Venezia

M y reflection in the mirror doesn't lie. There are dark circles under my eyes from the lack of sleep. My face, too, is unusually pale.

We arrived in Venice three days ago after a grueling nine-hour flight. Unfortunately, my first time out of the country was nothing special. Michele took me straight from the airport to the house he rented, a beautiful renaissance building with views toward the canal. But he hasn't allowed me to step outside yet.

"Zia, come out," he calls out as he knocks insistently at the bathroom door.

I swallow hard and take a deep breath. Turning the faucet on, I spray some water on my face and make the courage to go out.

He's waiting for me. All dressed in black. He's wearing his gloves again.

His hair tumbles down his shoulders in waves. Piercing light eyes watch me intently as I make my way out of the bathroom and toward the living room.

"How long are you going to keep this up?" He demands as he grabs my hand. "You can't ignore me forever."

"Really?" I raise a brow. "Watch me."

I wrench my arm from his grasp and take a seat on the sofa, away from him. Grabbing a pillow, I place it on my lap in an effort to disguise my growing bump.

I've started showing. It's not much, just a little more roundness where there was none before. But I can't afford for him to notice it. I know his shrewd brain will connect the dots at some point, and the best I can do is bide my time until my family finds me and saves me. Until then, I'll keep my distance and pray he will leave me alone. Although…with his track record, I doubt he's capable of that. He already forced himself on me once when I told him no. Who's to say he won't do it again? Especially now that he has unrestricted access to me.

"Zia," he says my name in an exasperated sigh as he takes a seat on the sofa next to me. "It doesn't have to be like this."

I narrow my eyes at him.

"Like what?" I challenge.

He rakes a hand through his hair.

"We can go back to how we were. Before."

"Before what, Michele? Before you forced me to get an abortion? Before you told me I meant nothing to you, that I was just a whore who spread her legs for you? Or is it before you raped me?"

A stricken look crosses his face and he averts his gaze. He doesn't try to deny it. But how could he when he did all of that and more? How could he, when he's hurt me in ways I could never even believe possible?

"I said I am sorry. I apologized."

"As if that suddenly makes everything okay."

"What do you want from me, Zia? Tell me and I'll do it. I'll do anything."

I shake my head, tightening my hold on the pillow.

"There's nothing you can do. I just want you to leave me alone. Every time I think I can heal and move on from what happened, you show up and mess me up even more. I'm tired."

He slides closer to me. So close until his thighs brush against mine.

Grabbing my jaw, he forces me to look at him.

"You want to move on? Is that what you want?"

I give him a small nod.

"You want to move on, meet some fucking asshole and forget about me, isn't that right?" He asks in a vicious tone.

I purse my lips.

"Answer me, Zia, is that what you want?"

I stare into his eyes. So beautiful, so pure. They were the first thing I fell in love with. But back then I didn't realize how much malice dwelled behind his eyes—how much hurt and hatred.

"Yes. That is what I want," I tell him.

His cheek twitches. Slowly a smirk pulls at his lips.

"That's never going to happen, pet." He leans in, his breath on my lips. "I will be there, haunting you, until the day I die. And after. I can be a very determined vengeful ghost. And trust that any man that comes near you will not live to lay a hand on you."

"You don't own me, Michele," I say through gritted teeth. "I might have given you my heart once, but now there's only one thing I can give you." I pause. He watches me intently, breathlessly. "My hate. You will have my hate for as long as I live."

A sick laugh escapes his lips.

"Do you think I care? You can hate me as much as you want as long as you're mine. And you are, sweet thing. You are just mine," he murmurs, his lips a razor's edge away from mine.

I hold still.

"Is this when you rape me again?" I ask him plainly.

He was going to kiss me. I know he was. But the moment the word rape is out of my mouth, he jerks away, his features tightening.

He gets to his feet and starts pacing in front of me, almost maniacally.

Thankful for a small reprieve, I make myself smaller on the sofa, tucking my feet under me and gazing out the window. Maybe if I ignore him again, he'll get tired of trying to coax a response out of me and walk away.

Moments pass. His pacing becomes more frantic.

"I won't…rape you," he suddenly says.

My brows go up as I turn to look at him.

"So magnanimous of you," I snicker.

"But I will have you, Zia. I will have you," he adds ardently.

"You want me, but you won't rape me?" I let out a dry laugh. "That sounds rather impossible to me."

"What if I could give you what you want?"

"There's nothing you could give me that would make me want you again, Michele."

He blinks rapidly.

"A baby. I'll give you a baby. You want that, don't you?" He asks breathlessly.

Of all the things he could have said…I clench my hands into fists. There's no limit to his cruelty, is there?

I take a steady, calming breath before I reply.

"Why would I want a baby with you?"

He looks taken aback, as if he expected me to jump at the chance of having a baby with him again.

"You would make the worst father, Michele," I tell him honestly. "In fact, I'm thankful I won't have a baby with you. I wouldn't wish that type of punishment on any innocent creature."

His body tenses.

