by Kari Bovee
Grace closed her eyes, unable to look at the greasy face bearing down on her.
“Aw, baby,” Marciano said, “don’t turn away from me, sweetheart.”
When Grace tried to turn her head again, he jerked her hair. She opened her eyes and forced herself to look into his—deep black, as black as his pomaded hair and just as lifeless. She shuddered at their emptiness and blinked, forcing herself to look at him. He leaned in, his thick, wet lips coming toward hers. At the last second, she turned her head so the mushy flesh landed next to her lips, not on them.
He pulled back and gripped her hair harder. His eyes were alive now, piercing through her with anger. He let out a rush of air, assaulting her with damp, gin-soaked breath. “I told you I don’t like rejection,” he said between clenched teeth. His face was shaking so violently, the greasy strings of hair at his brow danced.
Grace trembled, and she couldn’t pull any air into her lungs. Her head spun. “Okay, okay,” she said, trying to sound confident. “I won’t reject you. Just give me a minute. I need a minute.”
His grip on her hair loosened, and his eyes, unfocused, glazed over. He smiled, showing off his greasy, tobacco-stained teeth. She kept her eyes focused on his. He let go of her hair and stood, swaying in front of her. Grace took in a deep breath. If only she could stave him off. She’d have to try to be nice to him; it seemed to take away his rage.
“Who are you writing to? Piker Riker?” he asked and then laughed, his voice thick and slurring.
Grace eased into the desk chair. “No.”
Marciano’s upper body swayed, though his feet were planted squarely on the floor. He tilted his head back and let out a raspy laugh that sounded as if he’d just smoked a box of cigars.
“Riker.” He put one arm on the back of her chair and the other on the desk, surrounding her with his odiousness. His body unsteadily loomed over her. “Riker won’t get that letter, girlie, ’cause your precious Chet is dead. D-E-A-D, dead.” He let out a heinous chuckle and bolted upright, releasing her from his bodily prison and then staggered backward, laughing uproariously.
The air rushed out of Grace’s lungs as if he’d placed an anvil on her chest. Her stomach twisted, and a rush of despair ran through her legs, making them vibrate beneath the desk.
Chet? Chet is d-dead?
She shook her head almost violently. “No. No, you’re lying.”
The mobster’s lips stretched wide into an evil grin. “Shot him through the heart.” He rushed forward, grabbed her arms, and jerked her to her feet. But her legs couldn’t hold her, and she folded back into the chair. She tried to pull away from him, but her body wouldn’t obey. Chet was dead. It couldn’t be true. He’d had a plan. He was going to save her. Her heart twisted with pain.
Marciano grasped her at the waist and launched her off the floor and over his shoulder, slamming the breath out of her. Panic seized her, and she knit her hands into fists and pummeled him on the back and waist, her blows not having much of an effect, as if she hit a sack of flour. She tried to flail her legs, but he held them tight at the back of her knees. He headed toward the bed and stumbled, nearly dropping her. She let out a scream just before he righted himself.
He flung her on the bed and she landed hard, her neck snapping back onto the pillows. Marciano struggled out of his jacket, his body swaying unsteadily one way, then the other. While he wrestled to free his arms, Grace kicked and made contact with his rotund belly, sending him sprawling backward. Nice wouldn’t work now; she had to fight to save her own skin.
He ripped off his jacket and jumped on top of her, crushing the air out of her lungs. He grabbed both sides of her head and jammed his lips onto hers, pinning her down. The flesh of his face smothered her. She could hear the deafening thud of her heart beat as blood pumped through her veins. She tried to fight him off with her arms and legs, but his weight was too much. She wriggled beneath him, trying to break free.
“You bastard!” Felicity shouted, her voice filling the room. “Get off her! She’s not what you want, Joe, and you know it. How dare you do this to me! I won’t let you have another woman. Not again. I won’t, Joe!”
Marciano stopped struggling and turned to look at Felicity, who had a table lamp gripped in her raised hand, ready to strike. “I swear, I’ll bash her head in, Joe. I’ll make her so ugly you won’t want her. You know it’s me you want, Joe. Always me. You always come back to me.”
