by Anna Ray
Daniel steps out of the car for a moment to open the garage, and as he does, I take a moment to grab Alessandra’s purse, containing her phone and ID, intending to lock them away in my safe.
Once in the garage, Daniel turns on the overhead light in the car and asks, “Do you need a hand with her?”
“No, I’ve got it from here. Thank you.” I reach into my pocket and pull out a wad of bills, then hand them over to Daniel, who tucks them away in his pocket. “Please make sure the garage is closed after you leave.”
“Of course,” Daniel replies as I open the door to the car and get out.
I check on Alessandra, who is breathing, but unconscious. Satisfied she won’t wake, I gently pull her from the car and lift her in my arms. She weighs practically nothing
From the garage, I make my way into the laundry room, then through to the kitchen. As I pass, the cook, Alfred, raises an eyebrow but says nothing.
I know I don’t need to explain myself, but I want to anyway and say, “Our guest had a little too much to drink. I'm going to make sure she’s safely put to bed.”
“Of course, Mr. Accardi,” the cook says; then he hastily glanced away.
I say nothing more and simply stalk from the room with Alessandra in my arms. From there, I carry her upstairs and to the bedroom. I lay her down on the bed and wonder what I should do next.
Should I change her clothes? I shake the thought from my head; it would be too weird.
Instead, I take off the high heels she is wearing and place them at the foot of the bed, then pull the covers over her.
I stand in the doorway, watching her sleep for probably longer than is necessary. But she holds a strange fascination for me I can’t put into words. I don’t know why, but I expected the daughter of my family’s killer to be… I’m not sure, but I wasn’t expecting this.
She looks like a perfectly normal, albeit very attractive, young woman. After spending an evening with her, I’m already slightly charmed by her wit, intelligence, and drive.
As she sleeps, I observe her face, which is peaceful and innocent, her curly dark hair splayed out on the pillow underneath her.
For a moment, I feel a pang of guilt, but I shake it away.
Mama and Bianca were innocent, I remind myself. An image of my younger sister’s battered and bloodied body blooms in my mind.
Bianca Accardi had been fourteen when she’d been brutally murdered. I remember my younger sister as a shining light in our family; she had our father and me wrapped around her little finger. She’d been obsessed with Panic! At the Disco, and her walls had been covered in posters of Brendon Urie. She was carefree, innocent, and full of hopes for the future. Mama and Bianca were the best of us, the light to the darkness my father and I brought to the family with our evil deeds.
Then Giuliani had snatched all those hopes and dreams away, and for what? It certainly wasn’t something Bianca had any part in. She and our mother had died for nothing.
I’ll have my revenge, I vow with one final glance at Alessandra before I close the door, slide across the bolts, and then secure the padlocks. I take the keys, along with Alessandra’s purse and phone, through to my bedroom and open the safe I had installed in the closet. I put the keys, Alessandra’s belongings, my gun, and some spare cash in the safe. Then I set the combination — 091696 — Bianca’s birthday.
4
Alessandra
For a moment after waking, I can’t remember anything from the night before. Head aching, I sit up slowly and glance around the room. A room I don’t recognize as my own or Taylor’s.
Then, slowly, everything comes flooding back. The bar, Massimo… God, I drank so much. Much more than I ever have before.
Panic sets in, and I scramble out of bed. I stand and my stomach lurches. I think I’m going to throw up and run through to the bathroom, the door for which has been left ajar. After puking, I sit back against the bathroom door, shivering all over.
That’s when I notice I’m still wearing the same clothes as the night before; all that’s missing are my shoes. Surely, if Massimo and I had slept together, my clothes would be strewn about?
Relief floods through me as I realize I probably didn’t sleep with a guy I’d just met. Hazy memories of realizing Taylor had left with Francesco, my phone not working, and Massimo offering me a ride home, filter back into my mind.
Why didn’t Massimo take me home?
