Capo

by Martin, Nicolina

  One afternoon when I exit the gym, wiping my forehead with a towel, sweaty and spent, I stop flat and stare. A few feet from me sits a young boy with short, ink-black hair, tracing the patterns in the carpet with the tip of his index finger. It takes me a moment to recognize David. David Salvatore. I look up, my heart leaping to my throat. Is the door unlocked? When I look back, he has raised his head and pins me with his dark gaze. I frown and abandon the instinct to try to run. With the high wall and all the guards there’s no point anyway, and David looks so lost and lonely. I crouch before him, careful to keep my distance.

  “Hi.”

  He looks down and continues to trace the swirly pattern. “I’m David,” he mumbles.

  I sit down and cross my legs. “Nice to meet you, David. I’m Chloe.”

  “I’m David,” he says again, the speed of his tracing increasing.

  I don’t move. I wait. He’s stressed. He has somehow escaped his caregiver and he doesn’t know me, and possibly not these surroundings.

  He keeps repeating his name and I decide to try to distract him. I’m sure someone will come for him soon. Until then, I can only do my best to soothe his worried little soul.

  “Do you like the pattern?”

  He stops, his finger digging into a spot. “Red.”

  My heart makes a little somersault. It worked. “Yes! Red. What color is this?” I point at a blue dot.”

  “Color,” says David in his monotone voice as a prickle in my neck makes me turn. A wave of terror washes over me, and it’s as if all blood drains from my head. Behind me stands Salvatore, a gun glinting in his hand that he’s holding tight against his thigh. My eyes dart between the gun and his gaze that flickers with emotion. He looks over my shoulder, at David, and then back at me. With a barely-there shake of his head he tucks the weapon away under his suit and lets his arms drop.

  “Son,” he says, his voice stern. “You are not allowed in here. You can not run away from your nanny!”

  A high-pitched shriek from David makes me spin around. He has crossed his arms over his chest and rocks back and forth.

  “It’s okay, David, sweetie. Go with your daddy.” I glance behind me, at Salvatore who’s towering over us, emotions swirling around him like a storm brewing. I swallow hard, wondering if there’ll be consequences. For me. For David.

  “Be gentle with him,” I whisper. “Be patient.”

  “What do you know?” he sneers, but there’s something new in his gaze that I haven’t seen before. An uncertainty. A hint of worry.

  Salvatore takes a stride past me and hoists David up in his embrace. David stiffens and Salvatore clutches him tighter as he gives me one last dark glance, looking me over.

  Then they disappear, the door locking with a very final click that is pure agony to my ears.

  I deflate, falling forward, clutching the towel, panting as if I’ve been sprinting. It’s been three weeks and a day. Three weeks and a day since he beat me remorselessly. I have never seen him express any other emotion than lust or rage. Often sickeningly mixed. Today I saw a man I don’t want to acknowledge. I don’t want to know he can be vulnerable. I know I’ll never see that side again.

  He’ll return, and he will kill me.

  I don’t get up for a long time. My eyes are dry and hot, my throat tight with the tears that won’t come.

  I hope it will be quick. I hope he’ll show mercy when taking my life. I always knew this new relative freedom would be ripped from me. Today is the day. If there is a God, please make it quick. Haven’t I suffered enough?

  Chapter 15

  Luciano

  I couldn’t fucking shoot her in front of my kid.

  Before me they’re all scared, but there was also something fierce in that gaze, something that shot straight to my gut, something protective, as if she was prepared to defend David.

  From me.

  I clutch the squirming, wordlessly crying kid harder to my chest. A nine-year-old is strong, but he’s still got nothing on me. I free one arm and haul up my phone, thumbing up the number to Carmen, David’s mom.

  “Luci?” comes her soft voice with that sexy Spanish-Colombian accent. “Something wrong?”

  “You could say that,” I growl. “David ran from his caregiver. I’m firing the bitch in a minute. We need a new one. Come pick him up for me. You’ll possibly save her life if you get here pronto!”

  “Dios mio! Behave! I was on my way to town. I’m halfway. I’ll turn around and come as soon as I can.”

