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Freezing in place, I try to process his words. He takes the opportunity to grind against me.
“Please,” I whimper, trying my hardest to chase away the scared thirteen-year-old girl within me. My brain at war with what’s happening to me and the words it’s trying to understand. His hand moves from my breast to the bottom of my hoodie, lifting it up and exposing my stomach.
“Did Dante ever tell you how he slit your father’s throat? How, like a coward, he came in the night while your father was sleeping, defenceless.”
No.
No, no, no, no.
Tears prick behind my eyes as my body sags. This can’tbe true. Dante would never…why? A sob escapes me as Tony roughly pushes my hoodie up, pinching my nipple through my bra. It hurts, but I’m no longer in my body. Like the little girl I was when it first happened to me, I go into a space in my head where only happy thoughts exist. Except that space is now filled with memories of Dante. Dante, who killed my dad. Dante, who’s the reason I was orphaned, alone and left to the system.
Anger races through my veins as Tony busies himself with undoing the buttons on my jeans, his fingers brutally ripping them off. He doesn’t pay me any attention, too wrapped up in what’s about to happen to notice my hands are no longer behind me or that my feet aren’t bound. In a split second, hours of training with Dante kick in, and with my mind shut off to anything but escaping what’s about to happen, I let my muscles take over, following the pattern of movements I practised over and over again. Relax, push, kick, flip, hold, tense, push. The next time I blink, I’m on top of Tony as he lies face down on the floor with my rope tight against his throat, one hand pushing his head down, the other pulling at the constraints tightening around his neck. My whole body shakes with fury as he tries to kick me off balance, but Dante trained me well, teaching me where to dig my knee in if I want to incapacitate a larger, much stronger opponent. Tony gurgles beneath me, his hands reaching for the rope, trying to purchase a grip, pull it away. He didn’t expect the strength a girl can possess when she’s about to be defiled. Bile rises in my throat as I squash down silent sobs. Too close, this was too close. And if it weren’t for Dante, I’d not have had a chance of getting free.
Then again, if it wasn’t for Dante, would I even be in this situation? I shake my head, focusing back on the man beneath me, squeezing the rope tighter until, finally, his jerks become softer and his whole body sags.
With my heart beating out of my chest, I get up shakily, taking a few steps away from the body on the floor, my eyes locked on the large, unmoving frame. My knees buckle, and I have to hold onto whatever piece of furniture is next to me, covered in a white sheet, just to avoid falling back down on the floor.
On unsteady legs, I back out all the way to the door, making sure Tony doesn’t move. Jesus Christ, I killed a man. A bad man who was about to rape me, then kill me. But still. I killed someone. My hand flies to my mouth as I force a sob back down my throat, looking at Tony’s body one last time before turning around and opening the door to the corridor. My eyes are assaulted with bright light, and for a second I can’t breathe for fear I’ll get caught, standing here like a blind mouse ready to be eaten by the fat cat. But then, by some miracle, my vision adjusts, and I take light steps on a plush carpet covering the floor, grateful for it as it cushions the sounds of my footsteps. My ears straining for any sounds, I slowly make my way down the corridor, trying to figure out if Tony and I were the only people left in here or if there are others I should be aware of.
A commotion coming from downstairs makes me halt my steps as I strain my ears to listen. Shouts, whispered orders and gunshots. Then my head turns back to where I came from as the sound of a loud crash and a pained groan reaches my ears. With my heart in my throat, I push the doors I’ve been leaning on open and close them behind me just as Tony barrels out of the room we were in.
44
ALESSA
Flinching, I listen with my ear against the door as more gunshots are fired somewhere downstairs. Whatever is going on down there, every instinct in my body screams at me to stay as far away as possible. But staying upstairs is no longer an option either. Not when Zombie-Tony has risen and is definitely not going to be gentle with me when he finds me. Seriously, what does a girl have to do around here to keep a guy dead?
