Regretfully Yours

by Sunniva Dee

  All I want is to get Silvina back.

  I find my oldest cousin in the kitchen. She’s taken it upon herself to make Italian wedding cookies from scratch. Tears dripping into the bowl, she stirs and stirs. One of her hands is bandaged. I haven’t asked her if they took her nails or more yet. It seems small in comparison to everything else.

  “Gabi.” When did she become so little? Is it just the curve of her back? I take her in my arms, giving her of my strength. “I’m going to find Silvina. Okay?”

  She nods but doesn’t look up. Those tears, they kill me. They drip, drip, and drip.

  “Per favore,” I whisper. “Believe in me.”

  “I do, Gioele. If anyone can get her back, it’s you.”

  I wish I knew where to start, cugina.

  Gabi pulls in a breath. Then, her eyes slide up to meet mine. “Isaias and I have a bond that’s so strong, they used to tease us about acting like twins. You know?”

  “I know.”

  “But Silvina and yours is stronger.”

  I swallow my pain, my fear, my need.

  “She could be anywhere. We have no idea where, so use your bond. Find her station and tune in on it. Bring her back home to us.” She covers her hiccough with the palm of her hand. Then, she pulls out of my arms and turns back to her cookie dough. Stirring, stirring, stirring.

  The hours snake by too slowly. Il Lince returned. Debriefing. Rage. Hate. None of it brings back the heart I got ripped out last night. She’s gone, and all they talk about is revenge.

  Tatiana finds me outside. She sits down next to me on the stoop in the back alley. “What’s going on inside that head of yours?”

  I lean back so far I can see the sky. “What do you mean? I’m pissed.”

  “Right. I mean about Silvina. Any thoughts? Plans?”

  My brother trusts Tatiana fully, and that’s a luxury an outsider doesn’t easily acquire from our famiglia. Isaias is no exception, so I slouch on my elbows and face her. The gunshot wound flares hot in my shoulder at the shift. It’s a reminder I welcome; at least, I didn’t get away completely scot-free.

  “You want to know what I think?”

  “I do.”

  “But first: you have any theories of your own?”

  “I might. Give me your best shot, and I’ll give you mine.”

  Rolling, I hike up on the hip of my good side. “All right. You’ve probably heard Gabriela’s report of what happened to her. This John person. Him talking about me and a job I auditioned for at Harmony Femme.”

  “Yes.”

  “There could be any number of Johns out there, but I beat up a friend of Silvina’s by that name not long before we left San Francisco. I want a chat with him. I also want to find out if there’s any connection between him and Harmony Femme.”

  I scan her expression but read neither agreement or dissent.

  “I have no idea why this is happening to her. First, they took my uncle. Then, Gabriela. They wanted to get to the bunker, which makes sense if you know the cruel brains of the Santa Colombini. But I can’t figure out why they’d want Silvina.”

  Tatiana nods slowly. She has a cappuccino in her hands but doesn’t drink from it. “Right. They kill, they maim, they take revenge. They torture for their cause, and with Gabriela and your uncle Cosimo, their response followed their typical pattern. The problem is, removing Silvina completely without leaving a single trace isn’t a part of that pattern. When do you plan on leaving?”

  I really look at her. There’s astute intelligence bristling in her eyes.

  “Who says I’m leaving?”

  She just arches a brow.

  I blow out my cheeks. “Okay. I’d like to leave asap. It’s just that my father’ll make sure I don’t get far.”

  “What if I helped you?”

  I narrow my eyes at her. “You can do that?”

  “I’ll get you on your way whenever you’re ready, and I can make sure you’re undercover the whole way there. You won’t be discovered by anyone, Santa Colombini or Nascimbeni.”

  I smirk, because this is just laughable. With her job, she’s going to keep me undercover? “You’re kidding, right?”

  Again, she arches a fine brow, silver stare mocking me. “Try me.”

  It’s three hours later, and I’m on my way to San Francisco. I hugged Ma. She looked me over suspiciously. I gave the other girls in my life a hug too, but my brother would have figured out my plan, so Tatiana and I agreed she’ll let him know later.

