Six Deadly Steps

by Sonya Jesus

  Hesitantly, I move toward them.

  He doesn’t reach for me, but he points to the pool. “Get in.”

  “What?” I whisper, as my eyes have locked on the rectangular shape. My upper body jerks in response to my contracting muscles. The men chalk it up to the difference in temperature, but it’s anxiety. The thousands of gallons all collected in one place, waiting for me to step in, so they can take over my lungs and deplete me of my ability to scream.

  This is cruel. Something the vile man prides himself in.

  “You said you’ve been practicing. Vinnie says you always take a bath at night, but you shower in the morning.”

  It’s how I talk to Luca without anyone listening. “I have been practicing, Beppe.”

  He latches onto the chair and hoists himself up; the chair legs bow slightly at the pressure, but remain upright. Beppe wobbles over to the circular protrusion, callously stepping on the spot where my older brother took his last breath.

  Disrespectful piece of shit. I lash out internally, clenching my molars tight as I imagine pushing him into the pool, taking Vinnie’s gun, and shooting him as he struggles to gain movement.

  “Isabella!” His timbre roars around the three of us.

  I toss the ice pop to the ground and shove off my outer layers and shoes, while innately turning on the protective mechanism: shutting down. I have no choice. If I refuse, he’ll know I’m lying and will force me under, and if I run, he’ll wait and do worse. Not to mention, it may ruin my plan. At least this way, I retain control.

  So, I shut down my thoughts and focus on my actions. The space around me blurs, leaving only the throbbing in my head, the pounding in my chest, the burning in my eyes, and the aquamarine death trap.

  Each shaky step brings me closer to the brink of exhaustion. My knees weaken at the sound of the filter sucking water in and propelling it out through the other jets.

  Weighted, heavy breaths tether me to dry land. I steady myself with a palm on the pillar and bow my head in silent prayer—not begging God, because there’s little he can do when the Devil’s by my side.

  Instead, I beg my dead brothers and my mother for strength.

  “Vinnie, help my daughter in. She can’t go on the honeymoon without conquering her fear.”

  Oh, this is so much more than fear.

  Out of nowhere, my mouth moves. “You don’t need water to sunbathe and relax in the sun.” I glance back at Beppe to find him shaking his head, and before he rushes for me, I dip my foot into the water, testing out the temperature.

  It’s freezing, but only because I’m burning up. My teeth chatter as Beppe comes closer. “Tony likes to play in the water.”

  Vinnie, who had been discussing something on the intercom, comes forward. My inner twelve-year-old squeaks with horror. He’s going to hold me under.

  Panic ensues, and I rush into the water, trembling, but no one seems to notice. Beppe talks to me, but really, it’s for Vinnie’s benefit. I wrap my arms around my torso as I stand on the fourth step, water almost to my knees and tears flowing down my cheeks. I keep my back to the men, so they don’t see me cry.

  “I saw him at Unita today, after he and my daughter made me look like a fool at Cielo.”

  I’m paying for standing Beppe up.

  “The blonde woman he was with, she isn’t paid to teach swimming lessons, Isabella.”

  I proceed deeper into the pool, farther away from them. At this point, the water is safer than my father and Tony’s minion. The longer he has to ponder on ways to teach me a lesson, the worse the lesson is.

  I calm my voice and muster the strength to answer him without wavering. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because I don’t want you using this as an excuse to get out of the wedding.”

  “Tony doesn’t hide his visits to Unita from me.” The pressure of the water on my skin silences me, and I gasp.

  At my reaction, a low happy rumble comes from the Don’s direction, but I focus on blocking out any internal thoughts and replacing them with the word ‘control.’

  The thoughts are there, though, threatening to instigate my flight response with every stifled syllable. The further in I get, which is only inches at a time, the harder it is to mute my thoughts and deafen my ears.

  “Don’t stop.” Beppe’s impatience slithers over the water and wraps around me, invisibly choking the air out of me.