Marciano’s face contorted with rage. He pushed himself off Grace and lunged at Felicity, snatched the lamp out of her hand, threw it to the floor, smashing it into pieces, and then he lifted his meaty fist and broadsided Felicity in the face. The woman went sprawling to the floor.
Grace yelped, but Marciano held a finger up to her, his face mottled red and gray, sweat dripping into his cold eyes. “Don’t you move,” he rasped.
He grabbed Felicity by the arm and yanked her up off the floor.
“See, Joe,” Felicity said in a whisper. “See, it’s me you want. I know why you brought her here—to get back at Flo. But you really don’t want her, do you?”
Marciano slapped Felicity across the face, and Grace yelped again. Felicity raised her hand to touch the snaking trail of blood trickling from her nose. Her eyebrows arced like a spark of electricity, and she slapped Marciano hard across the face. He growled with rage, then grabbed Felicity around the waist and crushed her to his body. Grace watched in horror as he took a handful of Felicity’s hair and pulled her face to his. He kissed her like a lion devouring his prey. Felicity flung her arms around him, pressing him closer to her. The two were locked in an impassioned embrace, and Grace didn’t know whether to scream, run, or hit them both over the head with the remains of the lamp.
Marciano picked Felicity up off her feet, their lips never unlocking, and he marched out of the room. Felicity finally came up for air and reached down to the doorknob, pulling the door shut behind them.
Grace sat on the bed, her mouth gaping and her insides heaving. “What in heaven’s name was that?”
Grace stood in the washroom stripped to her linen shift and holding a rag they’d given her to bathe herself. In the last week, they’d only let her out of her room to use the toilet and sink down the hall. Felicity, or one of Marciano’s men, brought her food twice a day, and Marciano had not made an appearance since the strange episode with Felicity. His absence both relieved and worried her. How long was she to sit in that room, day after day, wondering about her fate?
Heaviness pulled at her heart like an anchor when she thought about Chet. She knew if she thought too hard, the weight would crush her, and she couldn’t afford to be shattered now. She had to fight her way out of this mess. It was possible that Marciano hadn’t even really killed him, had just wanted her to think the love of her life was dead.
And what about Flo? Had Marciano’s thugs killed him, too? Marciano likely would have mentioned it, delighted in it, if so, and delighted in telling Grace the news himself. And since she’d heard nothing of Flo, she’d think positively there. Still, she wanted to cry and to grieve, but the mere will to stay alive and find a way out of this place wouldn’t let her. She had to hang on to the belief that they were alive, and that she would get out of here, somehow.
She picked up her dress and put it back on. She’d wanted to ask Felicity for a clean garment but didn’t want to encounter the woman’s wrath. When she’d finished dressing, she knocked on the door. One of Marciano’s henchmen, a short, squat, balding man, opened the door for her. He grasped her by the elbow to lead her down the hall, but they stopped when Marciano and Felicity appeared on the landing of the stairway near Grace’s room. Marciano was dressed to the nines in a dark suit, dark shirt with gleaming silver studs, and his white scarf draped around his neck like a snowy boa constrictor. He leered at Grace with the gleam of lust in his eyes. Felicity trailed behind him in sky-blue taffeta and a brilliant diamond necklace, and rolled her eyes when Marciano approached Grace.
“Refreshed?”
Marciano asked, running his hand down Grace’s hair. “You look beautiful.”
“She’s wearing the same rags she wore when she got here,” Felicity said.
Marciano turned to her. “Well, then, she should have one of your dresses, don’t you think? You pick. You have exquisite taste.” He focused again on Grace and moved in close to her, his bulk making her want to shrink. She could smell a hint of alcohol on his breath. Not good.
Marciano raised his chin to his guard dog. “I’ll escort Miss Michelle back to her room,” he said.
Grace’s knees turned to water, and she could feel the life drain from her face.
“You,” Marciano said to Felicity. “Go get one of your finest dresses. And hand over those diamonds. I’m tired of looking at you. You look like a brazen hussy, a used-up whore. I think I’ll have a taste of something new.”
Grace gulped down her fear. She didn’t know who scared her most—Marciano with his oily lecherousness or Felicity with her burning rage.
When Felicity didn’t move, Marciano faced her. “I said, Get the dress.”