  “He’d insist on heading up the mission,” she said what I was thinking.

  “And he lost a lot of blood,” I finished.

  “His biggest issue is his bruised spleen. He gets lightheaded, and what good would a fainting god be to you?”

  “A what now?” I’d frowned.

  “Oh, nothing.” She tilted a smile my way. “Just a private joke. Your brother thinks he’s God with the way he pulls everyone’s strings. I tease him for it.”

  Now, I’m in the backseat of a small silver BMW 120. I’m content with the tinted windows that carry throughout the car. The couple in the front, Tatiana’s friends I suppose, showed no interest in my overly heavy duffel bag, and so far, they haven’t asked me any personal questions. When necessary, we simply take off on side roads for gas and bathroom breaks. Halfway to San Francisco, the woman starts handing out sandwiches.

  “You know my situation, don’t you?” I finally ask.

  She turns and gives me a wink. “We do this all the time. Don’t worry about it.”

  We hit San Francisco in record time, and Tatiana’s friends drop me off in Vernal Heights, at an apartment that’s supposedly in Tatiana’s family. She mentioned the ground-level garage and how I can use a motorcycle that’s parked there.

  Once inside, I hit the garage, entering from the kitchen. A black Suzuki waits there. It’s newish, the engine small enough to not claim attention on the streets. The keys are in the ignition, and turning it, I find the tank full. It’s all so convenient.

  I give a quick inspection of the rest of the place. A small kitchen, a bathroom, two tiny bedrooms, and a den with a TV. I test the internet, get on my laptop with the password Tatiana’s shot off to my throwaway. It works great. The fridge has food in it too. Again, I let my head spin with the type of connections Tatiana must have. It seems the Nascimbeni aren’t the only ones with access to safe houses.

  All good? Tatiana types out.

  Yeah. Have you told Isaias?

  Yes. Your brother is upset with us. :-)

  I smile. Of course. And Il Lince?

  Not happy. He wants to send someone out for you.

  You told him where I am??? Fuck.

  No. All he knows is you’re gone.

  Our texting gets interrupted by a call. I recognize Isaias’ throwaway and pick up, cringing. “Hey.”

  “That was a dumbass idea,” he growls. “If you’d given me a few more hours, I’d have taken care of it myself.”

  “Whatever. I need to find her now. I can’t lay around waiting like a fucking douche while they’re doing god-knows-what to my girl.”

  “And you think your inexperienced ass can play the Colombini all alone?”

  “Isaias,” Tatiana snaps in the background.

  He groans quietly.

  “You need to trust someone else sometimes, especially in your condition.”

  “I should be saying that to you, baby,” he murmurs, voice going all tender.

  I roll my eyes. “Fratello, I don’t have time for this. Gotta go.”

  “No, you listen to me, little brother. Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re taking a nap, right this moment. Make it hours and make them count. Got it?”

  “Will you fucking stop patronizing me?”

  “In the meantime, Tatiana and I’ll be t
alking with Gabriela. We’ll set in motion our networks and gather intel for you.”

  Crap. That does sound good.

  “Don’t—for the love of God—don’t leave the safe house before you get word back from me.”

  “I can gather my own intel,” I mutter.

  “Right, because that’s smart. The rebellious little brother losing a ton of time on half-assed moves while his cousin remains in the hands of a bunch of savages. Randolfo took her. Has that sunk into your brain yet? And wherever he put her, we need to get her out. Who saves her isn’t exactly the point.”

  “Isaias, take it easy.” Tatiana in the background.

  I rumble out another groan. I’m so frustrated right now. I honestly don’t even know where to start looking. Where are the Santa Colombini strongholds up here? I came to find John, Silvina’s classmate in Biology. She doesn’t have Biology until tomorrow, and I don’t even know his last name. How many students named John are there in San Francisco?

  “Gioele?” Isaias already sounds milder.

  “What!”

