by Ash, Nikki
“He’s been falling behind in the polls,” Stefan continues. “Ever since his wife passed away, he’s been known to have some anger issues, even slipped a few times in public.”
“His anger issues are now irrelevant,” I quip, already over this conversation.
“Doesn’t he have a stepdaughter?” Nico joins in. “I saw some pictures of her a while back. She’s smoking fucking hot.”
“Nico,” our mom scolds. “Watch your language.”
“I don’t give a fuck about his personal life or his hot daughter. As long as he pays me back every goddamned last penny he owes me, his business is his business.”
“Giovanni,” my mom chides at the use of my language.
“I read she went missing,” Nico adds.
“Yes, right after her mother died. The press questioned the senator, but he asked for his personal life to remain private, saying his stepdaughter needed to grieve,” Stefan informs us. As much of an asshole as Hightower is, it wouldn’t surprise me if that girl ran for the hills. All this talk about Hightower makes me realize I haven’t heard from him since the day he ran out of my club with his balls in his hands.
My mom cuts in, changing the subject. “I am thinking of doing a family vacation this summer. Maybe May or June, all of us in Atlantis.” She smiles excitedly.
My father nods, returning her smile. “Anything you want, Claudia.” You’d think, with the way he treats her, she hangs the moon. But if so, then why does he seek pussy elsewhere?
“That sounds good, Mom. Just let me know when.”
“Yeah, a trip to the Bahamas sounds good. Maybe Mario can join us.” Nico pulls out his phone, most likely texting our brother.
“Cecilia, would you be able to go?” Real subtle, mom…
“I think so. As long as Giovanni doesn’t mind me taking off at the same time as him.” Cecilia bats her eyelashes at me, and Nico chuckles under his breath. I give him a pointed look, telling him silently to shut the hell up.
Thankfully, the topic of conversation switches back to work. “I heard from Don you lent one of his girls money.” My dad gives me an appreciative smile.
“Yeah, as a personal favor toward him. If she doesn’t pay me back on time, he’ll owe me the money… or she can work at the club to pay it off. She would definitely be a money maker.”
I see Cecilia straighten, and I know I hit a nerve. If it were up to her, there would be no club. She detests the thought of all these women taking attention away from her. I’ve never admitted it, but I haven’t fucked any of the women who work for me. I’d rather her assume I do. If I’m not fucking her, I usually just pick up a woman at one of our hotel bars or clubs. It’s just easier that way. My father taught me a long time ago, not to shit where you eat. Fucking the women who work for me would only create an unnecessary shit storm. And yes, I’m aware I’m fucking Cecilia who works for me, but that shit started before she worked for me, and trust me when I say, I’ve learned my lesson.
“I appreciate you doing him that favor. I know it’s not your usual modus operandi.” He reaches over and gives me a squeeze on my shoulder. “The bordello is bringing in good money, Son. Nico and I were going over the books recently and I am pleased with the way things are going. The hotels, restaurants, and casinos are all thriving. The economy is improving, and we are in the black. My only concern is with the Lorenzo family in New Jersey. Mario has been having some issues with shipments going through.” He lets out an exhausted sigh. “Last thing I heard, they are wanting to buy back the waterfront property they lost and it’s been rumored they’re going to try to stop the shipments from coming in. I might need you to go to New Jersey soon. I have some important shipments that’ll need to get through without issue and I can’t take a chance.”
“Whatever you need, Dad.” And that’s the truth. I would do anything for my family. You don’t get to where we are by not remaining loyal to those in your circle.
“Grazie, my boy.”
After lunch is over, we all go our separate ways. Cecilia asks if I want to take a cab back with her, but I have other things to take care of, so I tell her I’ll see her back at the club later.
Half an hour later, I’m standing in the senator’s office requesting to speak with him.
“I’m sorry, Sir. He’s not seeing anyone without an appointment,” his secretary says.
