by Sofia Tate
Lucy and I step out onto the street and walk to Gramercy Park North, the unseasonably warm air for March hitting us in the face with a soft breeze.
“This weather rocks. How about that veggie café on Irving Place?” she suggests.
“Perfect.”
I take in the beauty of the park, noticing how the flower buds are raising their heads above the soil, dying to blossom already. A mother is watching as her baby boy takes hesitant steps on the pebbled ground.
“So, how’s Money Boy?” Lucy asks, interrupting my reverie.
I sigh. “I really wish you wouldn’t call him that. But since you asked, he’s just fine. Being more overprotective with each passing day.”
“It’s just because he loves you, idiot.”
I knew it. The counterargument raises its rational head.
“I’m not some scared little waif,” I insist. “I’m a New Yorker. I know how to take care of myself.” I sigh. “Oh, never mind. How are things with Tomas?”
“Oh my God, Alli! I don’t know what I was so afraid of.”
I smile. “I told you so.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. And that accent…”
Lucy goes on and on about Tomas. As we’re about to cross Gramercy Park South to Irving Place, I suddenly glance over to my right when I see him again. The bald man from that night at Le Bistro a few weeks ago. He’s standing at the other end of the park looking at me through the tall black metal bars of the fence, wearing the same jacket and jeans, with the same cold stare in his eyes.
Lucy’s hand tugs on my arm. “Hey, Alli! It’d be nice if you paid the same attention to me when I talk to you about my love interest.”
I pivot my head to hers as I grip her hand. “Do you see that man over there?”
“What man?”
“At the other end of the park in the leather jacket.”
“Honey, there’s nobody there.”
I turn back to look. She’s right. He’s gone.
She starts to shake my arm. “Hey, are you okay?”
I pat her hand and offer a smile. “Yeah, I just thought I saw him somewhere before. Come on, let’s go eat.”
“Stop,” she insists, pulling me back on the sidewalk. “Talk to me. Is there something you’re not telling me? Has someone been following you?”
“What? No. I just thought he looked familiar, that’s all,” I tell her as dismissively as I can.
“I’m telling Davison about this,” she declares, pulling out her cell phone.
“No!” I hiss. “Please, Luciana. If you tell him, he’s going to put me on twenty-four/seven lockdown. It was just a case of mistaken identity. I’m begging you. Don’t make a big case out of this. I can take care of myself.”
“Fine,” she says, giving in. She shoves her phone back in her purse. “But if you see him again, I want you to tell someone, got it?”
“I promise.”
* * *
Thankfully, that strange man disappears from my life as quickly as he invaded it. Everyone eases off on their overprotection of me. Davison and I are now closer than ever. Along with the toe-curling, sheet-clawing sex we always have, I love just lying on his couch with him, watching an old movie, laughing with him at something silly we see on the street, or walking with him along the Esplanade by his apartment on the Hudson River, holding hands. We even have Sunday brunch now and then at his parents’ house. His mother is still as warm and friendly to me as ever, which is a constant surprise to me, but it makes me happy because I see how happy it makes Davison.
Before I know it, the night of my graduation recital arrives. Davison texts me from the car when he arrives outside my building. Along with my classmates, I’m going to get dressed at school.
When I come downstairs carrying my gown in one hand and a tote bag with the other, I freeze on the sidewalk. Davison is leaning against the Maybach, wearing the same tuxedo he wore the night of my fall. I don’t stop because of that. I’m paralyzed because he looks so damn hot in it, with every strand of his silky dark hair in place, his emerald eyes searing into me. I still have trouble wrapping my head around the fact that this man, this gorgeous man, the head of an international financial house, one of the most famous society bachelors in Manhattan, chooses to be with me, a curvy Italian-American girl of medium height, the daughter of a Little Italy butcher.
The wide smile on his face instantly arouses me, warming my entire body. “Hi, baby.”
I step forward to adjust his tie. “You look so handsome, Harvard.”
“Thank you. It’s going to be an amazing night. Why don’t I take these for you while you get into the car?” he offers.