  “All I’m saying is I fucking do this for a living. Okay? I network. I gather intel. I’ve got connections, both legal and illegal ones that are so far out of your league you can’t even dream them up. And don’t get me wrong: you should acquire my kind of connections in the future, but you won’t get anywhere that can be helpful to Silvina in the next few days.”

  “Gioele?” That’s Tatiana up close and on the phone.

  “Yeah.” I can practically feel them zooming in on me together, she with her silver insistence and Isaias with that green X-ray stare he has.

  “Isaias and I can get you plenty to work with if you give us a few more hours. We’ve already started digging in. We’ve been at it since— Well, since your brother was done throwing a fit.”

  “You call that a fit?” he asks behind her.

  “You do that, baby,” she tells him sweetly, away from the phone, before she returns to me. “Are you good with that, Gioele? Get some rest. We’ll give you something to work with at the latest by midnight.”

  I nod, feeling relief sink in. When your heart has left you, it’s the small things that count, like grabbing some zzzs without losing time. I can do this.

  18. MINE ONLY

  SILVINA

  Gioele. I can’t even think his name without getting dizzy. Is he okay? Wounded? Those are the alternatives I can let myself consider. If he knows I’m gone, he’s making everyone’s life miserable, because one thing I know for a fact: Gioele doesn’t believe in an existence without me.

  The next time John Ulrich Himmel enters the room, it’s with two men. It’s dark outside. I’m hungry, thirsty, and my head still hammers. I’m starting to feel queasy.

  “Hey, pretty Silvina. You don’t look so good. Did you know that?” He tilts his head playfully, blue eyes glittering with humor. “You’re not your regular put-together self. Not exactly the girl who’s thrown me bones in Biology for three semesters straight. Did you never wonder when it’d come back and bite you in the behind?”

  Why does he look so different? He always had an easy laugh. It used to give his eyes a mischievous glint, but they’re lacking something now, and I’m trying to determine what that is.

  John makes himself comfortable, seated too far in on the bed. I scoot away from him and find the missing trait as he grabs my tied hands and drags me closer. Respect.

  I stifle my hiccough at the realization. If a man has no respect for a woman, what’s left? Wordless, I glare.

  “You’re feisty, but I’ll break you in good, pretty Silvina. You’ll sob. You’ll cry for your mama. You’ll scream for Gioele di Nascimbeni. But don’t you worry. I have experience with women like you. They all come with their head held high and rebellion in their eyes. My family ran the biggest ring of human trafficking in California for a decade, and I’ve broken in quite a few slaves myself.” He shrugs, lifting his stare to me again.

  “Your family doesn’t run slaves anymore,” I mutter.

  The strike across my cheek comes fast as a whip. It leaves shock and a numbing burn behind. “Have I told you to talk?”

  My eyes fill with tears of anger, but I don’t answer. Through the blur, I see him shake his head.

  “That’s right. I didn’t. My family doesn’t run flesh anymore because your family is a fucking bunch of snitches. If it weren’t for their intervention, we’d still be the kings of modern slavery in America.”

  He hovers over me. Grabs me by the throat and pushes the back of my head slowly into the pillow. His eyes trail over my face, studying my reaction as he presses against my windpipe until I can’t breathe. My hands go up on their own and tighten around his grip. It causes a gleeful little laugh to trickle out of him. It’s bone-chilling and grossly feminine for such a cruel figure. God, I wish I had my gun.

  “But see, once you’ve had a taste of the good life—of owning a beautiful woman who’s there for you only, eating, living, breathing in your bedroom until you’re sick of her and trade her for something new—you can’t go back.”

  He drags his thumb over my lip. My heart sets off, urging me to run away as fast as I can. How much damage can John Ulrich Himmel do to me before I get out of here?

  I jolt when John’s index finger becomes more insistent, pushing my lower lip downward until cold air hits my gums. He’s mesmerized by my mouth. I stare, denying him the pleasure of my fear.

  He smiles. Presses his fingertip against my teeth. I clench my jaw shut, not allowing him access. His eyes darken. Then, he grabs my cheeks with one merciless hand and squeezes where my teeth meet, causing a searing pain that results in my mouth opening against my will.

