Chapter 15

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

ELENA

I ’m pretty sure I’m in the back of a car. My hands are bound in front of me with zip ties. I think it’s a car, not a truck, because I can see light shining through the bag they’ve put over my head. I have no idea how long we’ve been driving. Time has distorted, losing all meaning. I’ve been trying to focus on slowing my breathing down.

They haven’t hurt me yet, apart from the ambush itself, my head still splitting down the middle from what I assume was some sort of grenade. It all feels surreal—an acid reminder of how unsuited I am to this world.

I’ve stopped crying, at least. When I think back to the attack, I feel like an idiot. I shouldn’t have assumed that the men were on my side. Nobody in the mob, not even Dario, is on my side. I’m not just from a different world but from a different universe.

I think about all my aspirations and dreams of acting as Aunt Rosa sits lovingly and supportively in the crowd and all the good times Giulia and I would share. Now they’re all gone to ash. I have to stop thinking like this. It’s making me panic again.

Slowly, the vehicle comes to a stop. I squeeze my hands together like I’m praying. I’ve never been a religious person, but it feels appropriate now. My throat goes tight with the weight of nerves and terror. It’s like the experience is crippling my ability to reason. I feel weak, which is unfair, maybe, but it’s there all the same.

A door opens, and the wind brushes my side. A rough hand grabs my arm and hauls me from the vehicle, then pulls the bag off my head. I wince as the sunlight glares down on me. It takes a moment for my vision to adjust.

A man sneers down at me. He has long, over-gelled black hair combed back to show a scar over one of his eyes. I promise myself I’ll remember that hair, that scar. I’ll remember the small tattoo of a pistol on his neck. We’re out in the countryside, it seems. Behind him, I can see two parked cars with men around them, some smoking. There’s a big barn and, farther down, a small farmhouse.

“You’re not going to give me any problems,” he states. “That’s why we only needed one person to drive you. Look at you, scared little thing. You won’t give Vesper any stick, will you, beautiful? See, I can be nice.”

He smooths his hair away with a knife that glints in the sunlight, then moves closer to me, leaning down so I can smell the reek of whiskey and just plain old bad breath. I wish I could be like a heroine from a movie, spit in his face, and make some badass comment. But terror is coiled around my neck like a noose.

“No,” I whisper. “Please.”

When I look back on this—if I ever get to look back on it—I know I’ll wish I was braver. I’ll wish I could’ve told him to go to hell, but anything like that seems so far away. It takes all my effort not to scream in fear when he grabs my arm.

“I’ve got a gun, too, if you’re wondering,” he says with an unmistakable hint of glee. “If you wanted to make a run for it, you’d better be a college athlete. You’ll need to zig and zag and zag and zig just right . Think you can do that?”

“I’m not going to run.”

“Good bitch,” he says. “Let’s wait in the farmhouse. The big boss’ll be here soon. He told Vesper not to hurt you unless I’ve got a good reason. Do you want to give me a good reason?”

I cringe as he drags me past the barn toward the rundown farmhouse. The men keep smoking and talking, not even looking my way. The farmhouse seems like it hasn’t been occupied in a decade at least. He slams the door open with his shoulder, then drags me into a kitchen that reeks of mold. He pushes me onto the small dining chair and pulls up the chair opposite, tapping his knife against the old wood.

“We could have some real fun together,” he says musingly. “Do you want to know what sort of fun?”

I look down at the table, trying to remember the last time my life was normal. Since the fire, it’s never been normal, but it was better than this. I wouldn’t be experiencing this if it wasn’t for Dario’s messed-up life.

“Why are you breathing like that?” he says after a long pause.

“I’m trying not to have a panic attack,” I gasp.

“Aw, that’s cute. You should be grateful that’s all you’re doing, sweetie. If it weren’t for the big boss, we’d be doing a whole lot more. Do you know why it’s just me and you in here?”

I shudder, still not looking at him, but I’m forced to when he violently stabs the knife into the wood of the table. “I asked you a question.”

“No. I don’t know.”

He grins a thin, ugly smile. “The other fellas don’t much like the things Vesper does to ladies. Some of them got their morals, or that’s what they call them, anyway. Me? I take a more flexible view. Get what I mean? They don’t want to be here in case I’ve got to make you see sense. Please, make me have to make you see sense. Get it?”

Part of acting is using my imagination to immerse my mind fully in a character’s experience, but this doesn’t require much effort. I don’t have to try to imagine what he might mean. This man, the psycho who refers to himself in the third person, is willing to go to lengths even regular Mafia soldiers won’t. That means serious, life-ending abuse.

“That wasn’t rhetorical,” he says.

“I understand.”

He taps the knife against the table. “Why don’t you try to give me some fight, hmm? Why don’t you try to be a bit more interesting ?”

“Fighting would be useless,” I say. “Or am I wrong about that?”

