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"We serviced clients." My voice is so soft I can barely get the words out. "If we didn't, there were consequences."
The man stares at me a beat too long. I take a moment to look into his eyes once again.
Holy Moses. Staring at this gorgeous stranger, this big man who I don't even know, is like peering into another universe. His eyes are deep hazel, rich and creamy. They remind me of the coffee my captors used to give us after sessions if we were good. Sometimes, they put a dash of something exotic in the drink, and my head got woozy.
But this man's eyes…make me woozy without even drinking anything. They're hard and fierce, and I know they've seen terrible things. Yet at the same time, they contain a sweetness and sensitivity I've never encountered before. Certainly not in the past few years.
"Who are you?" My query is so tremulous I don't even know if I really spoke. It's possible I imagined speaking, like I did so many times in the basement. Sometimes, I thought I kept an observation to myself, only to discover that I said it out loud, incurring a client's wrath. The opposite was true when I intended to respond to something but only thought it.
"My name is Benedetto Ferrari." The man tightens his grip on my hand. "My men and I have been monitoring the warehouse from which we believe you emerged early this morning. We brought you to my brother Gianluca’s hospital room to make you better."
I glance around the room. My eyes take in the instruments that I saw earlier, but for some reason, they don't scare me as much now.
"Are we at the hospital?"
Even thewordhospital scares the bejesus out of me. I know there are excellent hospitals in the world, ones that help instead of threatening boys who can't perform. But the word still has such a negative connotation in my mind I can't help but shiver.
"Not a public hospital." Benedetto shakes his head. "Gianluca is the top cardiologist in New York. He does private work for our family in this room."
"Does he work for bad men?" I twine my fingers together and try not to break down in tears. "The only hospital I know hurts us when we act up."
"The hospital hurt you?" Benedetto’s eyes narrow.
I nod. "When we don't do what they say, they take us to the hospital and threaten to sedate us. And perform operations on us."
"You're safe here." Benedetto’s voice is so firm I can't help but shake on the bed. "I'm so sorry those bastards hurt you. I swear, boy, you don't have to worry about them touching you again. We have armed guards surrounding this building and no one will get to you."
Tears well in my eyes. I blink hard, trying to fight them off, but this man's words of lovingkindness are too much for me. They cascade down my cheeks, dripping onto the white gown that shrouds my body.
"Thank you." This is all I manage to say, even though I know it's not sufficient. "Please don't let anyone hurt me. I'll repay you somehow."
Benedetto leans over and sticks out his thumbs. After dragging in a breath, he brushes the tears from my cheeks, wiping them off my skin. Tingles shoot across my flesh, but I seek to ignore them. He brings the edge of the blanket that covers my body to my face and pats it dry.
"When you feel better, I'll help you remember who you are." Benedetto stares into my eyes, and something so pure and true wells up within me. I know he could be lying. Men have lied to me before.
Yet my gut tells me this man is different from all the others I've encountered over the past few years. He wants to help me, assist me, and he'll stop at nothing to ensure I'm safe. He's nothing like the monsters who abused me.
"I appreciate this so much."
Benedetto holds my hand as tight as he can. "And when I find those men who hurt you, I swear to God, boy." He’s so full of rage he can barely speak. "I'll never let them walk these streets again."
3
BENEDETTO
Three days later
"We received the DNA test results. He's the Bettencourt boy."
I sit with my brothers in Gianluca’s office next to his private room. We're reviewing the facts of the case and trying to determine what steps to take with the boy.
This revelation is abomb.
I grip my Styrofoam cup of coffee. "You're joking."
Before I left the boy’s hospital bed three days ago, I removed a strand of hair from his pillow. I sent it to my contact at the FBI for a DNA test to see if it matched any records in the system. Most labs take longer to process results but my contact performed the query quickly.
We didn’t expect to receive a hit so soon.