I expect him to lash out. That's what Michele does when he feels threatened. He lashes out, not caring who he hurts.

To my surprise, he doesn't move from his spot. He's still watching me, still looking at me in that odd way of his that I have yet to decipher.

"I have money," he says then. "I can buy you anything you want. I'll give you the life of a queen."

I roll my eyes.

"So now you want me to be your paid whore? I'm sorry Michele. You might think I'm a whore, but I don't see myself as such. Your blood money can't buy me."

Silence descends between us. The only sound in the room is his harsh, frantic breath.

"If that's all, I would love to look out the window in peace. Please leave."

He doesn't move. Not that I thought he would. If I weren't pregnant, I might have tried to run away. I might have tried to fight him, or at least do…something. But I must ensure the baby is safe. Until my family comes for me—and I know they will—I must do whatever it takes to keep myself and my baby safe. And most importantly…not let Michele find out the truth.

With Marcello away, Catalina must be beside herself taking care of the kids. But even so I know Vlad and Sisi are looking for me. It won't be too long until they find me.

A little voice inside my head tells me that when they do find me, they might not spare Michele. In their attempt to save me, they might…kill him.

I should be fine with it—I should be anticipating it even. But the thought only leaves me empty.

"What if…" he starts as he clears his throat. "I can get your brother out of prison."

I whip my head around and stare at him.

"W-what?"

"I put him there. I can get him out."

"You…"

"Be mine, pet, and I'll get your brother out."

I shake my head.

"That's not possible. They have evidence against him. There isn't anything you can do—"

"Evidence can go missing. Witnesses can go missing." He shrugs. "I can do it all. Just say the word, and your brother is a free man."

I stare at him in shock.

When he doesn't hear a reply, he takes out his phone and calls Andreas.

"I need Lastra out of jail," he says, all the while not taking his eyes off me. "How fast can you do it?"

Muffled sounds come from the phone. Seeing my confused expression, he puts it on speaker.

"He can walk out tomorrow," Andreas states. "What do you say, pet? Would you like your brother's freedom?"

"You're still trying to buy me," I whisper.

"And you're tempted. I can tell." He smirks.

In a few steps, he's in front of me. He kneels before me and grabs my hand, stroking the inside of my wrist.

"I can't do it," I tell him, slapping his hand away.

His features tense. There's a dangerous gleam in his eyes.

He shrugs.

"You won't whore yourself for your brother's freedom. What about his life then?"

My eyes flash at him.

"You have someone on the inside, right Andreas?" He asks nonchalantly.

"He can be dead by tonight, Sir," Andreas confirms.

He mutes the phone.

"Good," Michele purrs. "What about now, pet? Will you be mine?"

My mouth ajar, I glare at him, wishing I could materialize my hate into a dagger and stab it through his cruel heart.

"Ah, not convinced yet?" Michele smirks. "To show you how truly magnanimous I can be, I'll throw in your sister-in-law and her kids too. How many does she have? Three, four?"

"What?" I whisper in horror.

"What do you say, Zia? I'll spare you a six-way funeral if you willingly come to me."

"How is that willingly? You're threatening me!" I cry out.

"Am I? I'm doing you a favor. If you're with me, your family is safe, and your brother is a free man. I'm quite the generous lover." He smiles, pleased with himself.

"You disgust me," I whisper.

"No. I don't," he counters. Unmuting the phone, he addresses Andreas. "How fast can you get rid of Lastra's wife?"

Andreas pauses.

"I'll have to get rid of her brother too."

"Even better. More coffins for the funeral."

"You're sick," I croak.

He shrugs.

"How fast, Andreas?"

"A few days," he replies.

"Not fast enough, Andreas. I need it done by tonight."

Andreas sighs.

"Fine," he replies. "I'll find a way to make it happen."

"Perfect. Send me pics. Lots of them." He winks at me.

He's about to hang up when I grab his hand.

"Wait! Please don't."

"Please don't what, pet?"

"Please don't hurt them. Please don't do anything…"

"And why should I do that?" He raises a brow at me.

"I'll do it. I'll be yours," I whisper, knowing that I've sealed my fate.

"Perfect," he exclaims. "The plan's off, Andreas. But make sure Lastra is a free man tomorrow."

"You've got it, Sir."

He hangs up and throws his phone away.

His eyes are on mine as he slowly gets to his feet.

A tremor goes down my spine as fear settles deep in my gut.

"W-what now?" I whisper.

"Now I claim what's mine," he drawls. "Take your clothes off, pet."

"B-but…"

Reaching into his pocket, he removes the necklace with the blood pendant and fastens it around my neck.

"I want to see you naked except for this. My blood. Your blood. Our blood," he murmurs. The corner of his mouth curls into a wistful smile.

"I-I've gained some weight. Maybe you won't like me anymore," I mutter.

"I don't care. There will be more of you to claim," he adds nonchalantly.

I expect him to pull at my clothes to get me naked. But once more, he surprises me when he steps back and waits for me to do it.

I take a deep breath.