I smile and give her a wink. “Let him know Giovanni Valentino is here to see him. He will make the exception.”
She picks up the phone and calls her boss. After a bunch of “yes sirs,” she puts the phone down, and giving me a pointed look, huffs out, “He will be with you momentarily.”
I smile and walk toward the sitting area. There are several pictures along the walls. A couple of the senator at ribbon ceremonies, one of him shaking an old President’s hand. The last one looks like a family picture at a charity event. There are two women with Weston. The woman on his right is beaming brightly, but it looks fake as hell. She’s pretty for an older woman. She’s clearly younger than Weston but older than the other woman in the picture, who is standing on Weston’s other side. This girl is a mini-version of the older woman. She has chocolate brown hair, olive skin, and bright bluish-green eyes. She must be her daughter.
“Such a shame.” I turn to face the secretary to give her my attention. “His wife. She was killed in a car accident…well geez, it must have been almost nine months ago. Time sure flies.” She frowns.
“The girl in the picture? Is that their daughter?” I point to the one I was just examining.
“That’s his stepdaughter. I guess it’s a shame about her as well. After her mom died, she dropped out of college at the end of her sophomore year and took off.” Hmm… guess she’s not missing.
“Thank you, Margaret.” Weston’s voice is clipped. Cold. Not like a man who lost his wife tragically and it hurts to hear about her. More like a man who is hiding something. I tilt my head just a tad and give him a knowing smirk. I see you, Weston Hightower. Game on. Extending my hand, I go in for a shake just to fuck with him. He takes my hand in his, his fingers bandaged.
“What happened to your hand, Senator? Looks bad.” He pulls his hand back without answering my question and mutters to his secretary to hold all his calls.
The office door closes behind us and I cut right to the chase. “I haven’t heard from you. I’m assuming you are busy collecting my money from God knows where.”
“I need some more time. Give me two months.”
“You have two weeks to pay me in full. I want a percentage now, though.”
His one good hand balls into a fist at his side. He’s used to being the one in charge and he’s holding back from going off on me. He stalks to his desk and opens the safe hidden underneath, taking out a stack of bills. “This is all I have right now.”
I take the two stacks of wrapped hundreds and place one into each of the inside of my jacket pockets. “I’ll take this, for now. But you owe me the rest in the next two weeks. Don’t make me have to look for you, Hightower.”
He grimaces but keeps his mouth closed. Wise choice, Senator.
Chapter Four
ARIA
There’s shouting upstairs. I should care, but I don’t. Nothing matters anymore besides taking the drugs that numb me. I can’t even tell you how long I have been down in this pit of hell, but it’s been long enough that I have been trained like Pavlov’s dog to drool over the goods. Popping those pills means temporarily numbing the pain and shame I feel. It means forgetting I’m in a basement with no way out. That I’m being held hostage by my mom’s ex-husband, who has lost his damn mind. It means I don’t have to remember my mom is dead. That my life will never be the same.
I’m due for a fix, but instead of Derek coming downstairs, he’s arguing with Weston. My body is freezing. I’m shivering and I need some damn pills or powder. My head is pounding and my thoughts are running wild and loud. I need something to dim them, to shut them up. I can feel an anxiety attack
coming on. Grabbing the thin blanket that doubles as a fitted sheet, I wrap it around me, trying to warm myself up, trying to find comfort.
It’s not working.
More shouting.
Can’t they argue later? Like after Derek brings me the damn drugs? I mean, seriously, it would take two minutes to come down here, hand me the pills, and walk back upstairs.
The shouting stops.
The door to the basement swings open and I sit up like Pavlov’s dog with my hands out, mouth dry, waiting for the drugs to numb me once again.
It’s not Derek. It’s Weston. Just great.
“Get on your fucking knees!” He barks out orders before he even makes it all the way down the steps. I want to argue and beg for my fix, but it’ll do no good. If anything, he’ll just withhold the drugs to torture me. I drop to my knees, close my eyes, and wait for whatever he has in store for me this time. Since I’ve been here, it seems Weston comes down once every few weeks, but recently he’s been coming down more often.