  “Make it sooner,” I snarl. Before I disconnect I hear her hiss in response and I can’t help that one corner of my mouth pulls up into a half-smile.

  Carmen Moreno Payne. I think she might be the only person in the world who isn’t afraid of me. Possibly apart from my closest family, but even they have their moments of hesitation. We were off to a rocky start when I let loose my inner devil on the young prostitute she once was. I impregnated her by mistake, and we had David. I thought I was getting an heir I could raise within my empire, someone I could make my successor when the time came. Instead he turned out to be this semi-mute, asocial boy who resists me, who avoids all eye contact, and who won’t play with other kids.

  I can’t reject him. He’s eaten his way beneath my skin. I see so much of myself in him, despite his disabilities. But I don’t know how to handle him. I can’t get close. He doesn’t speak, and I don’t know how to reach him. I clutch him harder, wanting to transfer some of the warmth from his little body to mine, but he’s not having it and pushes away, almost falling out of my grip.

  My thoughts keep darting back to the image of Chloe on the floor, her quiet, gentle approach to David. He spoke to her. He never answers when I talk to him. She met him a few seconds and he fucking spoke. He rarely speaks to the people I employ to care for him. He grunts his approval or disapproval. Sometimes I doubt he even has language.

  I find the aide who was supposed to guard him and let David down before the trembling girl. She looks as if she expects me to beat her. I clench my fists as I fight the instinct to at least give her a well-deserved slap. I have bitter experiences with David reacting badly to witnessing violence. “You’re fired,” I growl. “Pack your fucking things and be out of here in thirty seconds or I’ll flay you alive.”

  She gives out a squeak as her eyes tear up, then she spins on her heels and darts out of the room as if she has the Devil on her back. She might as well have. I look down on David. She didn’t even fucking give him a second thought when she ran off. Bitch!

  I flinch when my phone rings. Eric. I glance at the clock before I answer, wondering how long it will take Carmen to get here. I have business to attend to. I can never rest.

  I tap the phone to connect. “What’s up?”

  “Have you been in contact with Christian?”

  “I—” I pause to think. “A few days ago. Why?”

  “I can’t get ahold of him. His phone is disconnected.”

  “What the fuck?” I glance at David, then toward the hallway. Still no fucking Carmen. “Hang on a sec. I’ll call you back.” I disconnect and pocket the phone. Hauling up David on one arm, and pulling the key out of my pocket, I then steer my steps back to my private wing.

  Chloe sits where I left her. She spins around, her face a stiff mask of fear. She sags when she sees David, the tension leaving her posture.

  “Take care of him,” I growl as I turn on my heels and slam the door closed behind me again. Locking it, I haul up my phone and call Eric. “Tell me!”

  “Not much to tell. We need him to get back here ASAP. You told me he went to Canada. I haven’t talked to him since before he left. The negotiations with the Russians are turning sour and I have a bad feeling about this.

  “I’ll deal with Christian. Is that fat fur-clad friend still with us? The one who initiated our contacts with his boss in Moscow?”

  “I can’t get ahold of him either. I don’t like it, and I think he played us.”

  I pace the room
back and forth, my thoughts sprawling in all different directions. “Did anyone come here? An influx of people we don’t know?”

  Eric is silent a few moments. “Actually, yes.”

  “I don’t like the sound of this. Are we keeping tabs on them?”

  “I’ve tried, Luci. We’re too few.”

  “That many? Why the fuck are you just telling me now? Why didn’t I know of this?”

  “This is a day old, Boss. I tried to get ahold of Christian the whole morning.”

  “All right. I’ll find him and get his ass here. Call in our people from Chicago and Vegas. Will that be enough? And arm up.”

  “That’ll cover it for now. Will do.”

  “Good.” I disconnect as I stop and stare out at my garden, at the robotic lawnmower that’s zig-zagging its way across the impeccably green surface. My front door opens and closes, and I turn to see Carmen, worry etched on her face.

  “How is he?”

