by Lana Sky
There’s more to the outfit, however. Frowning, the girl goes through the wardrobe twice, still searching. On the third pass, her hands shake with fear. “L-lace shawl?” she murmurs to herself. “I can’t...I can’t find it—”
“It had a hole in it,” I force myself to say picturing the garment in question—a shawl, custom-made for me by some well-known designer from Italy. “I threw it out.”
“Oh.” She can’t resist rummaging through the clothes one last time before accepting defeat. She’s young, maybe twenty. I don’t know her name. For the past four weeks that she’s waited on me, I’ve never dared to ask.
Her skin is pale, her eyes blue. She keeps her long blonde hair pinned neatly back, the way Vinny prefers it, but when she coaxes me out of bed and sits me before my vanity, she brushes out my dark tresses rather than arrange them the same way.
I don’t know why. I don’t ask, not even when she secures the waves behind my ears with an ivory headband I don’t even remember owning. Vinny makes me wear white from head to toe today; the blouse and a matching skirt that reflect the shadows of the room as if taunting me when my companion displays them on their hangers and forces another smile. “Beautiful, yes?”
“Yes,” I say as expected, but the look we share contains anything but admiration. We’re grim. We’re silent. With gritted teeth, she helps me out of my nightgown, and we both suck in a breath when my torso is bared. The black lines etched into my flesh are never easier to stomach. Some days I manage to trace them with a finger, mouthing each letter—but never what they spell out. Vinny tries to erase what he’s done to me with high collars and scalloped necklines. My pure, innocent Lynn, he likes to murmur into my hair. He thinks the lies flatter me...but there’s nothing pure about the girl staring at me from the mirror. Her hazel eyes hold too many secrets.
“Please, miss,” my companion urges. Her eyes nervously dart to the clock propped on my nightstand, and she presses the blouse Vinny’s chosen for me against her chest. “Let us dress you now?”
I nod and hold my arms out at my sides while she drapes the fabric over me. It’s pretty, which in Vinny’s world is a term that comprises more than just pleasing to the eye. I look pretty. Untouchable. Unspoiled. His.
My heartbeat speeds up. I can’t look at myself, so I tear my gaze away to the floor. Vinny demanded lunch, but the clock claims that it’s not even ten yet. “Is...are we leaving now?” Hope taints my voice, nearly impossible to squash back down.
My companion smiles. It’s a fleeting, shaky expression over her pale face, but it’s real. “Not yet,” she whispers after glancing over her shoulder at the door. “Not for an hour...maybe.” She takes a hesitant step across the room, toward the instrument case leaning against the wall. “You play now? For a little?”
I don’t hesitate. My fingers shake when I ease my cello case onto the floor, flip the lid, and lift out the instrument carefully tucked inside of it. Balancing it on its stand, I carefully maneuver myself onto the chair near my vanity. I swallow hard when I stoop for my bow and ease it into position. Then...I play.
My arm moves fluidly, manipulating the strings while my fingers coax out the proper tune. Notes tumble loose, and then the music floods, drowning out everything else.
The cello weeps for me. It disguises the words I can’t say, the emotions I can’t feel. The pain weaves a silent thread, hidden beneath the pleasing music. It’s one of the few things I have left that Vinny hasn’t taken or tainted.
“Miss? Miss?” I flinch when a hand settles over my shoulder, and the music ends on a harsh note. My companion stands over me, her face two shades paler than it had been only minutes ago. “It’s time to go...” She cuts her gaze over to the door.
Gino stands there in the doorway, his expression unreadable. “Are you ready, Miss Manzano?”
“Yes.” I lurch to my feet while the woman rushes to carefully take my cello and bow. She doesn’t follow when I slip past Gino and enter the hallway. She’s lucky in that her imprisonment only extends to this suite. She doesn’t have to wear invisible chains wherever she goes.
“It’s cold out,” Gino remarks, pressing a navy coat into my hands. I nod and pull it on while we cross the suite and step out into the main hall. Charming classical music drifts from the hidden speakers that the hotel has tucked within the corners of the hall. The sound serves as a haunting soundtrack during the torturous descent in the elevator and the grim parade through the front lobby where I find a black car out front, waiting to take me across town to Capellas.