I can’t see him with my eyes closed, but I know when he’s in front of me because his hands fist my hair. I try to think about something else—finding my escape, grasping at every fond memory that still lingers.
My mom, our visits to the Hoover Dam, our hiking trips in Red Rock Canyon. I focus on my good memories instead of what’s happening to me in this moment, what he’s forcing me to do. The pictures I used to take of the scenery during our hikes. How my mom used to stop at various locations and insist I take selfies of us. I swear she did it just to drive me nuts.
“People ruin the photos,” I used to tell her. She would laugh and tell me I was wrong, it’s the people who make them. I try to hold on to the memories, cling to them like they’re my lifeline, but they’re getting harder to recall.
Those happy memories melt away like a skillet full of bright crayons all mixing together to make something black and ugly. It matches my heart. I’m decaying and lost.
He grunts, and I shudder away the last of the color in my world.
“Up.” He’s finished with me and forces me to stand. I open my eyes to see Weston tucking himself back in his pants. “I have company tonight and you’re going to entertain them. You understand?” He asks like I really have a choice. It’s not often he forces me to have sex with other, but when he does, he usually drugs me up first with the good stuff. While I hate that I’ve become dependent on drugs, I prefer it that way.
“I…” I close my mouth quickly. I almost slipped.
“You what?” Weston glares at me. “You what?” Smack! His palm strikes me across my cheek.
“I need drugs… please,” I beg.
“You need drugs?” He looks at me incredulously. “You need drugs?” Now he’s laughing humorlessly. “You don’t need shit. I tell you when you need something. And if you ask again, I’ll make you wait even longer. Tonight, you’ll be sober. You’ll entertain these men, and every time you feel them inside of you, you’ll remember what a whore you are.” He grabs my face with his hand and squeezes my cheeks. “And if you speak one single word, I will tear you apart after they leave.”
Leaning down, he gives me a soft kiss on my lips that has me wanting to throw up all over him. “Let’s go.”
“Upstairs?” Entertaining someone always means them coming down here. I haven’t been upstairs since I was forced down here.
“Shut the fuck up. What part of not speaking a single word are you not understanding?”
I follow him upstairs and I’m met with bright lights. My head pounds and I immediately feel dizzy. I haven’t eaten in hours, and I’m in desperate need of the drugs to calm me down.
I follow Weston to the living room of the home I have lived in since I was a little girl, and when I look around, I’m shocked at what I see. All the family portraits have been removed, and in their place are cheap looking paintings. I glance at the shelves and see all my mom’s knickknacks are gone. It’s like he wiped everything of my mom and me from this home.
A myriad of emotions hit me all at once. Anger. Grief. Sadness. Confusion. This was my mother’s home. My home. It was our home before it was his, yet he has taken it over and has eliminated any proof that we ever existed. A man who supposedly at one time loved my mother has destroyed any evidence she was ever alive. Who is this man? How did he manage to fool everyone around him?
“Get her cleaned up,” Weston whispers to Derek angrily. Derek grabs me by my arm and pulls me into the guest bathroom. The picture frames that used to sit on the sink are gone as is the toothbrush holder I made for my mom when I took art in middle school.
“Jump in the shower and rinse off. Make sure you shave. Do it quickly.”
Once I’m done showering and shaving, I step out and dry off, waiting for further instruction. My body is shaking and my head and heart feel like they’re going to explode. Derek notices and sighs. “You need to chill out, Aria. Weston isn’t going to give you anything until after you’re done. Be a good girl and he’ll probably give you more.”
Chill out? Seriously? I didn’t even want this shit! They did this to me. They came into the basement and day after day drugged me to calm me down. Every time I screamed and cried and begged for them to stop and let me out, they shoved pills down my throat or gave me a bump of coke. They did this to me. They made me this way and now I’m supposed to chill out?