“No, you’re right,” he says with a sigh, “but it’d still be more interesting than this crap.”

I’m sorry I’m not interesting to you . I almost give some sass. It’s absurd. Thinking back on all the times I sassed Dario feels just as silly. I was a na?ve little girl, locked away from the nasty parts of his life, believing he was somebody he was not, somebody he could never be.

“Do you think your knight in shining armor is going to save you?” Vesper asks after another long pause. He keeps tap-tap-tapping the blade against the table. He probably likes the fact I flinch every time he does it.

“I don’t know,” I murmur.

“I know—nope. You’re shit out of luck. Nothing’s going to change for you. Nobody’s going to appear and—What the fuck …”

He trails off, turning at the loud crack noise. I try not to let hope flare. Even if Dario has somehow found us, that doesn’t mean he’ll be able to get to me before Vesper does something.

When Vesper stands and goes to the window, I scream at myself, Get him. Get him! But my hands are tied, and I’m just too scared. I’ve watched movies and read books where I’ve yelled at the action scene, willing the character into movement. Yet, in real life, it’s nothing like that. Here, now, I feel like I’m surrounded by landmines.

Vesper turns to me, sneering when there are more crack noises. I’m guessing it’s more gunshots.

“We’re going to the cellar,” he growls, marching over and grabbing my arm. “The big boss and me, we made a deal. Even if the Moretti dog comes, I’ve got to keep my end. See, I’ve got people—folks who need me. Even if Vesper dies here, those folks will be taken care of. See, slut? There’s no way out for you. I just might have to make it quicker than I’d like, that’s all.”

As he drags me through the rundown farmhouse, I try to will my limbs into action. I try to do something , but this is nothing like acting—sinking into a role and becoming somebody else. The cold reality of my bound hands is too much. The cold fact of his hand on my arm, his fingers sinking into me—all of this is too far away from anything I’ve ever experienced or imagined.

He tears open the cellar door. It’s so old that one of the hinges comes loose with a whining noise as if protesting. Outside, there are more gunshots, an almost unbroken series of them now. Men are yelling, but I can’t make out any words.

“Move,” Vesper grunts.

I stare down into the darkness, my heart beating in my throat.

“Please,” I whisper as more tears come.

“I can kill you here just as easy,” he snaps. “Move. Now.”

I turn to him, his sneering face distorted with my tears. I hate the fact that the tears won’t stop. I hate this crippling feeling that has taken over me.

“If you’re going to do it, do it here, then,” I sob.

He grinds his teeth. “Dumb bitch. I’m supposed to keep you alive.”

“Then why say you’re going to k?—”

“I like my bitches scared. Move .”

He grabs my arm and shoves me. I’ve got no choice except to walk toward the stairs. It’s either that, or I’ll fall down them. Suddenly, Vesper makes a yelping noise and lets go of me. I turn to find him lying on the floor, his leg bleeding. My cloudy mind struggles to catch up to what’s just happened.

“The fuck,” he groans, looking down at the gunshot in his leg.

“Did you think I was going to let you take my woman ?”

Dario walks down the hallway, looking so different from any other time I’ve seen him. There’s no captivating smirking. There’s no handsome glint in his eye. He looks terrifying. He looks like a piece of a world I need to run from. Run fast. Why did I ever agree to this?

Vesper raises his gun, and Dario quickly shoots him again, this time through Vesper’s gun-wielding hand. My ears ring as Vesper drops his weapon. Then Dario leaps at him.

I slide against the wall, sitting down heavily, wanting to look away but somehow unable to. Dario doesn’t look at me. He tosses his gun to the floor and then collapses on top of Vesper in a flurry of violence.

Gasps escape me as Dario beats him to death, each punch to the face causing blood to spatter, coating his hands, face, and neck. My hand covers my mouth. Devastation tears through me. This is the man I had feelings for? He’s saving you , another voice yells, but Dario looks like a demon.

“Mother.” He hits Vesper. “Fucker.” He hits him again. Over and over, he pounds his fists into Vesper’s face. Over and over, I attempt to drag my gaze away from the sickness. It’s the most violent, most grotesque thing I’ve ever seen.

“Piece of shit .” Dario stands up and then stamps on Vesper’s head.

“Dario,” I say, or try to. My voice is hollow. It’s like I can’t produce sound. “Dario, it’s over.”

Slowly, Dario stumbles away. He looks at me, the haze clearing, then looks down at Vesper as if only now realizing the side of himself he’s shown to me.

“Elena,” he moans, moving toward me with his blood-spattered hand outstretched.

I cringe away. He looks demonic. Again, I try to remind myself he just saved my life. Yet the panic surging through me is too much to take.

“You think I’m a monster,” he growls.

I can’t deny it.

“It doesn’t matter,” he snaps after a pause. “You’re coming with me.”

With his bloody killer’s hands, he scoops me into his arms and carries me through the farmhouse.