The sky is weeping; it’s such a dreary day. Ice disguised as rain falls steadily by the time we pull up to the restaurant. It’s a beautiful place, really. Small, quaint, and nestled in an older part of the city, away from the harsher realities of the poorer areas—but still a far cry from the posh restaurants that cringe at the thought of serving a crime lord. I think that’s why Vinny cherishes it so much. The brick façade with its emerald green awning must remind him of the old days, the ones he likes to smear and accolade in the same breath. We may have grown up in shit, Lynn, but it’s nothing like how the world is today...
“Miss?” I flinch, realizing that the driver had already pulled open the door for me. I’d been staring at the curb with my hands clenched into fists, unconsciously dreading stepping foot onto it. My fingers sting, aching for the feel of my bow and the glossy casing of my cello. I would play forever if it could prolong my precious few moments without Vinny. I’d saw at the strings until my nails broke and my fingers bled. I’d wring every bit of sound I could from the instrument’s wooden frame. I’d...
“Miss, Manzano.” The driver’s voice holds a warning now, and I reluctantly obey it, shedding my coat. Time ticks stubbornly forward. Vinny said lunch at noon. It’s 12:01. Depending on his mood, I’ll either be punished with a warning or...
My throat closes up, but I can’t seem to move until the driver finally clears his throat. “He’s waiting, miss.”
The staff at Capellas are well conditioned to Vinny’s moods. When I follow the driver through the main doors, a nervous waitress is already there waiting to take my coat. She doesn’t smile, and the moment I inhale, I realize that it might be impossible to. Tension laces the air. Animosity holds an undercurrent that contradicts everything else—the soothing classical music played by the live band at the corner of the nearly empty dining room and the few carefully selected patrons dining at tables spread throughout, their movements stiff. Vinny’s men guard the corners, unmistakable in their starched suits. My tormenter himself dominates the center of the room, seated at a table he’s chosen for us specially.
When he sees me, his dark eyes remain uncharacteristically flat. “Lynn.”
I swallow hard. My footsteps falter, and I nearly trip at the mouth of the doorway leading to the dining room. “H...Hello, Vinny.” It takes everything I have in me to force a smile that he doesn’t return.
Instead, he unfolds his silverware and snaps the white napkin into the air with a hard flick of his wrist. “Sit.”
I hold my breath when I approach the table. Unease ripples through me. My hands shake. I do my best to shove them underneath the table as I sit down, but he notices, and his eyebrows lift ever so slightly.
“Do you want to know what I’ve learned?” he wonders, his voice the perfect cadence of a gentleman proposing we discuss the news. “About your...accident last night.”
I can’t breathe. I try my best to mime the motion, forcing my chest to contract inward and then outward. But through and through, I’m already dead. “N-No.”
“Someone tipped them off, it seems,” Vinny says. He drags his steak knife through the tines of his fork, noisily sharpening the blade. “Those men. They knew exactly where you were. I don’t know anyone in my employ who might want to hurt you, Lynn...” His eyes hone in on mine, darker than the black lining of his crisp, gray suit. “Do you?”
I shake my head. I don’t know anyone in his “employ” who might want to hurt me, but
that said nothing for those he kept tethered to him through means other than money. Desperation is a funny thing. It can make a woman reckless. Reckless enough to sell a priceless, designer shawl that may have matched this particular outfit. Reckless enough to spend the money through dark, underground channels that someone might only learn of after living with a man like him for five years. Reckless enough to screw up and manage not to die before Vinny’s men could come to the rescue.
He knows. I wait for him to say as much and dole out my punishment. I’m resigned to my fate like a good little lamb.
“Hmph.” Vinny shrugs. “You haven’t seen Nicolai, have you?”
I cringe at the change in subject, and my brain struggles to process the new information. Nicolai? I vaguely recognize the name of one of the guards and a shaky mental image forms. Blond hair. Dark eyes. He’s the same one who routinely drags me back whenever I leave the hotel for longer than three minutes. My stomach sinks.
