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“I know you’re awake,” Marco jeers. “I know that you eavesdropped on my conversation.”
Something cold and hard presses against my temple, and my head lulls with the brutal force. My eyes open, and I see Marco standing above me, his gun pressed against my head. I release a soft whimper. My entire body is trembling. I can’t breathe right now. Fear, unlike anything before, takes hold of me; captures me in a moment of paralysis.
“You should have stayed in bed,” he sneers, his eyes wide and his teeth bared. He looks half feral, like a dog that’s killed and needs to be put down. “You should have never heard what we were discussing.”
“I won’t say a word,” I breathe. “Please,” I whimper. “I promise.”
He shakes his head. “I have no way of knowing if you’re truthful.” He pulls the trigger, and the gun goes off. The sound is muffled by the silencer, but it’s still loud enough that I flinch. I wait, expecting pain and death, but there’s nothing.
Laughter hits me, and I swallow back the fear as I once again look at Marco.
“Tut, tut,” he growls. “You really think it would be that easy? This is a six-barrel chamber, Portia, and only one bullet. Will you be lucky again?”
The bastard’s playing Russian Roulette. He thinks this is a game, that my life is something he can toy with. God, he’s a sadistic fucker. I hate him with every breath that I take. I wish I had the strength and courage to kill him, to do to him what he’s done to me and my father.
The gun clicks once again, and I can’t hold back the flinch as he shoots. Once more, there’s no bullet. Over and over again, he does it, pushing me to the brink of insanity. Just one more barrel left. This is it. This is when he kills me. I can feel it in my soul. He’s not a nice man. He’s never been one to show mercy. He’s torturing me, making me so scared that I can’t think straight. Every time he cocks the gun, I think this is it, and nothing. He's playing mind games.
“Look at you,” he growls. “So fucking weak. So feeble. You’re useless, just like your father.”
He clicks the gun once again, and I close my eyes, not wanting to see his twisted smile as he pulls the trigger. I won’t give him the satisfaction of being the last face I see when I die. No. I close my eyes and remember my father—the man who was the best man in the world, who was my best friend. I remember his smile and his warmth. He’ll be the last image I see when the fucker puts a bullet into my brain.
The gun cocks, and I take a steadying breath. This is it. This is the end. He pulls the trigger, and it’s as though time stands still. I hold my breath, waiting for the bullet to sink into my skull. But it doesn’t. There’s no pain, no blood, nothing.
I open my eyes to see the asshole laughing. “You really thought I’d lose out on the money that’s coming to me by killing you?” His eyes are filled with mirth, his laughter loud and boisterous. “No fucking way. You’re gone tomorrow, Portia. There’s no way in hell I’m going to lose the money you’re worth.”
My hands won’t stop shaking, my entire body has goosebumps, and my blood is ice cold. This man has instilled a fear in me like no other. I truly believed I was going to die, and for what? To give him and his asshole friends a laugh? God, I’m so stupid. So damn stupid. I should have known that if he was going to kill me, he’d have done it as soon as he entered the room. There was no other reason for him to be here other than to torture me.
“Tomorrow, Portia, you’re going to understand what it means to become a whore,” Marco says as he exits my bedroom. He flicks the light switch off as he exits, leaving my door ajar. No doubt wanting to hear if I move around again.
Darkness settles over my room once again, and I remain where I am, lying on my bed, tremors running through my body. I don’t think I’ll ever get the chill from my bones. I’ve never been as afraid as I was mere moments ago.
I feel wetness between my legs. My pajamas are soaked with urine. I hadn’t even realized I wet myself until now. Tears tumble down my face as I lie on the bed and try to calm my frayed nerves. I’m pathetic. I should have known Marco was just tormenting me. He’s a bastard who lives to have people fearful of him, and he’s just done that.
I’m not sure how long I lie in bed, the wetness soaking through me and the tears falling freely. I’m still shaking, my body frozen with fear and worry. The light from Marco’s office is still lit, and I know he’ll be up for a little while longer. He’s rarely out of the room, always planning his next move, always trying to be one step ahead of everyone.
With shaky legs, I climb out of bed and rush to the bathroom. I need to shower and get clean. I’m horrified that I’ve wet myself, and I need to get clean, get rid of the fear, and warm up.
I clutch at the wall as I walk across the room, my footsteps uneasy from the tremors that are still running through my body. I’m a mess. An utter mess.
This is not the girl my father raised. He’d be disappointed that I’m acting this way. My papa didn’t raise a quitter. No, he raised a goddamn fighter. Someone who knew their worth and knew what they had to offer the world.
I climb into the shower and let the hot water cascade down my body, washing away the fear that’s trapped inside.
My papa raised me to fight back and not become a woman enslaved to a man. He taught me how to protect myself, and tonight, I forgot every single thing he taught me. I was utterly paralyzed by what Marco was doing. I’ve never had a gun pointed at me; never been shot at, not knowing the barrel was empty. Russian Roulette is one of the deadliest, sickest games known to man, and yet Marco loved playing it with me.
But my papa was right. I am a fighter. I’m better than this. The fear may have paralyzed me for a moment, but it won’t own me like it does my mama. No fucking way. I’m a Leone. I’m a motherfucking Leone. My papa was a man who was loved and feared at the same time. He wouldn’t hurt you unless you betrayed his family. He showed everyone respect, and in return, they gave it back. He wasn’t a man who would take being betrayed lightly. He was still capable of evil things, but he wouldn’t show you what they were until you wronged him or the family. I am him. Everything good about my papa, I am. Everyone would always tell him I was his mini-me, and my papa loved that.
I’m not going to let Marco destroy me. I won’t let him get to me any longer. Tonight, I break free of the terror he has me under. It’s not going to be easy, but I have no other choice. I have to escape. If I don’t, there’s no hope for me. I’m praying that when I enter the night, I can disappear without a trace.
I quickly end my shower and dress for the occasion. I won’t be able to bring anything with me other than the clothes on my back. I need to ensure that I dress warm and have anything of importance on me.
I glance around my bedroom and see the photo of me and Papa. It was taken not long before his death. It’s one of my favorite photos of the two of us. Mama took the picture—she’s never been one to like having her picture taken. She’d much rather be the one taking them. I grab the locket that’s hanging on the frame and take that too. It doesn’t take me long to have everything I need and my window open, ready for my escape.
I should go to the Famiglia, to the family my papa gave his life for, but there’s a knot in my stomach that’s telling me not to. There’s something warning me that it’s not safe, and I’ve been taught to always trust my gut. I glance back at my room. My cell is on the bed, switched off. There’s no way I can bring it with me. If I did, they’d be able to trace it and it would lead them right to me. I take a deep breath and smile.
This is it.
I climb out of my window, careful not to make a sound. I’ve been sneaking around this house since we arrived after my papa was killed. I needed to know the lay of the land, and I found all the blind spots from the security cameras, along with the blind spots of the patrolling guards. This is my one chance. My only chance to escape. And I’m taking it with both hands.
