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My eyelids flutter, and I can’t tell if I’m dreaming or if I’ve been transported back to that serene moment.
For a fleeting instant, I feel safe and loved.
All too soon, the darkness pulls me further under, and I can’t hold on any longer.
The lullaby fades, and I’m left with nothing but the sensation of falling into an abyss.
The memories blend, and then, with an echoing silence, everything goes black.
CHAPTER TWO
Rachel
Eight years later
According to my research, he should be here by eight. A quick glance at my phone shows that it is exactly ten minutes to.
Instead of sitting around and having men gawk at me, I decide to go to the small restroom and refresh my lipstick. After all, I need to be absolutely delectable for the moment Luca Vitori walks in.
I pull on my short sequin black dress, then swallow the rest of my whisky, not wanting to leave my drink unattended with all the predators looming around. Then I smile at the waiter, Harvey, and pass him a twenty-dollar bill before taking off in the direction of the restrooms.
I have barely taken ten steps when someone reaches out and grabs my hand.
I feel a strong repulsion roll through me. The last thing I need tonight is to cause a scene, so instead I turn to whoever it is with a giant smile plastered on my face.
“Where are you running off to,piccola?”
I take a few seconds to mark this man’s features.
His eyes, a murky shade of brown, are shrouded in a layer of smugness that’s hard to ignore. They dart around the room, assessing the crowd, and occasionally, they linger a little too long on some unsuspecting women. It’s a predatory gaze that I’ve come to recognize all too well.
His salt-and-pepper hair is slicked back with an excess of gel, giving it a greasy sheen.
The unmistakable aroma of whisky emanates from him, and it’s not just a whiff; it’s a full-on assault on the senses. It clings to his breath and seeps into his clothing, making it clear that he’s been indulging in more than a few drinks tonight.
“I am running off to the little girl’s room but I will be right back.”
His teeth, as I’ve already noted, are stained a sickly yellow. They’re crooked and uneven. “Can’t it wait?”
Despite his less-than-appealing appearance, he seems to think he’s God’s gift to women, and his confidence, however misplaced, is palpable.
“Not really,” I reply, my smile growing wider as I try to keep up the charade. “But you can buy me a drink.”
He smiles back, and I can’t help but notice the leer in his eyes. “Hurry back,piccola.”
“Of course,” I lie smoothly, and with that, he finally releases his grip on my hand. I sigh in relief as I squeeze my way past the writhing bodies on the dance floor.
La Terrazza is heaving tonight, the music pounding so loud that I can feel the bass thumping in my chest. It’s the kind of night where you lose yourself in the crowd, where anonymity is your greatest ally. I need it to be this busy, to blend in with the crowds of people busy dancing the night away.
The restroom door swings open, and I slip inside, feeling the immediate relief of relative solitude. The dimly lit space is surprisingly clean, given the state of the rest of the bar. The walls are adorned with graffiti art, and the mirrors are covered in a haze of condensation and lipstick marks.
I take a moment to catch my breath and check my reflection. My makeup is still holding up, and my black dress clings to my curves in all the right ways. I give myself a nod of approval before heading to an empty stall.
As I’m washing my hands, I overhear snippets of conversation from the other women in the restroom. It’s the kind of chatter you’d expect in a place like this.
One of the women though mentions a name that makes me stop in place.
“I heard that she was sleeping with someone involved with Cosa Nostra, but no one has seen her since Saturday.”