“N-No,” I say hoarsely. “I mean...yes? I mean—”
“Hmph.” Vinny sits back, but his eyes lose their shark-like gleam. Within seconds he’s bored. Placated. He snaps his fingers, and the band begins to play in earnest, filling the enclosed space with music. Chopin, I think—one of his more obscure pieces. It’s lovely. It’s haunting. The joyful notes provide an ominous backdrop for the tension seeping through the muscles of the man across from me. I can’t help it. My hand shoots out, and I risk taking a sip of water without his permission.
His eyes miss nothing, but he lets me rebel this once. I can’t help but feel like it’s a gift, and my pulse picks up speed, churning blood through my system. Something’s wrong. He’s smiling now, and even Vinny’s moods aren’t this wild. He’s angry. In the same breath, he’s...excited.
“What would you like?” he asks, gesturing to the menu.
“Whatever you think would be best,” I croak out in response.
The exchange is just for show, of course. He claps his hands after setting the menu aside, and a waiter appears with our food already cooked. Vinny is served a steak, medium rare to his exact specifications: a pinch of salt, a hint of cloves, no pepper. He cuts into it and hums with satisfaction when it bleeds, leaving a bloody trail across his porcelain plate.
I’m served a salad, Caesar—also prepared to Vinny’s specifications. No salt. No dressing. A splash of olive oil. Two tomatoes cut lengthwise. A handful of Parmesan cheese. Three olives. Four croutons. Twenty leaves of lettuce. Alongside it is a small serving of pasta marinara with exactly a quarter cup of noodles, a serving of sauce, and three mushrooms.
“It’s good,” I insist, after taking a wooden bite.
Vinny nods. “Good. Good...” He watches me eat, his gaze unusually intense. It’s like he’s memorizing every motion of my fork. Every twitch in my throat. By the time I finally choke down the last crouton, he’s barely touched his steak.
“Is...Is something wrong?” It’s a struggle to even get the words out. My eyes shift over to the people trying to ignore us on the periphery of the room. They eat slowly, chew mechanically, and avert their eyes from the man I’m with and me. It used to hurt, this feigned ignorance. I’d never known how alone in the world it was possible to feel until the first night he made me dine with him like this. There we were, amid at least a hundred people who were all desperately trying to forget my face. Back then, I’d been naive enough to feel anger. Now, I only feel pity. These people are no different than me, for however long Vinny needed them, they were prisoners.
“Everything is...perfect,” Vinny says. His smile widens. My heart skips a beat—even more so when his right hand slips underneath the table.
No. No. No. I hold my breath, clenching my hands into fists, my nails cutting into both palms.
“I wanted to wait until after dessert,” Vinny says, his voice uncharacteristically warm. Oh, God no. I want to squeeze my eyes shut, but fear holds them open. I’m forced to watch as his hand returns in slow motion and carefully sets a small, black box onto the table. He flicks it open, and my world ends. “It’s finally time.”
Time. It slows to a crawl for me. I can’t breathe. I can’t take my eyes off the object perched on a pillow of black velvet inside that box either. The light of the chandelier overhead glances off the expertly cut face of a small, polished bit of material. A diamond, my mind supplies. It’s attached to a metal base that forms a delicate circle. A ring.
“You’re speechless,” Vinny says, grinning. He’s happy. I’m...crying. My vision blurs. I blink too rapidly, and the tears fall, striking my cheeks. I can’t even lift my hand to wipe them away, and they slide down my face unchecked, wetting the collar of my blouse. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
He holds out his hand expectantly, but I can’t move. I can’t take my eyes off the ring. It really is beautiful...a beautiful shackle. At the thought of putting it on, pain sears through every inch of my body.
After years of studying Vinny, I know better than to let him catch me off guard, and even this “surprise” had been anticipated, in a sense—the inevitable end to the songbird’s captivity. I just hadn’t expected it to come now. I had another year left, at least. One more year before I had to take his name, become his wife.
“Tell me how happy you are,” Vinny commands. I’ve been silent for too long—emotionless for too long. His fingers flex impatiently for my hand.
“I’m ha...” The words stick in my throat. My arm won’t budge.
“Put it on,” Vinny urges, nodding toward the ring.