Breathing harshly, with my back blocking the door, I look around the room. It’s bigger than the one Nicolosi originally put me in. There’s a large bed in the middle, a couple of pieces of furniture covered in white sheets, and a door that most likely leads to an en suite bathroom. Rushing to the one which is as tall as a desk should be, I lift the covering and exhale with relief when I do, in fact, find a desk. There’s a chance there’s something inside I could use as a weapon.
And even though my heart is half convinced the whole ordeal is futile and everything will be empty, judging by the thick layer of dust around me, I’m shocked to find I amwrong. Opening the first drawer of the mahogany desk, I find it full of odds and ends, as if whoever lived here stepped out for just a minute and never returned. There are fountain pens, pencils, a ruler, and an old-school calculator, amongst other things. I grab the sharpened pencil, remembering all the ways I imagined I could stab a person with one, but then my eyes catch on the sharp letter opener and I quickly swap it, forgoing my pen-icide plans.
I quickly close the top drawer as quietly as I possibly can and check the one below. This one is filled with paperwork, all dated nearly two decades ago from what I can see. Sifting through the forgotten letters, newspaper clippings and bills, my eyes snag on a name and my heart flutters in my chest.
Alessandro Carusso.
Holy shit.
Holding my breath, I look through the rest of the contents, finding his name on almost every single one. Could this be Alessandro Carusso’s house? Could this be the place where he lived with his wife? Did I spend my first three years of life here? It would make Nico Nicolosi one twisted asshole to bring me into my childhood home just to kill me. I wouldn’t be surprised, though. From the little interaction I’ve had with him, I can tell he’d relish the idea.
Biting my bottom lip, I close the drawer and look around the room with fresh eyes. Could this have been my parents’ bedroom? For a second, I forget why I’m here, who’s outside and what’s going to happen to me if anyone finds me. For a second, I choke on my own tears as I take in the space I probably came into often. Did I sleep in the huge bed withthemwhen I had nightmares? My feet take me to the piece of furniture, and I can’t help but sit on the cloth-covered mattress. A spring digs into my ass as I bounce up and down, wondering which side of the bed was my mother’sand which my father’s. Is this the bed Dante killed my dad in? Where was I?
Noticing the nightstands, I pry the door open and find it empty, except for an upturned picture frame. I slowly pull it out and flip it in my hands as a crash outside startles me. It’s too near for comfort, but I couldn’t care less as I stare at the faces of my mother and father smiling at each other on their wedding day. Rosa and Alessandro Carusso.
I’ma Carusso. Alessandra Carusso. Not Jones like I thought my whole life. I trace my finger over the simple white dress with laced sleeves and high neckline my mother adorned, a true reflection that you don’t need an elaborate outfit to highlight one’s beauty.
With a door smashing nearby, I flinch once again and get up, closing the door to the nightstand with my boot as I stuff the picture frame in the waistband of my jeans and cover it with my hoodie. There’s no way I’m leaving it behind, and I don’t have the time to fiddle with the frame.
“I will fucking find you,puttana,” comes a growl from right behind the bedroom door, and I shoot across the room to the one thing large enough to hide in.
Clutching the letter opener in one hand I lift the white covering up and stop, my breaths coming in shallow as my eyes take in the antique looking wardrobe in front of me.
Something in me screams,get as far away from this thing as possible, but I have no idea why. I still haven’t moved, my body frozen in place as my brain urges my limbs to move.
Reach the fuck out, Alessa and open the door, it says.Get the fuck inside and hide, it screams at me. But no matter what I should be doing, the fact of the matter is I’m not doing it. In fact, cold sweat covers my body as my eyes take in the intricately carved details on the outside.
“There’s a snaggy nail in the left corner,” I whisper, dread pooling in my stomach. Seeing the exact space I’mthinking about in my mind like I’ve stared at it so long it was burned onto my memory. Light floods the room as the door to the corridor opens, but I ignore it. I ignore the loud roar from the man rushing toward me. I ignore his heavy footsteps as he gets closer and closer.
My world shattering around me while Iremember.
