Of course, I quickly remember the direness of my current situation and the smile melts away. But thinking about my parents and their love for each other and for me has warmed me up a little bit, and I feel a little less afraid.
Their love was truly one for the books, and now that I have Bruno, I know what that feels like.
True love within the mafia was always a little bit dangerous. And maybe that makes it just a little bit sweeter. With the threat of death never far from you, you learn to appreciate those you love and trust so much more.
I just hope he’s okay.
“Are--are you going to hurt us?” Rafaela pipes up, her voice thin and quaking. It’s obvious without even having to see her face that she’s crying. I give her hand another light squeeze.
“Only if that’s what you’re into,” Lorenzo replies flippantly. My heart sinks. What the hell does he have planned for us? He mentioned having enough space in his bed for both of us…
Suddenly, those horrible memories come flashing back. The ones I so desperately forgot. The ones that even Bruno’s reappearance in my life couldn’t bring back.
A dark room. Goosebumps prickling across my skin. Feeling exposed. Violated. Terrified. Cold.
No!
“You’ll have to pass inspection first, of course,” Lorenzo adds, breaking me out of my thoughts. “The Don will want to look you over, make sure you’re in mint condition. I know he’ll be pleased that I’ve brought him two different flavors of slut: Italian and Spanish,” Lorenzo laughs.
“Soy venezolana, pajizo,” Rafaela quips indignantly, a surprising note of strength in her tone. There’s the fiery woman I call my best friend.
“Mexican, Cuban, Venezuelan, doesn’t matter. You’re all the same to me. Either way, you’ll be a treat for the boys. Maybe I’ll let them taste my sloppy seconds when I’m done with you,” he replies.
Rafaela lets out a tiny whimper and I lean into her, nudging her shoulder with mine. I wish I could hug her or tell her it will all be okay, but I don’t want to do anything that might provoke the henchmen to tie my hands.
We ride along in silence for a while longer. I have no idea how much time passes. It could be five minutes, it could be five hours. I just try to focus on keeping cool. At the moment, our lives don’t seem to be in immediate danger, and Lorenzo’s threats seem to be lewd rather than murderous, not that it’s much better this way.
Especially with the trauma of what happened to me years ago still hovering in the back of my mind like a storm cloud. I can’t let him get into my head, though. For my sake and Rafaela’s, I have to keep calm as much as possible. There’s nothing else I can do right now.
I push down the memories, back into the dark corner of my psyche where they’ve lived for so long. I don’t have the luxury of having Rafaela play psychologist for me right now. No, I have to stay strong for the both of us.
I’ve survived the mafia’s wrath before. I’ll survive it again.
There’s the rattle of wheels on gravel, perhaps even on dirt, for what seems to be a few minutes. This frightens me because it signals to me that we’re not in the city anymore. When the car stops, my stomach starts to twist, fear settling into my bones. I don’t know where we are, but we’ve evidently reached our destination.
“Take off the blindfolds. They’ll have no fucking clue where we are anyway. Grab them and don’t let them go,” Lorenzo says. “We’re going to march into the building.”
The henchmen take off our blindfolds and we both blink uncomfortably in the onslaught of light. We’ve apparently been driving all through the night, because the sun is peeking out over the horizon in a splash of gorgeous pink and orange. It’s a strange sight, seeing something so lovely when we’re in such an awful situation. We’re hauled out of the van with our arms twisted behind our backs.
Up ahead of us is a massive, classical-style villa surrounded by countryside. There are thick white pillars and balconies, wide windows with shining glass panes, and immaculately-maintained hedges leading up to the pearly front door. It looks like some sort of ancient pleasure palace. The henchmen drag us away, up the front steps and through the entrance, which opens into an impressive foyer with a vaulted ceiling and a grand staircase.
“Co?o, what the hell is this?” Rafaela murmurs quietly.
Lorenzo steps up to us and bids the henchmen to move away. Lorenzo looks us up and down and then barks at one of the henchmen, “Get the Don. They’re ready. No time like the present.”
One of the men goes upstairs and we wait nervously for a few minutes while Lorenzo stands back and gazes at us, his arms crossed and a sly grin on his stupid face. There’s the click-clack of dress shoes on marble and we all turn to see an older man, with steel-gray hair and a stern expression. He’s wearing an exquisitely-tailored suit with a tie nearly the same color as his hair. Even though he’s considerably shorter than the massive henchman walking behind him, there’s a disquieting, commanding presence about the man. Lorenzo steps out of his way with an ingratiating gesture of deference, and the man walks up to stand in front of Rafaela and me.
His expression stays exactly the same as he looks us up and down, his eyes critical and his mouth set in a hard line. He reaches out to take Raf’s chin in his fingers, turning her face side to side. He grabs a handful of her thick, curly hair and tugs it gently. Rafaela is frozen in place, her brown eyes wide and fearful.
The man says, “Turn around slowly.” His voice is deep and flat.
Rafaela hesitates for a moment before giving in and doing a slow spin. The man pauses, then snaps his fingers, and another man comes up to take Rafaela by the arm and drag her away down the hall. She starts to cry again, wordlessly pleading with her eyes for me to help her.
“No! No! Don’t take her,” I burst out, making a move forward. But the Don reaches out and stops me with one hand, giving me a stern look. He holds me by my shoulders, keeping me still while he surveys my body, like I’m some prize cow about to be sold for slaughter. He turns my head side to side, running his thumb over my bottom lip and opening my mouth to check my teeth. Then he cups my breasts with both hands, and I gasp sharply.
Like a reflex, I knock his hands away and stumble backward. Two men hurriedly grab hold of me and to my horror the Don is now grinning, as though this is the reaction he was hoping for. I want to spit at him, slap him across the face, kick him in the balls. Anything. Something. But there is nothing I can do. I’m helpless again, just like I was all those years before.
“So this is the bitch my nephew has been so worked up about,” says the Don coolly. “The other girl is a fine toy for my men, but this one… well, she will make a fantastic trophy. Might even bear a few of his children before we’re finished with the takeover. Good work, boys.”
“Thank you, sir,” Lorenzo says. The fucking brown-noser.