“Christian?” she squealed.
“He took you because we want to speak to your father. If he knows we've got you, he'll come to us.”
“But I don't understand. Why do you want my father?”
“He had an affair with my wife, and I want revenge.”
She wondered whether she should tell them, but she decided to let them find out for themselves in the fullness of time.
“So you weren't interested in me at all. On the contrary, you wanted to harm me,” she said, gazing at Christian.
“It's not like that,” he replied.
“Are you going to keep me against my will, or am I free to go?”
“You're staying with us,” Fabio said.
“Christian, tell this asshole you care for me. Tell him not to be so ridiculous. Jesus, we made love last night. How could you do this to me?”
“Don't worry. All you have to do is sit tight here, and you can go when your father arrives,” Christian said.
“She's not staying here,” Fabio said. “I want her moved. After the commotion you caused last evening, it's too close to the city. I'll get Alberti to come and take her to number two.”
“I'll take her,” Christian said.
“You won't. I don't want you anywhere near her now. Get your things and leave. I've got other jobs for you to do,” Fabio said.
“Christian,” Amy said, a hint of desperation in her voice. “Please, you can't let him do this to me. Please.”
Christian looked at her. “Sorry,” he said.
Amy flew from the bed in a rage. She threw her fists around, catching Fabio on the jaw. Christian wrapped his arms around her and held her until her energy was spent. “You fucking lowlife,” she said to Christian. “Call yourself a man. You're just an apology for a man. All that Mr. Hard Man last evening. You don't fool me. You're just this asshole's stooge.” She pointed to Fabio, who was holding his jaw.
There was the sound of a car in the driveway outside. Alberti came into the house sporting two black eyes. When he saw Christian, he scowled. “Why did you take so long yesterday?” he asked.
“So what if I did? It was no reason to get blind drunk,” Christian said.
“Stop talking,” Fabio said. “Alberti, when she's dressed, take her to number two and lock her up. Stay with her and make sure she gets some food now and again. Understand?” Alberti nodded. “Christian, come with me.”
Christian followed him outside. “You're on collection duty. I don't want you anywhere near her anymore. Got it?”
“But—”
“But nothing. Go fuck someone else. You've fucked her for the first and last time.”
Christian reluctantly took the car he had driven there the previous evening and headed back to LA. Collection duty meant he would be taking money from business owners in return for protection.
*****
“I'm sorry, Amy. Please forgive me. You mean everything to me. If you leave me, I'll hang myself.”
“On your knees. Beg for me,” Amy said.
“Anything you want. Just stay with me. I can't live without you.”
The digital alarm clock that had sent a flickering green across the bedroom all night burst into life. Christian opened his eyes and groaned. Again he was bathed in sweat, and again he'd had that awful recurring dream. She was haunting him. He couldn't get through a night without being subjected to it. It was as if she was taking her revenge. For the last few nights, he'd dreamed he was so full of remorse for what he'd done, Amy so angry, that he let her dominate and humiliate him. It didn't matter what he told himself when he was awake; when he was asleep, he turned into a soft, subservient, hen-pecked man who was so full of remorse he would do anything to appease her.
In the car on the way to his first collection, he wondered how long his dreams were going to last. He was hardly able to function during the day. He was tired, irritable, and even his penchant for eyeing up pretty women seemed to have deserted him. It was serious.
“Mr. Singh, please don't make this any harder than it already is. You know the amount you and Mr. Affini agreed. There's only half of it here,” Christian said, looking into a brown envelope. He didn't even have to count it. He'd been collecting money for years, and he could tell how much was in an envelope by eye.
“Please, Mr. Christian. Next time double, okay?” Mr. Singh said in a thick Indian accent. “We're in a recession.”
“Does that stop people eating?” Christian asked.
“No, but it stops people buying luxury items.”
“Listen to me. If you don't pay in full next week, something very nasty will happen to your wife. Got it?”
Mr. Singh scowled but nodded. He knew Christian wasn't joking.
Christian walked out of the shop and into the sunlight. A young man was sitting on the hood of his car. “Get the fuck off my car, you punk,” he shouted. The boy stuck a finger up at him and jumped down.
“Rosie, are you at home?” he asked into his cell.