by Jesse Jordan
Which means I need to be very, very careful.
“That's the last one,” Leon says as he closes the door on the back of the truck. To anyone who doesn't know the truth, they'd think The Farm was just making a delivery to Termini Imerese, and the paperwork the driver has says that it's a shipment of agricultural products bound for Lebanon.
“Good,” I reply, watching the rest of The Sultan's men pile into their vehicles to go back to their ship. “Anything else?”
“The Sultan will not be happy about Kahled,” Leon says, bringing the subject up again. “You know that, right?”
“I know that if Kahled wants to be a bitch about it, I'll be more than happy to deal with it,” I shoot back. Leon's a passive aggressive type, a wheedler and a whiner. I have no fucking clue how he got so high in The Sultan's operation. “If The Sultan wants to be compensated for his medical care, then he can speak with me personally about it.”
Leon blanches at the threat in my voice, and he nods, getting in the last of The Sultan's vehicles and driving away. I watch them go, feeling bad about what's going to happen to the girls I didn't save. But nearly two dozen girls... I can't. Even if the rest of their lives are going to be most likely nasty, brutal, and short, I can't do anything about it.
In some ways, I wish Larissa were here right now to talk. Yes, she's a seductress and a killer. Yes, one of her favorite things to do is to fuck her targets and then kill them just after they come. Yes, she likes to playfully flirt with me, mainly because she knows I'm fully aware that she's a black widow, and that I'll never let her get close enough to slip a blade into my brain even as I come deep inside her body. But she does have a moral code, and I find comfort from listening to her point of view. And besides, she's one of the people in The Network I actually enjoy spending time with outside of work. Not that I'd ever let my guard down with her.
In any case, I've got other things to do. I leave The Farm and drive back through Caccamo, stopping on the main road at a small women's clothing shop. Caccamo is a city that thrives on two things, The Network and tourism, and most of the modern shopping is further away at Termini. But there's a few stores, like this one, that cater to locals who either can't or won't make the twenty kilometer drive to the oceanside port.
“Bonnanote!” the owner says as I come in, something that I do like about living in Italy. These old school shop owners, they'll yell, they'll haggle, they'll harass you... just like they do with their best friends or family members any time they come into the shop as well.
“Where's your casual things?” I ask in Italian, my accent not quite Sicilian but still clear and sounding almost native. In fact, in Rome nobody asks me if I'm a foreigner at all. In Caccamo they know better than to ask.
“Over here,” the shopkeeper says, showing me the small selection. This is a small shop, this isn't like shopping at a mega discount store. Still, she has what I need, light sweatpants and sweatshirt along with a t-shirt. I wouldn't get Jessica underthings here, and besides, she hasn't earned them yet. “Ah, very good! Your lady will enjoy these!”
“I hope so,” I answer, not letting on exactly who or why I'm buying them. “How much?”
“Forty euro,” the shopkeeper says, smiling when I hand over a fifty and wave off the change. I do my best to make sure the town gets a little bit more of the profits from our activities than what the townspeople might report on their income taxes. It's the Sicilian way. “Thank you, kind sir.”
“Ciao,” I greet as I leave, getting back in my truck. Before I start up my engine I reach into my pocket and take out my cell phone, typing out a quick message to an unlisted number.
Shipment leaving Imerese tonight. Heading for Lebanon, bound for Mideast. Sultan is transporting.
I hit send, waiting for the phone to say that the message was sent. I know I won't get a reply, I almost never do. I just get a deposit in my other bank account, and the moral quandary that'll have me visiting Father Giacamo at confession in another day or two, ready to unburden my soul as much as I safely can.
In Caccamo, even the confessional isn't always sacrosanct. And keeping secrets is very important, if I want to stay alive.
Jessica
The blanket helps but isn't really enough when I hear the bolt on the door to my room being drawn back and Rodrigo returns, two bowls of something that smells good in his hands and a bag on his back. When he does, he looks at the foot of my mattress, nodding in approval when he sees that I've folded the poncho and coiled the little bit of rope on top of it.