Part of me is relieved he didn’t; if I’d have turned up at home that drunk after telling my parents I was spending the night at Taylor’s, my father would have gone ballistic. Nevermind I’ve been legally allowed to go to bars for the last six months. And well, I did have a good time with Massimo. I wouldn’t be opposed to spending more time with him. Maybe we could get breakfast together and then see where the day takes us.
Feeling a little steadier, I leave the bathroom and step back into the bedroom. It’s large with a queen-size bed in the center, made up with pillows and a comforter in neutral grays. There’s a vanity opposite the bed with bottles of neatly wrapped toiletries lined up on top. The lack of any personal touches in the room makes me wonder if it’s a guest bedroom.
Did Massimo put me in his spare room to avoid anything inappropriate? That’s kind of sweet.
I can’t help but chuckle when I see my shoes standing neatly at the foot of the bed. Massimo being so tidy is a good sign. Then, something across the room catches my attention. The closet is slightly open, and I spot what looks like the sleeve of a gorgeous cashmere sweater.
Curiosity compels me to cross the room. Pulling open the closet, I find it’s full of women’s clothing… there are blouses, t-shirts, jeans, slacks, and even a few fancier dresses, all for someone about my age and size. And they’re all brand new, still with the price tags on. For a moment, I’m distracted by the fact the cashmere sweater cost over one-hundred-and-eighty dollars, but then I question; why are all these clothes here, brand new, and unworn? Surely, if they were for someone in Massimo’s family, they wouldn’t all have the price tags on them still?
The panic rises within me again like a wave, and I search around for my purse and phone. My heart stops when I realize neither of them are in the room with me, and I can’t remember the last time I had them. Outside the bar last night, maybe? But I’m not sure.
I look around for any signs of a landline, but I don’t see one on the vanity. A quick scan of the baseboards doesn’t reveal a phone jack, just a couple of power outlets by the vanity table. I spot a window above the bed, so I pull back the curtains and take a look around to see if I recognize where I am. My heart pounds as I scan the horizon and take in the surrounding area. It looks like I’m in a large house in a secluded neighborhood — I certainly can’t see any other houses nearby. I do quickly notice the whole area is surrounded by an eight-foot high, barb-wire topped fence.
I try to tell myself that the fact that Massimo’s home is surrounded by a fence isn’t weird. I mean, my family home is also surrounded by a security fence, but I’m too on edge to think rationally. I need to get out of this bedroom. I need to speak to Massimo.
Remembering stories of human trafficking, my blood turns cold, and I race toward the door and try to pull it open… only it won’t move an inch. I pull harder, but nothing changes. I twist the handle back and forth, but it’s useless; the door is clearly locked from the outside. Mustering up all my strength, I push against the door with my shoulder, but even that makes no difference. Then, I take a few steps back and run at the door, but that, too, is useless. Whoever locked it made sure it was tightly secured.
But I’m not about to go down quietly. I hammer on the door with my fists.
“Let me out of here, you psycho!” I yell.
I keep yelling and pounding on the bedroom door until I hear footsteps and then locks being unfastened.
5
Massimo
Fuck. I wasn’t expecting Alessandra to be awake so soon. I hastily put the tray of food on the floor and cautiousl
y open the door. I can tell by the volume of her voice she is pissed off, and I half expect her to launch at me when I pull back the door.
Instead, she stares at me wide-eyed and demands, “What the fuck?”
“I’ll explain everything; just please, sit down,” I say, quickly moving into the room and closing the door behind me. I can’t lock it from the inside, so I stand with my back braced against the door.
Alessandra doesn’t sit and instead stands right in front of me. She’s at least a foot shorter than I am, but that does nothing to diminish her ferocity as she stares up at me.
“Let me out!”
“I’m sorry, Alessandra. I can’t do that,” I reply simply, folding my arms across my chest.
“Let. Me. Out,” she repeats.
“I’ve already told you, I can’t do that. Perhaps it’s best if you just sit down.” I try once again to calm her, making my voice as non-threatening as possible. I’d prefer it if we did it the easy way, but I’ll use force if I need to.