  “You have to obey your master, pretty Silvina. If you don’t, you’ll just end up with unbecoming bruises. Swellings. Maybe the occasional cut. I prefer you smooth and tanned. I enjoy you this way. Although there’s something to be said for artfully modified flesh too.”

  My jaw suddenly feels weak. I blink, trying to keep my fear from oozing out through my eyes. I avert them while his finger penetrates my mouth.

  “Suck.” His demand is a low, pleased hum.

  I do it. I’m saving my energy. It’s a small thing, nothing like the horrors he promises. My stare travels to the two men by the door. I don’t recognize them. Shorter than John, they’re southern-Italian dark and in their early thirties. Guns drawn in strong hands, they stare unabashedly at my lips, primitive lust radiating from them.

  “That’s right. Roll your tongue around my finger. Show what goodies I’ve got coming when I’m ready.”

  The queasiness in my stomach threatens to shift upward, but I do it. I roll my tongue around his index finger while I suck. I think of lazy summer days in Lake Como. Of Gioele’s smile from the hayloft ladder when we’d just found it. I think of Oscar, sweet Oscar. Of swimming in the lake, of staying under long enough to lose my breath and scare my cousin. I close my eyes, seeing Gioele’s terrified silver-streaked stare as he pulls me above the surface, his anger when he realizes I was just teasing him.

  I want to do what Zia Carola said. I want to return to Summer Italy with Gioele and sleep in his lap on the plane there. I want his devotion, unlimited, thick with awe, replete with a love so selfless and so uniquely my bane.

  John pulls out his finger and leans over me, so close he almost brushes my mouth with his. “You’re good at it, you slut. Who do I have to thank for this—your cousin? What else has he taught you to do? I’m going to get him. You know that, right? You’ll be mine.”

  He draws away from me, his imagination strumming evil chords at the back of his brain. “Oh, yes. I know just how to break the pretty Silvina. Step one. Step two. Step three. Oh, so many steps to enjoy for you to beg to be only mine.”

  Only mine. His implications are not sweet. With my new knowledge of this man, they can only mean one thing, and it�
��s making me hyperventilate. His toxic stare moves down my throat to my chest and fixes on my boobs.

  “Step one.” His smile as he says it would have been beautiful if it weren’t for the cruelty in his eyes.

  John is fast. He rips out the buttons of my shirt with one quick pull. Is it his experience with slaves, readying them for sale on the American market?

  I heave in air, lifting my legs to kick him. The bands slip on my wrists, and twisting to the side, I wrench out of them.

  “Guys! Get me real rope.”

  “No!” I breathe so fast my exhales sound like whimpers.

  “Oh, yes,” he growls. “Ha. Look at you. Who knew Nascimbeni royalty were whiny little cowards?”

  Two pairs of rough hands help him tie my hands behind my back. One of my ankles get strapped to the bedpost. He can do whatever he wants to me!

  I try to steady my mind.

  I have no way to escape!

  Stop thinking.

  John pulls out a knife and points at his helpers. “Step back. Stand by the door.”

  Slowly, they do as he commands while my lungs inflate and deflate in quick succession. When he’s happy with their position on his stage, he inserts the knife beneath the center of my bra. For an instant, intent eyes float up to me, holding still and enjoying the moment.

  “Are you excited about step one? Mr. Zetticci, over there, to your left, and Mr. Mazzi haven’t been blessed with the company of a real-life woman in a while. Surely, you’re happy to give them a peek of your titties?” He says the last word with a simper, forming his mouth in a grimace that divulges complete lack of compassion.

  “No.” I puff the word out against my better judgment.

  “No?” For one baffling beat, tenderness hits his irises. It makes them brighter. “Isn’t that adorable, guys?”

  One of them looks worried, like he’s about to lose something essential. I don’t know what’s most disturbing, that he’s so unpredictable his men believe he can change his mind at any moment—or that I know he won’t heed me.