Not that I didn't think about trying to use it. I even got as far as wrapping it around my neck, but a couple of things stopped me. First, the rope's short, I don't think I'd be able to wrap a knot that would hold me. But secondly, maybe I'm too much of a coward, because I can't stand the idea of dying. Finally, and the part that disturbs me the most... I rolled up the rope and poncho because Rodrigo told me to. The way he said it, his tone of voice, the look in his eyes when he said it, it's all swirled around and around in my head since he locked me up.
“You did well,” Rodrigo says, setting one of the bowls down next to the poncho. I look and see that it's a simple stew, lots of tomatoes and chunks of what looks like pork on top of rice. It's plain, but it smells heavenly, and I wonder how long it's been since I last ate. “Good. No use carrying the bag down as well if you just were going to waste the opportunity.”
“Thank you....” I whisper, trying to force myself to call him Master, I know it'll help me, but I can't. I'm a free woman, I'm nobody's slave. Finally, I nod my thanks again, repeating myself. “Thanks.”
“Hmmm... still making the effort though. Well, you still get these,” Rodrigo says, opening the bag and taking out a set of thin sweatpants and sweatshirt and a thin t-shirt. “Here, go ahead and dress, then eat. We can get to know each other as you do.”
Rodrigo watches me as I dress, his eyes still so studious and perceptive as he looks at me, a small frown forming when he looks over my face. “Come here. Hands behind your back.”
For some reason I obey, and Rodrigo grasps my chin, studying my swollen lip. “Kahled caused that? I thought it might have gone down already.”
“Yes,” I admit. “I don't feel it too much, I heal up quickly. And....”
I stop, and Rodrigo lifts an eyebrow, amused. “Yes?”
“I enjoyed watching you kick his ass,” I whisper, my heart starting to beat faster looking into Rodrigo's powerful gaze. I enjoyed more than that, I secretly admit. Watching him was like watching the real deal for the first time, not some fake. Thousands of so-called men in my life... and I think I'm seeing the first real one I've ever met. “Did you break his arm?”
“His wrist,” Rodrigo says, smirking and letting me go. “We'll keep an eye on that, I don't want you damaged. At least.... not by anyone else. Have a seat, eat your dinner. There's seconds if you want it.”
I sit down, feeling for the first time since I regained consciousness at least somewhat normal, if only because I'm wearing clothes again. Rodrigo watches me as I eat, the same little smile on his face as I try not to make a pig of myself with the stew, it's delicious.
“Here,” Rodrigo says, reaching into his bag and taking out a one liter bottle of water. “Don't chug, but I'll take you upstairs after we get done here to use the toilet and refill the bottle. We don't have a downstairs toilet, so you might have to get used to a bucket for your nightly needs.”
“Thank you,” I repeat, sighing in pleasure. “So... you know my name, you know I'm from Jersey. What else do you know?”
“You're smart,” Rodrigo says, smirking. “I'd say... bachelor's degree?”
I shake my head, a proud little smile coming out as I feel like bragging just a little bit. “No, I just finished my Master's from Rutgers. I'm from around there, I grew up seeing plenty of Giants and Jets games. You ever been?”
I know that I'm half flirting, half trying to gain sympathy. I want out of this room, I want my freedom, and if I have to flirt a
little bit, make sure my boobs push out this sweatshirt a little, then I'll do it. There's lines I won't cross however.
“Never been to a Giants game,” Rodrigo says, still watching me. He sits down on the dusty unfinished concrete floor, making sure he keeps himself between me and the door, and I'm pretty sure that the door's open, only momentum keeping it shut right now. Still, there's no way I could get around Rodrigo and through the door before he could grab me, so I use my brain and body for now, hoping for a chance to develop. “So what did you study?”
“Chemistry,” I reply proudly. “I came to Europe for a three month break before going back to start my fellowship and my doctorate studies.”
“So where'd you get taken?” Rodrigo asks. “I know not here, The Network has a hard and fast rule to not shit where we eat.”