Alessandra clarifies that force is the only thing she will listen to when she grabs the few toiletries I’ve bought off the vanity and starts throwing them at me. I remain impassive as I’m hit by a bottle of shampoo, followed by its accompanying conditioner, and finally, a bottle of shower gel. Figuring it’s useless to throw the shower loofah at me, Alessandra moves to beating me with her fists. For someone so small, her punches are sharp, but I refuse to move an inch.
After about five minutes, she tires herself out and stops beating me. Knowing nothing she can do will physically harm me, she tries a different tactic.
“What do you want? Is it money? Because my family is rich. Just let me call them. My father will pay anything to get me back,” she pleads desperately.
“I know exactly who your father is, Alessandra Giuliani, and I will contact him when I’m good and ready.”
Her eyes narrow. “So, you’re a mobster like him?”
I’m surprised she knows the truth about her father, but I remain unmoved, refusing to answer her questions and again say, “Sit down. Are you hungry? I had breakfast prepared for you.”
Alessandra combats my lack of answers with a silence of her own, staring at me icily, and refusing to do as I ask.
I don’t have time to play games with a petulant child. She can starve herself for all I care.
Carefully, I move my hand behind my back and reach for the door handle, opening the door just enough that I can slip through it. As I’m about to bend down and pick up the breakfast tray, Alessandra barrels out of the room, crashing into me and causing me to stagger.
But she only gets to the top of the stairs before I’ve straightened and catch up to her. I grab her around the middle and drag her back to the bedroom, kicking and screaming.
“Help me!” she cries. “Someone help me!”
I know the kitchen is too far away for Alfred to hear Alessandra, and even if it weren’t, all my staff have strict orders to ignore her calls for help.
I throw her down on the bed and then leave the room before she has a chance to get up. As I slide the bolts into place and secure the padlocks, she hammers on the door, yelling, and throwing things again.
“You’re a monster!” she screams, but I ignore her.
I glance at the spilled breakfast food in disgust, making a mental note to get the housekeeper, Peggy, to clean it up. But I have no more time to spare on Alessandra or the mess she’s made. I'll try talking to her again later, when I’ve finished work. Hopefully, by then, she will have calmed down and realized the only way she will get through this is by doing exactly as I ask.
Without even a backward glance at the door, I head downstairs and inform Peggy that the hallway upstairs needs cleaning. Knowing Alessandra starving herself will do nothing for me or my plan, I decide to come back at lunchtime.
I make my way through to the garage and enter the security code to unlock the front gate. Then I get into my car and travel down the long driveway. Once through the gate, I make sure it’s securely closed so no one will enter or exit the property. As an extra security precaution, the staff have their own bedrooms, and all groceries are delivered. I can’t have anyone visiting and discovering Alessandra.
Safe in the knowledge everything is locked up, I drive through the city, heading to the building Carlo and I use as a front for our business.
When I get to the office, my second, and the closest thing I have to a friend, Donte, is waiting for me. I haven’t told him about my plot to kidnap Alessandra; that’s between Carlo and I.
“Hey, how’s it going?” Donte asks, raising his eyes from his cup of espresso.
I feign a cold, stoic expression. I won’t show any weakness in front of Donte, in case it gives him ideas about overtaking me.
“All good,” I lie smoothly. “How about you?”
Donte frowns. “Did you hear Francesco was arrested on charges of possession?”
“Fuck,” I curse, showing my first sign of emotion. I hope he ditched Alessandra’s friend before the cops caught him. “So, now we’re down one of our best dealers?”
“Right. That means all money from the colleges and bars in his area are suspended until we find a replacement.”
This is the last thing I need when I’m preoccupied with Alessandra, but I won’t give Donte any reason to think I can’t take care of business. “I’ll handle it.”
“Let me know if you need anything,” Donte says genuinely, and I know I can trust him. He’s been my second for almost six years and hasn’t let me down yet.