  “Take him until I can sort this shit.” I shove my fingers through my hair. “Fuck! Everything happens at fucking once. Wait here. I’ll get him for you.” I storm off toward my chambers, my heartrate picking up when I don’t see them in the hallway. What if this was an absolutely braindead decision? I gave my son to a woman I’m holding captive, who I’ve been torturing for months. What if she’s hurt him to get back at me? My mouth turns dry as I follow the sounds from a TV, and then I stop in the doorway to my bedroom. David and Chloe sit before a children’s show, an animated talking train. Chloe looks up at me, her features calm, almost serene, then she turns back to David. She gestures, almost as if she’s trying sign language, and David mimics what she’s doing, his lips moving even though he still doesn’t speak.

  I swallow against the sudden lump in my throat as I approach them. “His mom is here to take him,” I mutter.

  She nods and shuffles back, still kneeling. I realize she doesn’t want to suddenly stand and tower over David and potentially scare him. I follow her cue and get down on one knee. “Mom’s here, Son.” David doesn’t react and my heart sinks. Every fucking time. I just can’t get a response. I grab under his arms and hoist him up, feeling him stiffen as always. I shoot Chloe one last glance. Her eyes are unreadable as she meets my gaze. I have an instinct to say thank you, but I quell it. I can’t show her any weakness. She already knows too much. She’s seen more of me and my fucked-up mind than what’s healthy for either of us.

  Chloe

  They leave me a mess. That last look filled with so many unspoken words. David’s whole body protesting against his father’s touch. Every instinct in me screamed that I needed to help them connect. There was despair in Salvatore’s eyes, a brief light when he saw David, and then it died as quickly as it appeared.

  I was only a part time accountant at the center, I didn’t actively work with the kids like Kerry did, but we were all put through classes on how to approach children with autism.

  Pushing to my feet, I then take an uncertain step toward where they disappeared before I turn and head for the shower instead.

  Nothing can soothe the turmoil inside. I don’t even try to sleep. Sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed, I watch TV without seeing anything. I keep expecting Salvatore to show up again. Alone. With the gun. It’s obvious that my time is up. I’ve been held as if I am an animal. I keep fighting him, keep resisting his demands, and now he’s decided he has no use for me.

  Suddenly the door opens further, and a shadow fills the opening, blocking most of the light from the hallway. My heart leaps to my throat and my racing pulse feels as if it will choke me.

  Salvatore crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the door post. My eyes dart to his hands and even in the dim light I see they are empty. It isn’t comforting in the least. His hands alone are death. I stare, transfixed, as he tightens them into fists, then relaxes them again.

  “Please,” I whisper, “make it quick.” Tears well up in my eyes. I won’t beg for my life. I doubt it will change his mind.

  He’s quiet for a few moments, then he sighs. “You look good.” His voice is grave, a deep rumbling baritone. Salvatore has a very pleasant voice. When he wants to. And it seems he does now for some reason.

  “I—” Not the response I was expecting. “Thank you?” I twitch when he moves toward me, but I remain still even though my insides shrink away.

  “Are you enjoying your new toys?”

  Frowning, I look around me, at the piles of books, at the TV, the iPad next to me. He has kept moving and is right by the bed now. I inhale, my breath hitching as his scent invades my whole world.

  “Thank you for the gym,” I whisper, hypnotized by his black eyes.

  “You’re welcome. Lie down.”

  I whimper but stretch out my legs and fall on my back, never breaking his gaze. He sets a knee on the bed, moves in on me, the air between us thickening, charged with the unmentionable things he has done, all the things I fear he will do. Salvatore climbs on top of me, supporting himself on his elbows, his body brushing mine, intimate, pushing way past my boundaries, but still not quite there. Leaning closer, he puts his lips to my ear.

  “Thank you for David,” he whispers. “Tomorrow morning at six, you are to attend breakfast with my son and me. Dress for the occasion. Be ready. I’ll fetch you.”

  He goes silent but doesn’t move, hot air fans my cheek and I can’t seem to remember how to breathe.

  “Also,” he adds, so close now that I feel his lips moving against my earlobe, “I like the way you’re short of breath when I get close.” He sinks down on me, just enough so that I can feel his bulge pressing against my pussy. I swallow hard, unable to move. “A lot.” His voice a low growl that sends shudders running down my spine.