  I hadn’t noticed I stopped or that my eyes were firmly shut until I open them. The turquoise lights lining the side of the pool cast a terrifyingly beautiful glow. The hues of blue meshing together create a degradé of color, adding dimension, profundity.

  And I freak. The fuck. Out.

  Internal chaos ensues, and what was once a symphony of fear is now Krakatoa, erupting and creating the loudest warning bells I’ve ever heard. Despite being in the cool water, shivering, I’m burning up. Every second is like a wave of molten lava, searing through me, disintegrating my strength in its path.

  Like a coward, I succumb.

  Tree, screams, guns … run. Dead. Run.

  There’s no time for other thoughts.

  I tread through the water toward the pillar I hid behind during the massacre, needing something at my back, something to protect me. To my luck, my weakened knees only support slow movements.

  As opposed to looking spooked and unnerved, Beppe takes the action as brazen. His deep throaty voice, laced with hatred, bellows throw me, shaking even the goosebumps on my skin. “I haven’t given you the permission to leave yet, Isabella!”

  “I don’t care,” I chatter out between trembling teeth.

  This defiance, both men catch.

  When I reach the pillar, my heart decelerates and falls back down to my chest, leaving an aching hollowness in the back of my throat. Clarity is quick to plague me, and my mind replays back my last words.

  Shit. Beppe’s probably plotting out a new way to reform the bitch out of me, so I quickly cover it up. “We may have to change the honeymoon, Vinnie,” I say, with a steady voice. I’m okay, here, behind this pillar.

  Beppe clucks his tongue. “Nonsense. You’re doing just fine. If I didn’t know you any better, I’d think you weren’t even scared. But then again, you’ve been practicing… for how long, Vincent?”

  My eyes shoot in Vinnie’s direction. “Often,” he says with his finger to his ear.

  “I’m going to help you.” Beppe calls me over to the circular protrusion, where it’s deep—very deep—and there’s a waterfall. “Come over here.”

  I can’t do this. I swallow hard and shake my head. “No, I can’t swim.”

  Oh. Fuck me.

  No? I said no? How did I make that mistake?

  “Baldracca.” Beppe spits out and snaps his fingers at Vinnie. “Curnut.”

  “Boss?” Vinnie knows those are meant for me. Whore and cheated on fool, basically all true.

  “Bring her here.”

  “Beppe…” I take a deep breath and catch the fire in his bloodshot eyes. Control. I remind myself as I assess the possibilities. There’s a small ledge all around the pool, I can—

  “Beppe?” Tony exchanges a soft-eyed look with me before asking, “What is going on here?”

  Unaccustomed to being questioned, Beppe answers his question with his own. “What are you doing here?”

  “We have a situation with tomorrow’s drop.”

  Immediately, I’m forgotten. Both men approach each other; Vinnie joins the discussion.

  “Roadblocks. They are repairing a gas leak below the bridge we exchange at. There will be eyes everywhere and too many witnesses if things go south.”

  “It never goes south,” Beppe growls out.

  Tony shakes his head. “We are dealing with a cartel. La Expansión may take this as a setup. We have to switch to a secure location.”

  “Where do you suggest?”

  “One of the old factories. Just this once.”

  Oh, shit. Hopefully, not the one I’m being e
scorted to.

  “No, not an abandoned one. Use the cake factory on Loyola Avenue. It’s operational, and the owner owes me a favor. I’ll have to go with you.”

  Tony glances at me while Beppe stumbles to the side. “Let’s go discuss this in the office.”

  “Fanculo.” Beppe shakes his head. “I hate surprises.”

  All three men vacate, leaving me to climb out of my misery.

  Beppe’s done playing with his doll.

  Chapter Six

  Reforming the Rebel

  Isabella Santini

  Monday mornings usually involve a check around the perimeter. Vinnie and the mansion guards comb through everything looking for tracers, GPS trackers, or anything that might have found a way inside. They never find anything because this place is a fortress, but Beppe does this to scare me. I admit it worked until I found out the truth.

  Now it just seems pointless.