“Thanks. Just keep an ear to the ground for a replacement, yeah?”
“Sure.”
The rest of the morning is uneventful. Some clients bring in what they owe us for our protection services or for the drugs they’ve bought. There are even a few arms deals, but nothing out of the ordinary, and by lunchtime, I can feel my mind growing numb. Never let anyone tell you the life of a mobster is all shootouts and high adrenaline car chases. Often, it’s no more interesting than office work.
At lunchtime, I drive back to the house I’ve rented for the duration that Alessandra is with me. Everything seems calm, and when I enter the kitchen, Alfred — a man in his early sixties with graying hair — tells me there’s nothing to report.
“Thank you. Could you please prepare some lunch for Alessandra and I?”
“Of course, Mr. Accardi,” Alfred replies and makes a New York deli style pastrami sandwich, with cheese and sliced pickles, and a side of chips. I grab two bottles of water from the fridge and add them to the tray with the sandwiches.
I carry everything upstairs, lay the tray down on the floor by Alessandra’s door, then knock on it loudly.
“Alessandra, it’s Massimo. I’ve brought you lunch and come to talk. I need your word that you’re going to remain calm. If not, I’m leaving.”
There’s silence for a moment, and then, through the door, she replies, “I’ll be calm. I swear.”
Trusting that she won’t try anything stupid, I unlock the door, pick up the tray and enter the room. She is sitting at the foot of the bed, her hair disheveled, and the clothes she was wearing the night before are rumpled. I place the tray of food down and drag the vanity table over to block the door, meaning she won’t be able to escape quickly. Then I place the tray on the bed and sit down on the opposite side.
Alessandra tentatively takes a sandwich and sniffs it suspiciously. After a moment, she eats it, and I know it’s been at least seventeen hours since she last had anything to eat. I take a sandwich for myself, and we eat in silence until the plates are cleared.
I uncap my water bottle, take a long, deep swallow, and say, “Your father did something terrible to me ten years ago.”
Alessandra opens her own water bottle and takes a sip. After, she asks, “So, what? You’ve kidnapped me and plan to ransom me back to him as revenge?”
“Something like that,” I reply, letting her assume what she wants.
“Then call him. Let’s g
et it over with. I don’t want to stay here any longer.”
“Do you think I want you here?” I respond, my nostrils flaring. “I call the shots around here. If you don’t play by my rules, you don’t eat. You don’t leave this room. You can rot here for all I care.”
She glares at me. “Yeah, because I’m sure my father would love it if you let me starve to death. You won’t get anything from him if I’m harmed.”
She might be right there, but I’m not going to admit that. Instead, I say, “If you behave yourself while I’m gone, I’ll let you call him this evening.”
“And if I don’t?” she challenges.
“Maybe I’ll have to send your father one of those perfectly manicured fingers.”
She stiffens and bows her head but says nothing.
“Good girl,” I say, standing from the bed and moving to the door. I push the vanity table aside and pick up the lunch tray. “I’ll be back this evening.”
She nods, but doesn’t say anything, so I leave the room and lock it securely. Then I take the lunch things down to the kitchen.
Knowing she is fed and acting much more compliantly is a weight off my mind. Next, I have to figure out how I’m going to get exactly what I want from her father.
6
Alessandra
When Massimo closes the door, I remain as quiet as possible, listening for any sounds that might give me clues as to how he’s keeping me confined in the room. I hear three bolts being slid into place and what I assume are padlocks being fastened. It seems my captor has thought of everything.
Knowing the door isn’t my way out, I search the room for anything else that might be useful, but I wasn’t wrong when I noticed Massimo really has thought of everything. There’s nothing in the bedroom or bathroom that will help me escape. Nothing I can turn into weapons to attack him with, nothing I can somehow use to communicate with the outside world. More disturbingly is the amount of time he must have spent arranging all this… The bathroom is filled with new, unopened toiletries. There’s everything: shower gel, shampoo and conditioner, and even a couple of bottles of moisturizer and sanitary pads.
