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It has been bothering me. I know I know this man.
I just don’t know how that could be possible if he’s been spending a majority of his time on the side of the DeSantis family.
A low chuckle escapes his wet lips, which glisten from the overhead lighting.
“No can do, Amato. On the off chance you survive what these men are planning to do to you, I won’t say a word.”
It’s my turn to laugh now. “You don’t seem to mind spreading info any other time.”
In one swift motion, he reaches out and grasps my throat with one hand, his warm fingers spreading out across my flesh as he squeezes my neck and grins. “Do you need me to teach you how to talk to someone in a superior position? You’re fucking tied up right now, you dumbass. You do not have the upper hand here, and your little fucking loser boyfriend isn’t going to rescue you from us this time.”
I hate to admit it, but I am letting my emotions seep into my actions right now. I need to bide my time and not show my hand, but here I am enticing this complete psycho. I need to back off.
Remi starts to stir but still lies sprawled on the cement.
“What do they want?” I ask him, deciding to switch my method. “What do they want with me? They can’t possibly want me to marry into their organization any longer, and Santiago is dead.”
Good fucking riddance.
I don’t assume he’ll tell me, but trying won’t hurt anything.
He stands up and walks a beat away from me before turning around, and suddenly, I’m catapulted back in time…to one year ago.
Footsteps echo in the hallway outside my bedroom. I left the door just barely ajar; only a sliver of the hall can be seen, just so I could hear when my father returned. I quickly stand, press my forehead against the side of the door, and peer out into the hallway with one eye.
And there he is...
Only it isn’t my father. It’s a handsome man with blond hair and bright-blue eyes. He’s probably a few years older than me, and while he’s good-looking, that’s not what captures my attention.
He's walking with two women. Both are handcuffed together with coverings over their faces. One woman has long dark hair and a petite frame. Her hair fans out from underneath her face covering. The other has blonde hair that cascades out from under her covering and over her shoulders.
The man jerks on their handcuffs as he yanks them down the hall to the locked stairwell. He looks down at the carpet before slowly looking back up, and I swear it feels like his eyes latch onto mine, but he doesn’t seem to have seen me.
Those eyes of his are cold. Bright but somehow…dead inside. Like their outer appearance is giving this façade of kindness, but deep down, he’s a monster.
It’s an indescribable feeling that washes over me as I stare at those eyes of his. Something haunting and almost demon-like. I shudder from the sheer magnitude of the force he exudes.
A creepy, crawly feeling washes over me as he yanks the cuffs again and says, “Let’s go, cunts. I told Gabriel you’d be dropped off five minutes ago. You’re not fucking me over today.”
His voice is so sharp it stings as he bites out the words.
The women's fear is palpable, and an extremely twisted feeling settles into my stomach.
An hour later I’m in my bed, weeping for the two women, just knowing they won’t make it out of this house alive. It’s the first time I really understand that something much more sinister is at play than what I thought before.
I wipe my tears with the backs of my hands, sit on my mattress, legs pulled up to my chest, and rock back and forth, trying to soothe myself as I think of the beautiful women and their families. Their children.
I know they aren’t getting out alive.
And it feels very parallel to my life, too.
Everything shifts, and it’s almost as if my world suddenly tilts so fast I can’t even see straight. The outliers of my vision become fuzzy as my breathing hitches, then becomes shallower and shallower with each struggling breath.
Holy fuck.
Holy fuck, holy fuck, holy fucking fuck.
I gulp down the sensation to throw up and look at Enzo again.
