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He’s gone.
Oh God, he’s gone.
ONE
PORTIA
THREE MONTHS LATER
The wall to the office opens and light floods the dark tunnel. I don’t know how much time has passed, but the dimly lit lights that paved a way to an unknown exit, turned out a while ago. I’ve been sitting in the dark, wondering what to do next.
My heart beats wildly as I blink at the harsh light. I hold my breath, hoping and praying that it’s Umberto. Papa said he would be coming.
“There you are, you fucking bitch,” I hear a man snarl, instantly recognizing the voice of the man who shot my father.
“Portia,” Mama whispers, her eyes red and puffy. She rushes toward me and pulls me into a hug. “Oh, mia cara ragazza, I was so worried,” she sobs, holding me tighter than necessary. “They killed him, Portia. They killed your father.”
I swallow at the utter devastation I hear in her voice. “What are they planning on doing?” I ask, needing to know what the animals are going to do with us.
She pulls me behind her back as we walk into the office. There are five men standing around the room, positioned in a way to ensure we don’t escape. My mama keeps her hands tight against my arm, blocking my view from the men’s view.
“What do you want from us?” Mama asks, her voice shaky but clear.
“You, Cagna, are going to do as I tell you or I’ll shoot your daughter, just as I did your husband.”
I hear my mama’s sharp intake of breath. “What is it that you want me to do?”
I peer around Mama and see the smirk the man’s wearing.
“You’re going to become my wife, and that daughter of yours is going to live with us.” He pulls out a long knife from behind his back. “If you don’t, then her pretty throat will be slit.”
I gasp awake, my body drenched in sweat, every inch of me covered. I’m struggling to breathe as memories from the night of my papa’s death haunt me yet again. It’s been three months and I’m not over it. I dream about it every single night. No matter how hard I try, I can’t stop the nightmares from coming.
I blindly reach out for the night light, needing my room to be illuminated as I try to suck in some much-needed oxygen. My body is in pain. I disobeyed Marco, and that’s something he doesn’t take too kindly to.
Over the past three months, I’ve only felt his wrath a handful of times. All of which he twisted around to make it seem as though it was my fault. He’s never to blame for anything that happens. He’s a monster. And I’m not the only one he hurts. My mama has it worse than I do. She tries to take the brunt of what’s happening to protect me.
Once I’m able to calm down and get my heartrate to a normal rhythm, I climb out of bed and creep out of my room in search of a drink. I need to take a few minutes to let the lingering memories of the nightmare fade away.
I tiptoe down the hall, careful not to make noise. I come to a stop when I see Marco’s office door is ajar, and there’s light spilling out. I edge closer, hoping I can get past the room without him seeing me, but his words have me freezing.
“Yes, the girl is going to catch a pretty penny. She’s a virgin, which means she’ll go for a lot more.” Marco’s words are filled with glee.
“Your wife won’t take too kindly to you selling her daughter,” Montoya says with a chuckle. He’s Marco’s righthand man, and he’s sleazy and won’t stop looking at my boobs whenever I’m around. “Then again, your wife doesn’t say much anymore.”
No. She’s been brutally trained to keep her mouth shut and not disobey the man of the house. My mama’s terrified of upsetting him because that leads to him hurting her. I don’t blame her. She’s stuck in a position where she has no escape, and she’s doing whatever it takes to survive, to keep the both of us alive.
“Tomorrow night, the bitch will be gone and out of my hair for good,” Marco says. “The shipment of girls is leaving at three am. There’s two million on the line for this deal. Anyone who fucks up will pay the price.”
My eyes are wide and my breathing is heavy as I realize what they’re talking about. I quickly tiptoe back to my room and close the door, my heart racing.
He’s selling me. He’s trafficking me.
Tears fall from my eyes as I climb into bed and pull the sheets to my neck. A tremor runs through my body as I hear the floorboards outside of my room creak beneath the weight of someone. I hold my breath, hoping and praying they’ll continue on past my room, but they don’t.
My tears continue to fall, and I clutch the sheets to my body tightly, praying that whoever’s at my door, they move away.
I pull in a sharp breath as my bedroom door slowly opens. I close my eyes tightly when the bedroom light illuminates the room. My stomach drops as I hear a click. I know that noise. I’ve heard it so many times before. It’s the sound of a gun cocking.
