Cages

DON'T OPEN YOUR EYES .

It's the first thing that pops into my mind when I regain consciousness.

Don't move.

Because I can sense someone staring at me even with my eyes still closed.

Don't panic.

But my heart is an idiot like always, and it starts racing uncontrollably.

Am I...okay?

I know the word is lame as fuck, but it's all I can handle right now.

I just want to know if I'm...okay.

So, let's see...

I'm still fully clothed, for one.

And from what I've read, the part between my legs is supposed to hurt.

If I'm not okay, that is.

But I think...I am.

Right?

Because if I'm wrong, then I should feel differently.

I'd know...right?

If I'm not... okay?

"I know you're awake."

FUCK.

It takes everything in me to stay abso-fucking-lutely still and not open my eyes. The voice may have sounded gentle and distinctly female, but who gives a shit? I bet people said the same thing about the Countess of Bath just before she had their bodies drained of blood.

"You have no reason to believe me yet, but you're safe with us."

Yeah right.

"Signor Marchetti —- "

Did she just say 'Marchetti'?

"It's no use to keep pretending you're asleep when your heart rate just spiked up."

Fuck.

The truth in her words is a hard pill to swallow, but I still feel nauseous like hell as I slowly force my eyes open.

Fuck.

Why is everything spinning?

"It's alright. Just take deep breaths . "

The other woman's words make me feel like a fucking baby, and I hate it.

But with the world around me still spinning, it's not like I have a choice.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

I do as she says even when I feel stupid, and after a few more tries, the spinning eventually slows down, and my head gradually stops throbbing as well.

"Better?"

It takes another dose of courage to make myself turn towards the voice.

Oh.

I expected someone in her thirties, but instead, I found a blond-haired, blue-eyed girl seated next to my bed. I'm guessing she's just a few years older. Maybe 20 or 21 to my fifteen. But either way, who gives a shit? She's a stranger to me still, and that's enough reason for me not to trust her.

We stare at each other, and impatience eventually gets the better of me.

"Who are you?" I ask in a guarded tone.

Her lips curve in a smile, and she looks even more angelic than she already does.

Not buying it.

"Will you believe me if I say I'm simply someone who wants to help?"

"Only if you'll tell me what you're hoping to get in exchange."

"And if I say I have nothing to gain?"

"Then no. I don't believe you just want to help me," I answer flatly, but the words only cause her blue eyes to twinkle.

Cray, I think right away.

No doubt about it: this girl isn't in her right mind.

"How about I put it this way? I want to help you...because once upon a time, someone did the same thing for me, and so I'm paying it forward. But only just this once."

I don't answer her right away. There's something about her that feels more and more familiar, and I start looking around, thinking that my surroundings might give me a clue.

I've all sorts of tubes and wires hooked to my body, and there's a heart monitor next to my bed. These may make it sound like I'm in a hospital, but I'm not.

Because the matte black walls and all-red lights are a dead giveaway.

Dead being the operative word.

Oh...shit.

Comprehension finally kicks in, and my heart plummets to my stomach.

The smile on the other girl's lips widens. "You finally recognize where you are."

"And you ," I mutter.

Because this girl I'm speaking to is none other than the Angel of Death—-

"Welcome to La Torre dei Mostri ."

—-and this is the place she calls home, aka The Tower of Monsters.

I look at her again, and everything about her takes new meaning.

Her long blond hair? Urban legends say it's what she uses to hide countless poison-tipped needles.

The ribboned collar of her blouse? Perfect for strangulation, which everyone knows is her favorite M.O.

Everything you see and don't see about her, it serves a single morbid purpose, and that's why when I speak again—-

"How did I end up here?"

My tone is nothing but respectful, and I don't mind at all that her eyes twinkle anew at the change. Who cares if she thinks I'm a coward?

Pride is only for fools, and I haven't survived this long by being an idiot.

"Your being here is more a matter of who than how." The Angel of Death clasps her hands over her lap. "And fortunately in your case, the one who voluntarily came to your rescue is none other than Giancarlo Marchetti."

Yeah right.

I'm about to laugh when I realize the Angel of Death's expression hasn't changed at all.

"You have to be—-"

"Telling the truth," the other girl says easily, "since lies are a waste of my time."

Oh.

Well.

What the fuck?

I squeeze my eyes shut as my head starts pounding.

Giancarlo Marchetti?

For real?

The Marchettis aren't just one of New England's most powerful famiglie . It's also how they seized such power and what they did afterward that made Boston's ruling family seem unreal to most of us. As impossible as it may sound, the Marchettis are the first famiglia to have successfully turned a new leaf without losing their territory, and that's why...

"I don't get it," I hear myself say jerkily.

The other girl smiles. "I don't either, but isn't that just typical of the Marchettis?"

A thought pops into my head, but it's just so crazy it has me involuntarily rearing back.

No, that can't be it.

"The Marchettis do not cease to amaze, sì? I keep expecting them to die for being so kind, but no. They always seem to survive, and so it makes one think..."

"That they're all out of their mind?"

"Yes, that's one possibility," she acknowledges with a laugh. "Either they're all insanely kind...or it's the other way around, and we are the foolish ones, for being so convinced that all of us are beyond redemption."