Felicity wrinkled her nose. “She’s trash. She doesn’t deserve one of my dresses.”
“Get it, you bitch, or I’ll—”
“You’ll what? Beat me? Go ahead. Give it to me, baby.”
Marciano lunged at Felicity and pinned her against the railing of the staircase. He bashed her face in with his fist, hitting one side of her face and then the other several times. Grace tried to scream, but nothing came out of her mouth. When Marciano finally stopped, Felicity shook her head and put a hand to her bleeding mouth, then stared at the blood on her fingertips. Her lips spread into a hideous smile, blood coloring her teeth bright red.
Marciano delivered a blow to Felicity’s stomach next, and the woman doubled over. On the way to the ground, his knee made contact with her face. Blood spurted from her mouth and nose onto Marciano’s white scarf and even sprayed Grace’s dress. When Felicity hit the ground, Marciano kicked her in the stomach. She groaned, blood bubbling from her mouth, her sky-blue satin dress like a Southern battlefield after a massacre.
“Stop it!” Grace pulled at Marciano’s coat. He swatted her away like a pesky fly. “Help!” she yelled, hoping that one of Marciano’s men would come up and stop the beast, but no one came.
“Stop it, Joe,” Grace begged. “I’ll do anything you want. Just leave her alone.”
Marciano stopped and looked at her. An evil grin spread across his pudgy, alcohol-flushed, vile face for a moment. He then continued to beat Felicity.
The bulky henchman appeared at the top of the stairs.
“Thank God,” Grace shouted. “He’s killing her! Stop him!”
His eyes widened. “Boss, boss!” he said, lurching toward Marciano who was still kicking Felicity. “Hey, boss. Let up. No need for that.”
Marciano stopped like a dog called off his prey by his master. Chest heaving, he looked down at his blood-covered suit. Some of the silver studs on his shirt had popped loose. Sweat glistened on his forehead and ran down his temples into his ears. He straightened, ran a hand through his greasy hair, and pulled his burgundy velvet vest down over the mass of his stomach.
Felicity lay gasping on the ground, clutching her stomach, blood oozing from her mouth and nose as one of her eyes was swelling shut. Grace knelt down next to her. She looked up at Marciano. “You’re an animal,” she said, barely audible.
Marciano harrumphed and wiped the sweat from his forehead. “You wouldn’t want me to wreck that pretty face of yours now, would you?”
Grace thought it best to keep her mouth shut. She half expected him to pull her up by her hair and drag her into the bedroom, but for some reason, he didn’t.
“Clean up this mess,” he said to Grace, pointing to Felicity. “And I’ll be back. You said you’d do anything and I’m going to take you up on that, sweetheart, but I’ve lost my appetite for the moment.” He gave Felicity another kick, this time at her ankle. The woman whimpered in pain.
Marciano straightened his coat and walked down the stairs. His henchman stayed behind.
“Help me get her to the bed,” Grace said. “My room.”
The man obeyed and lifted Felicity gently from the floor. She groaned in pain again, her swollen face contorting in agony.
Grace led them both into the bedroom where the man laid Felicity on the bed. “What’s your name?” Grace asked the man.
“They call me Sparky,” he said, smiling to reveal several missing teeth.
“Thank you, Sparky. Can you get me a washbasin and a clean cloth please?”
He left the room, and Grace gently pulled at Felicity’s arms to get them to release from clutching her stomach. “Let go, Felicity. He’s gone now. Try to relax.”
She clutched at her stomach harder.
“I have to be able to look at you to see if you need a doctor.” Grace tried to use her most soothing voice.
Felicity released an arm and let Grace straighten her head and shoulders on the pillow. Felicity shifted her weight to straighten out, making a squeaking sound with every movement. Grace gently pulled at Felicity’s legs, which were folded to her chest. Though it was obvious Felicity was in pain, she let Grace straighten her legs out in front of her.
Sparky reappeared at the door with a ewer, pitcher, and cloth in hand.
“Set them on the nightstand. Thank you, Sparky.”
He nodded, left the room, and shut the door behind him. Grace heard the key turn in the lock.
“I’m going to check your body for broken bones,” Grace said.