  Actually, without the veil over my eyes, everything Beppe does seems pointless. Like his issue with how people see me. He’s spent most of his life creating two personas and making sure when people talk about him, they don’t lead with him being a drug dealing murderer with a bad attitude. It’s never mentioned.

  Perception is everything.

  He hates that people perceive me as a slut with no fear of God. The first year I was back, sex in semi-public places was a way to get back at him. He hated to hear the guards talking about different sexual positions and finally kicked Tony out, evicting him from his room down the hall from me. Once my reformation began, Beppe didn’t want people talking about our premarital sex, so Tony got a place downtown near Unita, where he spends most of his time now.

  If he’s not at the mansion or with Beppe, he’s in that stupid gentleman’s club, which is just a mask for a sex club. But it’s kept so tightlipped only repeat members are allowed in. The older gents, who go there for business and to get their kicks on with hookers, like my father, get the main house, while the more open-minded, kinky men, like my fiancé, are escorted to the basement. Or at least that’s how it was when he snuck me inside on my nineteenth birthday.

  Back then, danger excited me. Maybe it still does.

  I think that’s when reforming the rebel truly began. We were sitting at the bar on the first floor. For my birthday, Tony got me an escape. He bought me a blonde wig, a dress with a flowy skirt, and these really sexy boots. He said to go bare underneath, so I did my makeup with winged eyeliner, smoky eyes, and fake lashes.

  I pretended to be a call girl. Guys hit on me all night, and just when I thought the night was over, he called me over, told me to sit on his lap and ordered me a drink. While the bartender flirted with me, he whispered for me to lift a little. He used the cover of the bar and the length of my dress, to enter me.

  Not easy holding a conversation with someone when there’s a penis making you want to scream.

  The next day, one of my father’s friends mentioned hearing my name at the club. He forced his way into the club’s security desk, and at gun point, forced the security guys to play back the footage. He took a guess at what Tony was doing to me.

  If he didn’t kill me then, I don’t think he ever will. There are a lot of ways to kill a woman, and the worst ways involve not dying.

  Which is Beppe’s weakness. He underestimated me.

  Tony moves beside me, pushing me closer to him. He’s always been a cuddler, and mornings are his uptime. He’s a healthy man; blood flow and good sleep, usually means he’s sporting a boner in the a.m. hours.

  “Isabella?” Tony stirs awake. After talking with my father about the drug delivery, he came to the bedroom. It must have been four in the morning when he got in bed, kissed the top of my forehead, and wrapped his arms around me. He held me tight against his body as I shivered off the memories of the pool.

  I was so shaken I couldn’t even get in the shower to wash the chlorine off or scrub the imaginary blood off. Normally, ten minutes under the stream is enough, but I couldn’t even bring myself to near the bathroom. The sound of water sent me off the deep end.

  “You awake?”

  At some point, around sevenish, when my trembling dwindled, he fell asleep. “I haven’t slept,” I confess groggily.

  He doesn’t ask if I’m okay; after five years, he knows I’m not. He doesn’t want to hear the heartbreak, especially when there’s nothing he can do about it. “What happened last night?”

  “The Don was mad because we ditched him for lunch … and he was drunk.”

  He groans and gently slides my body to the side, so he can remove his arm. “I should have known. He’s been on edge the last few weeks. I think he’s having issues with letting you go.”

  I roll over to stare at him. “More like he’s having issues with you taking control.”

  “He’s the one who said he wanted to retire, pluck some gold digger off the streets, and vacation in Italy for a few years.” Tony wipes the sleep from his face by rubbing at his eyes and smacking his cheeks a couple times. “He’s almost seventy. How many mobsters you know make it to that age?”

  “He’s healthy,” I admit sadly. “When Beneventi got diagnosed with cancer, he had everything checked out, and trust me, despite all the booze and shit food choices, he’s as healthy as they come.”

  Tony’s eyebrows furrow as he stands up and removes his T-shirt, revealing his muscular, tattooed body. He grabs a black T-shirt from my desk, which Vinnie probably left for him on his rounds, and threads it through his arms. “You think he’s not ready for me to take over?”

