“You just told me you severed all ties with him.”

My stomach heaves. My guts churn.No, no, no, this can’t be happening. Why wasn’t I more careful before I opened the door?You’d think being born into a mafia family would’ve made me more careful about trusting strangers; apparently, cutting all ties with them lulled me into a false sense of security. That’s the only explanation for how I could have walked into this

He takes a step forward, and I slide back. Sweat pools under my armpits, and my guts churn.This can’t be happening.I left all this behind when I left the mafia. It’s one of the reasons I turned my back on my family. It’s why I cut ties with them. Why I haven’t contacted them since I left. Why I won’t dare call my father for help. He’s right, I have no one to turn to. No one.

He must see the despair on my features, for his face breaks into a smile. It’s an almost pleasant smile that makes him look far younger than his years. He’s only a few years older than me, probably. And he almost has an innocent face, except for his eyes. The manic glint in them confirms he’s not a rational man. I take a step back, another, then pivot and race toward my bedroom. Only I trip over the carpet, fall, and bang my forehead against the coffee table.

Pain shoots through my head. Flashes of light dot my vision. I manage to maneuver my body so I fall on my back. I lay there, winded. Specks of black flicker at the corners of my eyes. Footsteps approach me, then the stranger’s visage fills my line of sight. He looms over me, and fear crackles across my nerve-endings. I try to push myself up, but my arms and legs don’t seem to work.

He drags his gaze across my breasts, down my waist, between my legs to my feet then back to my face. "You want me, don’t you, Abigail? It’s why you’re laid out prone in front of me."

I shake my head, try to speak, but a ball of terror clogs my throat. I try to breathe, but my lungs burn.

His lips turn up in a smile.

"I was born to belong to you, Abigail. And you to me. You know that, don’t you?”

“No, I don’t. And you saying it aloud is not going to make it true.”

He wipes the smile off his face. “Enough of this talking.” He reaches for me, but I evade him.

"Don’t touch me." I manage to force the words out from between my numb lips.

His features seem to crumple. That crazed look returns to his eyes. "That wasn’t very nice, sweet Abigail. I guess I have work to do to convince you to fall in love with me."

"You are deluded," I spit out.

"Maybe. But you need me."

"No, I don’t." I swallow.

"I’m going to change your mind, you’ll see." He straightens and pulls on the cuffs of his shirt. He rearranges his features, and that demented look I saw in his eyes disappears. Once again, he wears that pleasant expression I glimpsed through the peephole.

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