Felicity stared at the ceiling and didn’t respond. Grace gently probed her collarbone, arms, and fingers, then moved up to Felicity’s ribs. Grace felt something rock-hard. “Is that your corset?” she asked.
Felicity blinked but still didn’t respond. Grace took the letter opener from her pocket and held it up. “I’m going to cut through your dress. I’d turn you over to unlace it, but I don’t think I should move you more than I already have.”
No response.
Using the letter opener, Grace worked at the seams of the dress until the stitching loosened and eventually released. She moved the fabric aside to reveal Felicity’s corset. There was nothing unusual about it, but Grace could see something peeking up from the top of the laces. She worked the letter opener to release the laces and pulled them apart. Between the corset and Felicity’s linen shift was a thin, metal plate.
“What is this?”
Felicity moved her head to meet Grace’s eyes. “Protection.”
Grace gasped. “You wear this every day?”
“Never know when he’s gonna go into a rage.”
Grace sat down on the bed next to her. “Oh my god. Why do you stay with him?”
Felicity didn’t answer, just asked, “Why did you tell him you’d do anything?”
“I was trying to stop him. He could have killed you.” Grace wet the cloth and dabbed at Felicity’s face. “I don’t understand. Why are you so jealous? Why do you want a man like that?”
“I don’t know.” Felicity winced under Grace’s ministrations. “I’ve been hanging on to hate for so long, I think I must have lost my mind. The hate turns to something else. I know I sound crazy.”
Grace held the cloth in midair, a thought popping into her mind. “Sophia’s mystery man was Marciano! He’s the man she started seeing after Flo. That’s why you hated her.”
Felicity turned her head from Grace and looked at the far wall. Grace’s gaze narrowed on the woman. “Did you kill my sister?” Or was it Marciano?
Felicity wrung her hands at her waist, drawing Grace’s attention to the metal plate again. “I didn’t kill your sister.” She turned back to face Grace. “But I wasn’t sad when she left.”
“But I bet Marciano was furious.”
Felicity grabbed the rag from Grace and dabbed at her bloody mouth.
Grace stood up from the bed and paced the floor. Marciano was the man Sophia had be
en fleeing, the man who had threatened her life. And he was probably the man who killed her, or had her killed. He had the power, the money, the thirst for revenge. But how could she prove it? She had to get out of here, away from him, before she met the same fate as her sister.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Two days passed before Grace saw Felicity or Marciano again. Sparky made several appearances with her meals and for water closet breaks. Grace felt pretty certain that he’d been parked outside her door for most of the day and night.
She sat at the window, letter opener in hand, chipping away at the paint that sealed the window shut. The work was slow, but she didn’t have anything else to do and it helped her think. She had to come up with some kind of plan of escape.
That evening, shortly after her meal had been delivered, the door burst open, startling her. Marciano’s bulk filled the space between the jambs. He swayed on his feet. His shirt was unbuttoned to the waist, his shirttail was partially untucked, and the cuff of his sleeves were void of their cufflinks. It looked like he’d slept in his clothes. For days. His jet-black hair hung in greasy strings over coal-dead eyes, and Grace could smell the bourbon emanating from his pores from clear across the room.
Her heart thumped hard in her chest, like an Indian drum beat signaling war.
Marciano slammed the door shut and staggered over to the bed where Grace sat, still as a deer behind a thicket.
“I see you’ve been waiting for me,” Marciano said.
Grace cleared her throat, trying to make her vocal chords work. “I have no choice, do I?”
Marciano laughed and moved closer to the bed. He stood in front of her, his crotch in her face. Grace gulped. He grabbed her by the hair, pulled her up, and planted a slobbery kiss on her lips. She winced as she felt his saliva ooze down her chin. The smell and taste of liquor burned her nose and throat, making her want to vomit. Her stomach ready to heave, she pushed him away from her.
“Remember what I said about rejection,” he said.
Suppressing the urge to lose her dinner on his shiny, patent leather shoes, Grace wiped her face. “I’m not rejecting you, I just needed some air.” She had to play her cards right. She knew he liked violence—she’d witnessed that with Felicity—but she hoped she could finesse the situation a little better.