“Thanks.” I smile, kissing him quickly on the lips.
As I set one foot into the car, I realize I can’t sit in my usual spot because lying in my seat is an exquisite bouquet of twelve pale apricot roses, wrapped in clear cellophane with a bow the color of champagne tying them together.
“Davison…” I whisper in awe.
“You like to wear pale apricot lip gloss, so I thought you’d like these. Go on,” he insists, giving me a gentle tap on my lower back to get me into the car.
I pick up the roses, sitting down in my seat once I have a secure hold on them. I bring them to my nose to inhale their intoxicating scent, holding them close to me. I want to cry because he noticed something about me, something that I do with regular occurrence. I feel myself softening from his kind and attentive heart.
“Mmmm, they’re so beautiful.” I turn to my boyfriend. “Thank you, baby.”
He swiftly pulls me onto his lap while I’m still holding on to my roses, clamping his mouth over mine. We luxuriate in the taste of each other for a few minutes until we have to come up for air.
“I’m so proud of you, Allegra,” he murmurs, stroking my cheek.
I stare into his exquisite eyes. I think about everything that he’s done for me, how thoughtful he is, how he’s always interested in what’s going on with me, how he worries about me. We’re always touching each other when we’re near one another. As strong and independent as I am, I always feel like something is missing when I’m not with him.
And the way we look at each other…
This man is it for me.
We’re silent for the short ride to the conservatory until we get closer to Gramercy Park.
“When is your father coming?” he asks.
“He was just finishing up in the shop. But he has his ticket, so he’ll be there soon.”
“You know my mother is coming tonight.”
My head pops up from the crook of his shoulder when I hear those words.
“Davison! I’m nervous enough as it is! You couldn’t have told me this, oh, I don’t know, after the recital?”
“Calm down, baby,” he pleads. “I just wanted you to know how much support you were going to have tonight, that’s all.”
I can see a slight look of hurt in his face. He’s just trying to be nice, and I’ve cut him down.
“I’m sorry. Of course I’m glad she’ll be there,” I reassure him with a kiss. “Please thank her for me when you see her.”
“I will,” he says with a smile. “So, what color is your gown?”
“Black.”
“Text me a picture of you in it before you come out onstage,” he requests.
I bite my lower lip. “I don’t know if I’ll have time. I need to warm up, and my nerves—”
He strokes my face with his index finger. “It’s fine. I totally understand. It’ll just be a surprise for me, right?”
“Right,” I agree, kissing him again on the lips, something I never get tired of.
The car stops and double-parks in front of the school. I wait as usual for Davison to open the door for me, with Charles holding my gown and bag.
“Break a leg, Miss Orsini,” he says.
I give him a grateful smile. “Thank you, Charles. I’ll do my best.”
With our hands linked together, Davison and I walk into the main
entrance of the conservatory. I have to part ways with him here to go backstage to get ready.
He holds me tightly before we separate.
“You know where to look for me, right?” he checks with me.
“Yup. Front row center as always,” I reply knowingly.
He kisses me softly on the lips before I walk away. I look back one more time, giving him a quick wave and a smile, then turn the corner in the lobby to get to the backstage area of the auditorium. Two rooms are cordoned off as dressing areas for the male and female grads.
I pass Tomas outside the men’s dressing room, decked out in a tux with a white tie and tails.
“Wow! Tomas, you look great! Lucy is going to lose it when she sees you.”
“That is what I hope for,” he replies with a twinkle in his eye. “Break a foot, Allegra.”
I smile, deciding it’s sweet and not necessary to correct him. “Thanks, Tomas. You too.”
Luciana is already dressed when I walk in, her jade-green gown a perfect complement to her blonde hair. She’s putting the finishing touches on her makeup when she sees me, practicing her scales as she gives herself one last brush of powder.
“You look amazing, Lucy!”
“Hey! There you are! Thanks, sweetie!” she says, glancing at me. “About time you got here. Money Boy give you a lift?”