I can’t. I can’t. I won’t do it. I eye the scenery behind his head, chewing so hard on my bottom lip that I taste blood. This is the part of the nightmare when I usually wake up, sometimes with a scream poised at the back of my throat. I can’t seem to make any sound now, ironically. I can’t speak. I can’t cry out.
There’s a man at the table behind Vinny. A woman sits across from him, but his eyes remain fixated on our table. He sees me, and I wonder if he knows what’s happening. If he can see what little life there is left drain out of me? I certainly can feel it leaving. My limbs are heavier. The artificial heat is sweltering. I’m suffocating beneath flimsy lace and luxurious cotton.
“Lynn?” Vinny snaps his fingers, the sound sharp and demanding—but I still can’t bring myself to look at him. Not yet. This wasn’t supposed to happen yet. “Daniela...”
The man behind Vinny still watches us. He has short black hair and a memorable face. There’s a scar underneath his left eye, a sight that my mind won’t let go of for some reason. My gaze drifts downward to take in the rest of him. He’s wearing a suit that’s three years out of style. The woman across from him sits too stiffly. It’s as if, even inside of Vinny’s carefully crafted illusion, they don’t belong...
“Daniela, are you listening to me?” Vinny’s tone is an ominous growl. I’m spoiling this for him. He’ll enjoy making me suffer.
But I can’t take my eyes off the strange diner; he definitely doesn’t fit. It’s almost as if we play a silent game, the two of us. The moment he notices me staring, he reaches into his pocket and withdraws a metal object that glints in the light of the chandelier. He raises it quickly and aims it surely—but there’s a split-second when he hesitates. I could scream then. Alert Vinny. But I don’t.
He realizes that, his mouth twisting into a frown. Why? I can imagine him wondering that while Vinny utters something in a dark tone for my ears only. The truth is...I don’t care what the hell he does with that gun.
Just as long as he shoots me first.
“Mr. Stacatto! Get down!” The shout from one of his thugs startles Vinny into turning around, just as the assassin pulls the trigger.
Bang!
The sound is mind-wrenching. World splitting. It tears through my eardrums, and I can almost taste the resounding silence that comes after. I’ve never felt freer than in that one, pathetic second. There’s no one in this narrow void with me. There’s only silence...
And then, like a freigh
t train at full speed, reality slams back into me, throwing me out of my chair. “Stay down!” someone growls into my ear. Then all I hear is sound. Clashing, clanging, terrible sound. Four more gunshots echo off the walls, followed by shouts and screams that churn into a deafening hum.
I blink, struggling to make out my surroundings. All I can see are polished loafers racing across the room. Silverware crashes down from a nearby table. There’s a dark, red substance forming a puddle on the polished floor a few feet away, and despite the confusion swirling around me...I pray to God that it’s Vinny’s.
“Get up.” A heavy hand seizes my collar and drags me to my feet. I sway. The once beautiful restaurant is in shambles. The tables are crooked, some overturned. The chairs are empty. A few stragglers struggle for the exits, but the only people left are two men who I recognize as Vinny’s goons and me. And Vinny...
He’s behind me. I taste his cologne on my tongue, and my throat jerks to swallow it down. I’m choking on the flavor of him, even as he turns me around to face him. Despite a spot of dirt on his lapel, he looks none too worse for wear.
“It’s okay,” he grunts, pulling me in so that my face is pressed against his chest. “You’re safe.”
Safe. That word taunts me.
I hear groaning, and I pull away from Vinny and glance over my shoulder to find a man writhing in agony. He’s the culprit of that puddle of blood. At first, I assume he’s been shot, until I see the knife sticking out of the palm of his right hand, pinning it flat against the floor. He tugs at it, but I know that the effort is in vain. When it comes out, it won’t be pretty. The blade has a serrated edge, formed of the finest craftsmanship. Vinny had it made especially with only one purpose in mind. Sometimes he liked to take it out and tell me all the things he’d do with it to the people who pissed him off. I’ll cut the bastard’s nuts off with this, he’d muse. Slowly...fucking slow, Lynn. There’s no point in torture if it isn’t done carefully. Precisely.