I think, I've had time since he locked me in here, and my memories have come back. Whatever it was that they hit me with, it came on hard, but it's gone now. “I flew into Catania about two weeks ago I guess. I don't know how long I was out.”
“Less than a day, if you were taken on Sicily. The drug they hit you with can be addictive, and the slave markets prefer girls who don't have any addictions before they are sold. Continue.”
I take another bite of stew, chewing slowly. “I spent the first two or three days just relaxing, enjoying the beaches, soaking up some winter sun. Jersey's already getting cold and miserable, but the beaches.... I loved rocking my bikini on the beaches. I thought it'd be scandalous, I mean I read so much about how Sicilians can be conservative, but I fit right in on the beach.”
“I'm sure. But you didn't spend two weeks just sun soaking, your skin's too pale for that. You'd either be heavily tanned or sun burnt and blistering,” Rodrigo says. “Let me guess, art museums?”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “No, I went to Syracuse. One of my electives during my undergrad work was Ancient European History, and the idea of getting to go to the same place as where Archimedes lived, the biggest ancient Greek colony in Italy... well, I guess that's not your thing.”
“You'll find yourself very surprised what my so-called things are,” Rodrigo counters, chuckling. “Very surprised. So how was Syracuse?”
“Enjoyable. Obviously the city's been rebuilt dozens of times since the ancients, but Temple to Apollo is still mostly there, along with the Necropolis. That was kinda cool. That night, I was staying at a online BnB rental, and the girl who owned it said that there was a nightclub that was pretty popular. So I went and.....”
“You got caught in the Pitcher Plant,” Rodrigo says, nodding. When I give him a confused look, he shrugs. “The online rental you made, the building is owned by someone who is either in The Network or owes favors to The Network. The club you went to is one of ours, and I'm guessing the drinks you were given were spiked. When you went down, the bouncers had you out the door and in a van to bring you to The Farm probably before Ariana Grande finished singing she wanted to go side to side.”
I sigh, nodding, that's probably exactly how it went down. I still don't quite remember much of the club. “So that's me. A normal American girl from New Jersey with one parent, a dog that's being taken care of by my former college roomie, a huge pile of student loans, and a hobby of drawing because it's cheap and it helps me think. And to be honest I'll do just about anything to go back to all of it.”
“Anything?” Rodrigo asks, leering, and I growl.
“Not that.”
Rodrigo laughs, shaking his head. “Don't worry, as I said I don't find anything in forcing a woman into intercourse. Now, let me give you a few pointers. I live alone here, and my nearest neighbor is quite a good ways away. So even if you want to yell yourself raw during the times I'm not here, you won't be heard.”
“But I'm....”
“I'm not done!” Rodrigo rumbles, his voice rising a little bit and his eyes flashing. “Interrupt me again Jessica, and you will be punished. The information I'm about to give you is going to be very, very important in your new life. And make no mistake about it, the life you had, going to Rutgers, a pleasant if boring future of mixing chemicals and looking for the next great shampoo or food additive... all of that is over! Your life has become much, much simpler, and I think more fulfilling. You belong to me now, and with that there are duties on both our parts. You will do as I command, and if you choose not to, you will be punished. As I said, I do not do sexual punishments. You will never be raped. You will not be 'lent out' to any of my colleagues who come here, and yes, other members of The Network do come to this house on my invitation from time to time.”
Rodrigo takes a deep breath, his voice lowering. “I'm telling you this because despite what you probably think of me, and I'm nobody to take lightly, I'm also more controlled than some of my superiors in The Network. Questions?”
“What's The Network?” I ask, and Rodrigo nods, pleased.
“In the seventies, the Sicilian Mafia was known as Cosa Nostra, 'Our Thing' in Italian. With the crackdown in certain areas, and the spreading of markets, of opportunities, elements have merged with groups from around the world to form The Network, or some of them call it Il Rete, again Italian. I work underneath the Sicilian capo, Il Capitano. You haven't met him, ironically he's not in Sicily often, which is where I come in as his man on the ground in the home province. You met The Dryad, the woman with me today. Other people that you need to pay attention to are The Composer, a Russian man, and The Sultan, the man I bought you from. Be especially wary if The Sultan sends any of his men to this villa, he and I are not on the best of terms.”