I agreed to this. And the only reason I did it is because I know Michele isn't bluffing. He would kill anyone to get what he wants—even my nieces and nephews.

With shaky fingers, I undo the buttons of my blouse and shrug it off. I'm wearing a basic bralette underneath. My belly is rounded and full. As his eyes rake over my body, I squeeze my eyes shut and pray he won't notice—that he won't suspect something is amiss.

"Beautiful," he whispers.

His lips curl up in satisfaction.

"Your jeans now," he murmurs.

I shimmy out of my pants until I'm left only in my bralette and a pair of white cotton briefs.

He stares at me transfixed. Taking a step forward, he tears at the buttons of his shirt and flings it to the floor before he unbuckles his jeans and slides them down his legs together with his boxers.

He's naked—fully naked and aroused.

He strides toward me and I brace myself for the assault. Maybe he'll get this over with fast. It will hurt a little, but it's not as if I'm not used to it already.

But he surprises me when he drops to his knees in front of me. His hands are on my midriff as he lays his head against my belly.

"I'll give you a baby," he murmurs as he presses his lips against my bump. "I almost got a vasectomy, you know. I planned on it," he continues. I hold myself still. "But it didn't happen. And now I'll have you, and our baby, and we'll all be happy together."

My eyes widen at his words.

Does he really believe this? How delusional can he be? He just threatened to kill my family if I don't give in to him, and now he's planning for a happily ever after?

I've long known Michele was severely deranged, but until now I never realized just how badly.

He's insane.

Plain and simple.

"Right…" I mutter awkwardly.

He peppers kisses all along my stomach, grabbing onto the sides of my bralette and pulling it over my head. My breasts are bigger than before, more sensitive.

He touches me reverently, as if he's seeing me for the first time.

"My beautiful Zia," he whispers. "All mine. Only mine. Only ever mine."

He kisses his way up my body until he reaches my lips. I would love nothing more than to turn my head to the side and tell him to get this over with, but I'm scared he would retaliate against my family.

His lips meet mine, and I force myself to respond, pretending that I still love him. And God, this is hard. So damn hard. Because every single touch reminds me of the pain and heartbreak I've endured at his hands. Disgust rolls in my stomach that I'm once more here, at his mercy, allowing him to do anything to me. Yet worse is the realization that I will always be at his mercy.

It doesn't matter if he wants a baby now. Tomorrow he might change his mind. And even if he doesn't, how could I ever allow my child to live with a monster of a father?

He's hurt me enough. I won't allow him to hurt my baby, too.

"Tell me you love me. Tell me how much you love me, Zia," he demands against my lips.

"I love you," I lie.

He smiles.

"This wasn't so hard now, was it?" He asks as he swipes a strand of hair behind my ear. "I knew you still love me."

I give him a forced smile.

"My Zia," he whispers as he pushes me on the sofa, looming over me.

He continues kissing me as he pulls my underwear to the side. He doesn't even bother to take it off.

Positioning himself at my entrance, he pushes inside.

I tense at first, but then I force myself to relax.

Breathe, Venezia. Breathe. In and out.

My breaths emulate his movements.

In and out.

Inhale, exhale.

Thrust and withdraw.

His movements grow faster and faster. I hold tightly onto him, caressing his back and willing him to find his climax faster.

In and out.

Inhale, exhale.

Thrust and withdraw.

The moments trickle by.

I repeat the same words all over again in my head. Until at last, a shudder racks his body and he lets out a loud groan. He spills himself inside of me until I feel him everywhere.

He nuzzles his face against my cheek, purring with pleasure.

I do my best to not cry.

"Zia. My Zia," he murmurs.

And I've never hated two words more in my life.

SIX YEARS LATER

"Mommy, why are you crying?"

"I'm not crying," I say as I quickly wipe my tears away with the back of my hand. "I just got something in my eye."

She tilts her head to the side and frowns.

"But you're sad," she mentions with a pout.

I shake my head, forcing a smile on my lips.

"No, I'm not. It's just the wind, love. It's quite strong here, isn't it?"

The weather forecast mentioned a hurricane hitting New York City in the next twenty-four hours. You can already feel the storm brewing in the air– and inside of me.

Back home after so many years away… Back to all of the bad memories.

I take a deep breath.

"Is it daddy? Are you sad because of him?"

I whip my head around, blinking in surprise.

She's watching me closely, with all the curiosity of a five-year-old who's never met her father and has been asking incessantly about him.

"I'm fine, baby. I'm not sad," I reassure her. But she's relentless as she continues.

"Is it because he's in heaven? I miss him. Do you miss him too?"

I squeeze my eyes shut so I don't cry again.

"Yes, I miss him too," I lie.

She takes my hand and gives it a tight squeeze.

"He's watching over us, no?" She asks, her expression hopeful.

"Yes, I'm sure he is…" I trail off.

He's probably haunting me like he said he would.

Because not only did I move on, but I was also the one who pulled the trigger.

My daughter must never find out the truth–that I killed her father.

I killed Michele Guerra.

And I would do it all over again.

TO BE CONTINUED