I want to say something snarky, but not a single word comes to mind. I think I'm still in shock. Or denial. Maybe even both.

The Angel of Death sighs. "Time shall tell. But for now..." She looks at me soberly. "You were very fortunate, Sarica."

The fact that she knows my name doesn't surprise me at all. It's part and parcel of who she is in our world, and why La Torre can either be our safe haven...or a prelude to Hell.

" La Strega's eldest grandson happened to be having dinner at the same place as your abductors. They also happened to be drunk enough to have said things in Signor Marchetti's hearing, and suffice to say, what he heard was not to his liking."

I can only look at her, with my mind having already shut down the moment I heard her say the A-word.

Fuck. No. FUCK.

I never thought I'd be the type to suffer from trauma.

NO, NO, NO.

I've always thought of it as a word reserved for the weak.

NOOOOO.

And maybe it really is, and I've just been fooling myself all this time, thinking I was not weak.

"Sarica!"

I hear someone gasping my name, but I can't figure out where it's coming from.

All I see now are their faces, and they're all smirking at me behind their masks.

NO, NO, NO!

My heart explodes with terror, and I dimly hear a heart monitor start beeping out an alarm. But where it's coming from, I have no idea either.

'Sarica!'

Because all I can see is them.

Somebody help me!

I can practically smell the stink of alcohol in their breaths.

HELP, PLEASE, HELP!

They form a circle around me, taunting me as they come closer and closer.

Please, please, please.

But I'm all alone.

There's no one who can hear me.

No one to protect me from the malice in their voices, and just remembering the sound of it—-

I don't want to hear this!

My hands involuntarily move up to cover my ears, but it's no use. Their voices are like flesh-eating ants crawling into my ears to devour me from within.

Ever had a man before, signorina?

Ever been kissed?

We're just curious.

Someone grabs my hand just as my mind's about to break, and I gasp for air as the unexpected contact severs the nightmarish memories that tethered me to the past.

My eyes fly open as my soul crashes back into the present.

I know I'm safe now.

But the pain and the terror are still there, and the words simply fly out of my mouth.

"Those f-fucking bastards wanted to rape me!"

I can't believe how much I want to cry right now.

But I can't seem to for some reason.

" Breathe , Sarica."

The Angel of Death doesn't sound gentle at all this time.

"Breathe."

But the firmness of her voice is also exactly what I need to hear.

"The Martinos have been dealt with."

My abductors finally have a name.

And it's a famiglia that's supposed to be our fucking allies.

"You don't have to see them again if you don't want to."

"Of course, I don't fucking want to—-"

"Then you must make your choice."

My chest feels like it's about to explode. All I can do is stare at her. Choice? What fucking choice is she talking about? Does she want to know whether I want them castrated or beheaded? Can I fucking choose both?

"The Martinos have convinced your father that you misunderstood their son's intention. They have offered marriage between you and their firstborn as proof—-and your father wants you to seriously consider it."

I don't know whether to laugh or cry when I realize she isn't joking.

Our world has always been this sick and evil.

So why am I still surprised that my own father would betray me like this?

"They wanted to rape me!"

"I believe you."

But your own father doesn't.

The unspoken words hang between us, and I can literally feel my mind starting to slip.

"You can't misunderstand something like that."

"I know."

But your father doesn't.

"And...it's not possible anyway, right?" The way my voice trembles is sickening to hear, but I find myself powerless to change it. "My father can't force me...right? I'm only fifteen—-"

My voice falters at the look she gives me.

"I'm sorry, Sarica."

But you're wrong.

Because our world has always played by its own rules.

"So what choice are we even talking about?" I ask hollowly. "What flowers I fucking want for the wedding? Or if I want a—-"

"The groom, actually.."

"Live band or—-"

Did she just say 'groom'?

"Because Giancarlo Marchetti has countered their offer—-"

What the fuck?

"The Marchettis have been our enemies for decades," I choke out.

"Maybe that's why he's offering to marry you as well. To end the rivalry, once and for all."

"B-But why—-"

"—-is not something you can afford to care about."

The Angel of Death stares at me with blue eyes that seem to have seen everything...and lost her soul because of it.

"The only reason you haven't been forced to make a choice hours ago is because of Giancarlo. He brought you here, knowing that even your father would not dare wage war against me in my own territory."

I know there's only one choice for me to make if I want to save myself, but what kind of choice would that be, if my freedom would come at the cost of someone else losing theirs?

The Marchettis could've ended the rivalry between our famiglie a long time ago if they had wanted to. All they had to do was annihilate us, and they would've been able to do so easily.

If they wanted to.

But they never had.

And so Giancarlo Marchetti wanting me as a bride to end the feud?

Bullshit.

"I know what you're thinking—-"

It's more the sharpness of her tone than her actual words that make me look at the Angel of Death.

"But you're only fooling yourself. Turning yourself into a martyr by marrying the Martino heir won't achieve anything. He'd have broken you in weeks, and your father won't give a shit."

"That's still not reason enough—-"

"Saying no to Giancarlo is just taking the self-righteous coward's way out," the other girl snaps. "You're fifteen, not five. So start acting like it. We don't always get to choose how we live, but we can choose how we die. The Marchettis want to help you. Let them. And if you still want to die, then make your death count and die for them instead."