  “Maybe you’re too ready to take over.”

  Tony pokes his head out from the neck of his T-shirt and rolls it down his muscles, before switching his pants out for sweats. “He’s been grooming me for years.”

  “And he’s been watching you for years. Even at Unita.”

  “What?”

  “Yesterday, he mentioned your choices at the club, and that you were becoming too open with it.” I sit up and kick the covers off. “He’s noticing, Tony.”

  “You act like I hide that from you. You gave me the okay because you didn’t like to strap on.”

  I brace myself for one of the last things I have to do in order for my plan to work, but after last night, any doubt I had was cast away. One last sacrifice for evidence. “My father won’t understand your particular fetishes.”

  “Your father doesn’t have to know about them.” He sits on one of my desk chairs, near my laptop, searching through his phone. Knowing my answer is always no, he throws out, “But you can join me.”

  This time I need to go to Unita. “I’ve thought about it.”

  “Really? Because yesterday…”

  “Yesterday, you asked me to do it in front of my guard. He’s not some random stranger. It’s weird.”

  “You enjoyed teasing me.” He puts his phone down, all his attention devoted to me.

  I might have faked my orgasm, so he could stop touching me, but I didn’t fake being wet. A part of me is ashamed of it, but at least, it was in closed doors and no one would report back to my father.

  “You wanted me to suck you in front of Vinnie. I didn’t tease you, I said no.”

  No is not a word he’s used to. “I could’ve forced you.”

  Because he could have, because he still can, I tread carefully. Tony isn’t a fan of forced sex, but he’s also changed a lot since I’ve met him. Now, he prefers to wait patiently for me while he screws his way through high-class call girls at Unita.

  “It was weird.” I bring myself to a sitting position.

  “A lot of things are weird for you, but you didn’t mind him watching yesterday.”

  I swallow as my cheeks blush. Sexual guilt. The sexual freedom I once felt was chained to the wall inside my mind because of Beppe and the Tree House. Tony didn’t know. Beppe purposely sent him on a drug run that week. Then for forty-eight hours he turned my refuge into a nightmare.

  Since you like to have sex, Isabella. I might as well
make money off of you. I shiver at the thought. Ten men were allowed to do what they wanted to me, one by one. And when the time was up, he made me come down and watch him as he covered their mouths, poured fuel over them, and set them on fire. I still remember the stench of burned flesh and gasoline.

  “Do you find Vinnie attractive?” Tony cocks his head to the side to study my reaction. “Is that why you didn’t want to continue?” His voice is almost robotic, as if his question has been carefully rehearsed, but the cruel undertone gives me goosebumps.

  “He’s not ugly.” Denying it will only make it worse. “But he’s not my type, and I don’t think he enjoys watching others as much as you do.”

  Tony holds his finger in the air, waving it in my direction. “That is true. Vinnie’s a voyeur virgin, you popped his cherry last night.”

  “That’s kind of disturbing.”

  “I like disturbing.” He laughs, glances at his watch, and grabs his phone. “I have to call Beppe, but this conversation isn’t over.”

  He slides open the door to my veranda and closes it behind him. I take the opportunity to use the bathroom. My skin reeks of chlorine and sweat, and the stench of burned men lingers in my nostrils, making me sick to my stomach. I need a shower and lavender, but the sound of water scares the crap out of me today.

  I rummage through the bathroom drawers for the earplugs they gave me in first-class when I went to New York and find them still in the small white caddy. I pop them into my ears and turn the water on, watching it hit the ceramic tub and slide down the drain. I let it run awhile. The steam helps me differentiate it from the pool and is one of the ways the therapist at St. Theresa’s helped me cope with the aquaphobia.

  I sit on the small stool, watching it pour and assuring myself it isn’t accumulating. I control it and my ability to come in and out. Turn it on and off. My fingers cut through the stream once, and chills travel up my spine. I hate it, but I repeat the process until I become accustomed to fear.