I don’t bother arguing. It’s no use. I just need to do as they say. I need to get this over with so I’ll get my drugs and be allowed to go back to my room. My room. The fact that I’m calling the basement my room sickens me. It’s a reminder that I’ve officially lost hope. That I’ve accepted I’ll most likely spend the rest of my life in that basement.
Derek guides me to the library where there are several men sitting around in the oversized reading chairs my mom and I picked out. They’re drinking liquor and smoking cigars, stinking up our once perfect reading room. I remember the nights I used to curl up with my book and read while my mom wrote. She was a mystery romance author and would write for hours. Sometimes she would stop and read me her scenes and ask for my opinion. I shake the memory off because now is not the time to remember. When I remember, I feel, and when I feel, I hurt, and hurting right now isn’t going to do me a bit of good.
Taking a closer look, there are four men all over fifty years old. I recognize two of them from the dinners my mom and Weston used to throw. I know for a fact one of them is married with kids, and this knowledge puts the final nail in my coffin. These men have reputations to protect. There isn’t a single man in this room who would risk his reputation in order to save me.
“Aria, I think Mr. Nelson would like some attention.” Weston points to the fat, slimy-looking man sitting in my favorite reading chair. The man smiles at me, causing me to throw up a little in my mouth.
All the men sit around the room discussing next year’s election, the poll numbers, and the campaign donations, like a young woman isn’t servicing a man three times her age. My hands continue to shake, still needing something to take the edge off. As my brain tries to find its escape, I hear a door swing open.
“What are you doing here?” Weston’s voice sounds different—nervous, shaken. The man forcing himself on me pushes me away while the entire room goes quiet. I hit the floor flat on my butt before turning around to see who’s entered.
When I look up, the most beautiful man lock eyes with me. From head to toe, he is the epitome of perfection. Messy chestnut brown hair that looks like he’s been running his fingers through it all day, soft brown eyes like milk chocolate that’s been warmed up. He’s in a three-piece suit, which hugs every inch of his body perfectly. It looks like it was designed just for him. He’s tall, well over six feet. But what catches my attention is his smile. It’s probably capable of being sweet, but it’s not. It’s filled with contempt with a bit of humor like he’s in on some private joke nobody else is privy to. He towers over Weston, exuding power and confidence. He’s sure of himself and of his place in th
is world. I remember when I had that same feeling, knowing the world was at my fingertips. When I had a bright future.
Normally Weston is the one in control, but right now he’s scared. He’s cracking his neck like he used to do when my mom would catch him in a lie and he wasn’t sure how to get himself out of it. His uninjured hand is opening and closing into a fist, but he’s not towering like he usually is, instead he’s cowering. Whoever this man is holds more power than Weston.
Then it hits me. I need to speak up, try to save myself. If it doesn’t work, I’ll be in a world of hurt, but what if it does work? Before I can say something, the man speaks. His eyes leaving mine.
“I heard you were holding an investment meeting tonight, so I figured I would drop by and check on my money. Your time is almost up.”
“Weston, I think it would be best if we go.” The man who just had his nasty hands on me is now trying to run.
“I think you all should stay. I would imagine what I have to say will interest you. Mr. Nelson, is it?” Mystery man smiles sardonically at the guy who pushed me to the ground, causing him to shut up and frown, and it sends chills straight up my spine. “I could be wrong, but I believe you have invested with Mr. Hightower. Am I right?”
“Well, yes you are. I did.”
“Giovanni, there’s no need to involve these men. Let’s speak in private.” Weston’s voice is shaky. He’s freaking the fuck out, and it kind of makes me smile a little on the inside.
The man Weston just called Giovanni quirks one brow up and tilts his head just slightly to the left, silently shutting Weston up. If I weren’t scared of the repercussions, and without any clothes on, I would stand and cheer him on.