“Yeah. And just to add to my nerves, he told me his mom is going to be here.”
“How thoughtful,” she jokes.
“By the way, prepare yourself, because Tomas looks very handsome in his tux.”
“Really?” she says, rubbing her two hands together like a mad scientist. “I think I’ll have to go investigate.”
I laugh, then quickly change into my gown, a floor-length strapless A-line of silk and organza, tucking my hair into a low chignon at the nape of my neck as I usually do. I slip into my favorite black patent kitten heels.
I go through my usual warm-up routine as I make up my face—singing the scales like Lucy did, flapping my lips while exhaling, humming the opening notes of the arias I’m going to sing.
As I apply my apricot gloss to my lips, a voice comes over the backstage PA system. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. This is your five-minute warning. Five minutes, please.”
Lucy reappears with Tomas at her side. “Come on, Alli. It’s time!”
I give myself one last look in the mirror, taking in a deep breath.
This is it. I can do this. Davison is waiting.
“Andiamo! Let’s go!” I declare.
Both dressing areas empty as we join the other grads lining up behind the curtain for our introductions.
Suddenly, I start to feel guilty for giving Davison a hard time about his mother coming tonight. I want to make it up to him.
I tug Lucy by the elbow. “I’ll be right back.”
“Where are you going? Are you going to be sick?”
“Don’t worry. I’m fine,” I reassure her. “Back in a sec.”
I rush back to the empty dressing room and dig for my cell phone in my bag. I hum excitedly at the thought of surprising Davison after all with a shot of me in my gown, even though I told him I wouldn’t have time. I turn on my camera app and switch the lens to face me.
When I lift the phone to my face and smile widely, someone else is in the shot with me. It’s the man with the evil eyes and no neck, the man who’s been following me.
Suddenly, a piece of cold metal is pressing to my neck, and a large hand smelling of onions and cigarettes clamps over my mouth.
“If you make a sound, I’ll fucking kill you,” he whispers roughly into my ear as he pushes the knife harder against my skin, the blade threatening my carotid artery.
I nod quickly before he throws a sack over my head and darkness envelops me.
Chapter Nineteen
Cold. I’m so cold.
I open my eyes, my teeth chattering, and see nothing but gray concrete walls.
Where am I?
The room smells of damp. Pipes crisscross overhead. This has to be a basement. A window high above on the wall next to me is boarded over with a sheet of plywood, but through a sliver between the wall and the window, I can detect a faint light, possibly from an alley.
I want to warm myself up by rubbing my arms together, but I can’t. My hands are tied in front of me, and my bare feet are bound at the ankles. The ropes cut into my skin. A gag is shoved into my mouth as I lie on a thick, musty mattress, a wire poking through the top, with no pillow or blanket.
My heart starts to palpitate. I quickly start recalling everything in my mind, desperate to remember. It was the recital, and I was about to go onstage when I went back to take a photo for Davison.
Davison…
And then I saw that man with no neck who’d been following me standing behind me.
Oh my God.
Soft tears start falling down my face.
Suddenly, a metal door against the far wall screeches against the concrete floor. I push myself up so I can see what’s happening.
My stalker appears in the doorway.
“Good. You’re up,” he croaks. “Yo, Carlo, she’s awake.”
No. It can’t be. How can he be alive? Oh God.
As if I were five years old again, the stout form of Carlo Morandi fills the door frame. My stomach begins to spasm from the harsh sobs that escape my mouth as I scoot as far back as I can on the mattress.
He slowly walks toward me. I turn my head into the wall and lift my bound hands to my face so I don’t have to look at him.
“Hello, Mia,” my mother’s killer coos to me in a stomach-churning voice. “It’s so lovely to see you again. I’ve missed you. You’ve grown into such a beautiful woman. Una bella donna.”
He roughly turns my head so he can look me in the eyes.
“Don’t cry, bella. You have nothing to be afraid of.”
I start talking to him, but the rag in my mouth muffles my words.
“Do you want to say something?”
