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The wedding is in a month—the weekend before Valentine’s Day. I asked to push it closer to spring, but Niccolo insisted that we do it sooner rather than later.
It seems like just yesterday it was Christmas. Nic and I were eating ham and potatoes on the couch, watching Jim Carrey’s The Grinch. Everything seemed like it would take care of itself, and I didn’t have a care in the world.
Now, the bitterly cold January wind whips me in the face, taunting me with its icy clutches. Each gust stings my cheeks and numbs my nose, making it hard to catch my breath. I dart from Seaver Center to the McCade Library, trying to cram homework in between classes.
My watch buzzes when there are ten minutes left before Niccolo’s class, and I pack my bag and bundle up to face the harsh winter wind again. It’s supposed to be 30 degrees outside, but the Kansas wind chill has gotten it down to 15. Exposed skin can get frostbitten in weather like this, and I make a mad dash for Brewer Hall.
The once lively and bustling campus grounds lay deserted today. The usual gathering spots are eerily still, devoid of chatter and laughter. Everybody is afraid of the cold, and they hole up in the library or their dorm room to hang out and study. It’s the perfect weather for curling up by the fire with a cup of cocoa.
Instead, I’m walking from one class to another. I momentarily consider cutting through the Student Union building for warmth, but it’ll add an extra five minutes to my walk, so I decide to go around the building.
As I round the corner, my heart jumps into my throat as I come face to face with a pair of looming figures. Clothed entirely inblack, they blend into the shadows of the building behind them. It takes me a second to get my bearings after I spin around, but I recognize one of the men standing before me.
“Gio?” I look up at my uncle. “What are you doing here?” The nagging voice in my head says to turn around and run, but I ignore it because my uncle would never hurt me.
“Chrissy,” he smiles, “am I glad to see you.”
A sharp and sudden surge of fear grips my chest, causing my heart to race and my thoughts to scatter like frightened birds. Did they hurt Nic? Is he safe? Will I arrive at his classroom to find him lying in a pool of his own blood on the cold tile floor? The possibilities swirl in my mind, each more terrifying than the last.
“I wanted to introduce you to your fiancé. Chrissy, this is Rocco,” he gracefully steps to the side, gesturing towards the well-dressed gentleman standing behind him. “Rocco, this is your future wife. Isn’t she pretty?”
The enforcer is just as fearsome in person as he is in the pictures I’ve seen of him. His face bears thick scars from past battles, a testament to his strength and brutality. But it’s his eyes that truly strike terror into my heart. They hold a crazed look, like a predator ready to pounce on its prey. The intensity of his gaze makes me want to run for cover. This man is not someone to be trifled with, and I can’t help but feel small and insignificant in his presence.
As he extends his hand to shake mine, my courage falters. I am paralyzed by fear, unable to move or speak as his outstretched hand lingers between us.
“Don’t be disrespectful,” Giovanni chides. “Shake his hand, Christine.”
My palms grow clammy at the thought, but I force myself to reach up and place my hand in his.
Rocco’s grip is like a vice. He clasps my trembling hand and holds it tight, his rough, weathered palm sending a shiver straight through me. His grip tightens briefly, the only warning before the interaction turns sour.
His eyes roam over my body, studying my curves with cold detachment. The weight of his gaze is heavy with insidious intent, and before I can pull away, I’m met with a twisted smile that reveals his yellowed, uneven teeth. “Treat this as a lesson,” he announces. Then, without warning, his fist shoots out at lightning speed and crashes into my cheekbone.
Pain explodes through my entire body as I stagger backward, the coppery taste of blood filling my mouth. My uncle speaks, but I can’t make out his words over the buzzing in my ears as I try to understand what just happened. The world spins around me, stars dancing before my eyes.
Rocco lunges forward with the grace and ferocity of a wild animal, his movements swift and precise. His next blow connects with my rib, and the bones cracking under his force make a sickening sound. Rocco’s eyes glint with primal intensity as he continues his assault, each hit calculated and ruthless. The scent of his blood and sweat fills my nostrils. I instinctively try to recoil, but I am no match for his brutal strength.
Agony grips me as I gasp for air that refuses to enter my lungs. Each breath is a sharp intake of searing pain as I fall to the ground. I try to summon the strength to crawl away, but Roccois on top of me, his thighs pinning me in the dirt as he rains blow after blow into my stomach. His fists are like hammers, relentless and unyielding as they pummel my defenseless body.
Through blurry, tear-filled eyes, I see Rocco towering over me, his eyes gleaming with sadistic satisfaction. I can feel his hot breath on my face and hear the faint sound of his deep chuckles. He looks down at me with a cruel smirk, relishing in my vulnerability as if it were a delicacy. He revels in every whimper that he pulls from my lips with his well-placed fists. He enjoys my pain.
His knuckles are stained with crimson, evidence of his violence, and still, his thirst for dominance remains. He grazes my jaw with a blow, then my temple. The pain lasts for an eternity, and all I can do is endure and hope that it will end soon.
But just as darkness threatens to swallow me whole, my uncle’s voice cuts through the silence. “Shit. Someone’s coming.”
A figure materializes from the periphery of my shattered vision—a stranger silhouetted in murky grey. He’s tall and imposing, no match for Rocco, but a witness to the savagery, and my savior.
“Leave her alone,” he growls, the man’s voice resonating with chilling authority as he approaches.
Rocco’s face contorts with rage and frustration as he forces himself to his feet. He stumbles back, momentarily unsure of himself. But it only takes a moment for my uncle to command the scene.
Giovanni grabs Rocco by the arm and pulls him away from my mangled body. As the stranger yells at them to stop, I watch them begin to sprint.
My head is spinning, a sensation that sends sharp pains radiating through my limbs. Through the haze of my blurry vision, I see a figure crouching beside me, his concerned face coming into focus. It takes a moment, but I realize that I recognize him. “Jackson,” I choke out his name.Carrie’s little boy toy.He is as handsome as I remember, while I have never looked worse.
“Shh. It’s okay.” With one hand under my legs and the other behind my head, Jackson effortlessly lifts me off the ground. My legs dangle loosely in front of me as I am cradled against his chest, feeling safe and secure in his arms—a distinct difference from how I felt moments before.
The echoes of soothing words are the last sounds I hear before succumbing to unconsciousness. “I’ve got you,” he whispers, his voice a gentle lullaby in the chaos. “I’ve got you, Christine.”