I nod, and I see that Rodrigo is giving me a chance to speak. “Do they have real names?”
“You may learn them in time. If they offer it to you, realize that you are both being trusted, and increasing your danger. All of these people, and I, have killed. The Dryad's list is... particularly impressive. Jessica, if you wish to live, and live well, respect them and respect me. You will learn to behave and speak as a lady at all times as well as serve them as I command. If I tell you to go make a grilled cheese sandwich, and you don't know how to cook, you better learn very quickly,” Rodrigo says. “And yes, you will serve me too, eventually in the bedroom as well as the rest of the house.”
“I won't be a sex slave!” I protest, and Rodrigo laughs, getting up and coming over, squatting down in front of me. He puts his finger under my chin, lifting it until I have to look him in the eye, the power of his gaze making my words seem weak, and part of me says that I do want to serve him, that if he says get on my knees, I'm there.
“I can see it in your eyes, Jessica. Like I said, you won't be forced to accept my cock. But then again, you aren't deserving of it yet. And when you are, I won't force it on you. You're going to have to get rid of that outer pride you've got, get rid of that fake armor of bitchiness that's gotten you through your life so far. You're going to have to beg for it.”
I gulp, I can't help it, my body's wanting this man, this dangerous killer who now says he owns me. “And if I don't beg?”
“Then you won't get it. But you want it, I can see it,” Rodrigo says, letting go of my chin and standing up. “Jessica, if you behave, if you choose to serve me well... you'll get everything you've ever dreamed of. I may not look it, I know you probably don't approve of how I've gotten it, but anything you can dream of.... I can give it to you. If you choose wisely.”
Rodrigo backs up and sits down, watching as I finish my dinner. “Good. Seconds?”
“No thank you,” I answer. “It was delicious... sir.”
“Sir? An improvement,” Rodrigo says, smirking. “Come on, I'll take you upstairs to use the toilet, and since you tried to be polite, you can wash up in the sink. I'll get you some toiletries over the next few days, until then you might be brushing with the finger and toothpaste method.”
Rodrigo leads me upstairs, and with every step I'm aware of the raw animal magnetism of him behind me, pulling at me even through my clothes, and I barely notice the layout o
f his villa house as he directs me to one of the toilets. It's plain but functional, and Rodrigo leans against the door frame while I do my business, aware enough that I can't get away with anything but still giving me a bit of privacy. After I finish he's true to his word, letting me wash up and refill my water bottle and he leads me back downstairs, grabbing the basics for a 'camp toilet' on the way from a closet in the kitchen. When we get to the metal door I pause, not wanting to go back inside. Even if the company is just Rodrigo, it's better than staring at the walls of the room.
“Inside,” Rodrigo says, his voice hard again. When I start to protest he grabs my arm and shoves me inside, his voice dropping and growling. “I told you, Jessica. You will obey me. Because of that... enjoy the darkness. I was going to give you a few hours of light.”
He shuts the door in my face and locks it, the dim bulb over my head going out seconds later. I shuffle my way across the floor until I kick the mattress and lie down, pulling the blanket over top of me. It's eerily silent, the walls are so thick that nothing filters through, and it's only after I've been crying for a solid minute or more that I realize what the sound is.
Rodrigo
The next day, Jessica is still feisty but more cooperative when I turn on the light and open the door to her room. “I have to go into town today, but I will be back by mid-afternoon,” I inform her, testing her as I let her use the toilet upstairs and wash out her bucket after breakfast. “I expect to come back to find your room cleaned.”
“Yes...,” she says again, and there's a part of me that feels for her. She's never had to call anyone Master before, it was even hard for her to call me sir last night. But she hesitates again before closing her mouth. It's encouraging in its own way. I don't want to 'break her,' I want to train her, and proper training can only be done with someone of great spiritual strength. “I understand.”