  The mattress rocks as he pushes away and stands. He gives me one last glance, looking me over, as if he’s undressing me with his gaze, then he exits the room, leaving the door slightly ajar.

  I curl up on my side, clutching a pillow, panting hard, my skin burning where he touched me. No cruelties? Breakfast? I’m so confused. I jerk and reach for the iPad, setting an alarm for 5 a.m. It’s a little more than five hours away. I doubt I’ll sleep at all, but just in case.

  He moves out there, a mere few feet from where I lie. I don’t know how I missed these sounds before. Doors opening and closing. Water flushing. Then silence. Silence. Silence.

  Oh my God. How can he fucking sleep when my whole body and mind is in uproar?

  I almost fly through the roof when the alarm goes off and realize I must have fallen asleep at some point anyway.

  Stumbling, half-blind, toward the bathroom, I listen out the hallway but hear nothing. I shower, and as I dry myself, I twist and look at my backside in the mirror, at the angry red welts, at the horizontal scarring–the signs of his rage–and my stomach sinks. It’s all games to him. Being cruel, being nice. Still, I’ll take nice even if it’s brief because I desperately need some semblance of normalcy. I rub furiously at my wet hair, terrified to use the blow dryer now that I know he’s so close. I put on dark gray slacks and a white T-shirt. I don’t have socks or shoes. No makeup. It’s not like it has been needed. When I’m done, I sit on the edge of the bed, twisting my hands in my lap. I still have forty minutes to go before he said he’d pick me up and I’m a tight knot of emotions I can’t sort. Is he tricking me? My worst fear isn’t even that he’ll kill me. My worst fear is that he’ll play with me, hand me rays of hope and then snatch them away.

  At half past five I hear a door open and my pulse skyrockets. I sit frozen to the spot as I listen to the sounds of his morning routine. The sudden silence is ominous, and then the door opens. Luciano Salvatore, in all his infuriatingly beautiful glory and power, dressed in tight black jeans and a black T-shirt, appears before me. He’s barefoot, like I am. His hair is slightly damp. Like mine. He gives me a once-over before he nods.

  “Good girl. Come.”

  It’s 5:57. I don’t know the date, but I think it might be aut
umn. I have a feeling my life is to change yet again. I just don’t know if it’s for the better or for the worse.

  Chapter 16

  Chloe

  Strong fingers close around my arm as he grabs me and pulls me to him. His touch robs me of my breath. In fear. In a twisted longing for bodily contact that I’ve been denied for so long. The girl inside me screams for a simple hug, not this brutal grip, but a part of me is happy even for this little touch.

  “I can walk on my own,” I mutter, as I yank my arm trying to get loose from his hold.

  He scoffs as I stumble next to him through the hallway. “I don’t trust you not to make a run for it.”

  “Yeah? And whose fault is that?”

  His grip tightens to the point that my heart speeds up in fear of him breaking my arm. Or maybe it’s the sight of the door? Maybe I’m afraid to leave my prison?

  “Don’t get cute. I’m trying to be fucking civilized.”

  “Trying,” I mouth bitterly.

  Salvatore puts the key in the lock. The click is harsh in my over-sensitized mind, and when he swings the door open the flood of light makes me take a small step back. He leans in, his mouth to my ear. “I think you should settle for ‘trying’.” His voice is low, sensuous, slow, setting off a rush of goosebumps running down my spine. Straightening, he looks me over and gives my arm a tug. “I thought you were desperate to leave. Look at you. You’re afraid to even take the next step. Do you even want your precious freedom?”

  My mouth turns dry. Freedom? No. It can’t be. I know he’s shitting me, but I still ask. “Are… are you letting me go?”

  I gawk as we stride through a large room with a high ceiling and gigantic windows through which the early morning sun splashes white light, reflecting in the white walls, bouncing off the dark hardwood floor. Fresh air wafts in through a glass door that has been left slightly ajar. I inhale deeply, for a moment forgetting the monster by my side. The sharp, sweet scent of newly cut grass is softened by undertones of wet earth, dew, and a slight fog. The floor is warm where the sun caresses it and chilly in the shadows. Everything is quiet.