I nod.
“I’ll take this off if you promise not to scream.”
I nod again, shutting my eyes as he leans in to untie the kerchief from my mouth, cringing as his noxious body odor invades my nose.
I start coughing so I can take in fresh oxygen. I watch as Carlo walks out of the room, returning with a bottle of water. He lets it spill into my mouth. The water cascades down my throat as I try to drink as much as I can. I start choking when I’ve had enough.
Once my breathing normalizes, I remain sitting up, staring right at him. He’s not going to scare me.
“How could you have survived…How can you be here?” I stammer in shock.
“I’m a survivor, Mia. It’s not that easy to get rid of me.”
“You’ll never get away with this.”
“I will, with Tony’s help. He’s an idiot, but he gets the job done.”
“The pig who stalked me?”
“I needed to keep tabs on you, cara—”
“Don’t call me that!”
Without warning, his right hand slaps me across the face. I fall back onto the mattress from the force of the hit. “You should learn now what happens when you speak to me like that. Only your sweet papa calls you that, right? I can’t wait to take away the last thing from him that he loved. I got rid of Concetta, and now it’s your turn.”
Swallowing in my throat, I quickly sit back up to ask the question I’ve wanted the answer to for nineteen years. “Why did you kill my mother? If you loved her, why did you hurt her?”
“Because I wasn’t good enough for that puttana you had for a mother. I was so nice to her before she left Italy. I brought her flowers, so many presents. I learned about opera because she loved it. But she wanted more. She wanted to see America, as if Napoli was too small for her. I was too small. Just because I was a mechanic’s son. All she wanted was a rich man. And your father took her from me.”
“Finally, the truth, as warped as it is,” I tell him right to
his face. “And here is my mother’s truth. She was afraid of you. She thought you were mentally unbalanced, bordering on sociopathic. All that attention you paid to her terrified her. That’s the reason she didn’t like you. The reason she left for America. And then she met my father, who isn’t rich. He’s just a butcher. But he is kind and warm, something you never were to her. That’s the truth, you asshole. La verità.”
Morandi’s jaw begins to tighten as his eyes blaze in fury. This time I see his open fist coming, but I stay upright. My eyes widen from the shock of the slap as my head twists from the impact. I spit out the blood that pools in my mouth onto the concrete floor.
I smile, steeling myself with determination to look at him, straight into his bloodshot eyes. “You truly are a sociopath if you think the cops won’t track you down. I know people are already looking for me.”
“I highly doubt it. And that rich bastardo you hooked up with? Forget him. You’re a puttana just like your mother. Once I’m done with you, he’ll never want to be with you again, that is if you’re ever stupid enough to escape. You’ll be worse than garbage left on the street.”
My brows furrow in confusion as I start to shake from the threatening tone in his voice. My defenses are crumbling.
“What do you mean?”
“When we’re back in Napoli, I’m going to let all my friends enjoy you for a price. I’m getting hard just thinking about watching it happen.”
I gasp, but then I quickly collect myself.
Fuck him. I’m not going to let him do this to me.
Carlo steps over to me, patting my head in some perverted form of comfort.
“Don’t worry, Mia. We’ll have so much fun. Trust me.”
He takes my hands into his, sensing the feel of cold metal against them. I watch, afraid of what he’s going to do next. In one swipe, he cuts the rope from around my wrists.
“I’m not completely heartless,” he says, watching me rub my hands together, then running them down my arms to get their circulation back. “I’ll get you a blanket and some food. I need to keep you healthy, after all.”
He pats me again on my hair. “Don’t worry, bella. I’ll take care of you. I’m your family now.”
The impact of his words hits me as if he’d physically struck me again. My hands clench into fists. I punch the mattress, releasing a loud yell of frustration. I lie back down, utterly exhausted. But his words, ominous and disturbing, remain in my head, fearful what he’ll do to me if I fall asleep. I sit up, take deep breaths, leaning my head against the wall, pressing my cheek into the cold concrete to keep me awake.
