by Vivien Vale
“No, no, I bet she wants it,” the scratchy voice responds.
He smells of cigarettes and alcohol. It nauseates me, and his hand on my back doesn’t help. The bile forces its way to my mouth—it’s taking everything in me not to vomit on these men. I’m sure that’d please them.
“Good girls like these, these American tourists, always want a nice Italian boy.”
They all villainously laugh.
“Should we have our way with her?”
A man in the distance interrupts.
Taking a strand of my hair, the large man brings it to his nose. He sniffs it and runs it over his mouth. I see this from my peripheral as I’m trying to avoid any eye contact with either of them.
Prickly chills spread down my spine, and I hide my gag reflex. I’m disgusted.
“Don’t touch me,” I say with all the strength and courage I have.
I angle my head away, hoping to get my hair out of his hands and some distance between us.
“Oh, the Bella can speak.”
He smiles, pulling my hair, hard.
I fall into him, his leather jacket touching my exposed skin.
I recoil and push him away per reflex. Shit—he didn’t like that.
He grabs my arm, making me wince at his painfully tight hold. I struggle, trying to wiggle myself out of it. His strength overpowers me.
He grabs ahold of my other arm, pinning them both behind my back. My chest lifts, and all the men stare hungrily at my tits—I feel overexposed and sick to my stomach. I’m not sure how I’m going to get out of this one.
With his calloused, rough hands squeezing my arms, he pushes my body closer to the man in front of me. The dumb ass man who asked me for directions. I should’ve ran when I had the chance.
Adrenaline is rushing through my veins. My breathing becomes ragged, and I force myself to stay present. Don’t pass out.
Grabbing my jaw, he forces my direction. I shake my head back and forth, not wanting another pair of hands on me, but he holds onto it tighter. Briefly, I notice the multiple pairs of eyes from the crowd of men gathered around…staring at me.
Looking into his dark black eyes, a wave of hopelessness washes over me. They’re the deepest shade of black I’ve ever seen. My body starts impulsively shaking worse than before.
“Do we have a struggle, mi Bella? I sure hope so.”
He moves his hand down my neck, my chest, over my tits and continues to outline of my curves. I swallow hard, hating every moment of this. His touch feels like a knife carving into me.
I turn my head—forcing this moment out of focus—and I see a man licking his lips, looking at me as if I’m his dinner.
This pisses me off. I can’t let this happen. I won’t.
This can’t be the end. I can’t die a newlywed.
I’ve just started living my life. Becoming and embracing my true self.
With all my strength, I forcefully jerk my body out of the man’s hold.
Surprisingly, I get out of his grip. They must’ve not expected that. I make a run for it, weaving through the crowd of men.
I see the open aisle inches away from me, a glimpse of hope growing in my chest—and then I’ m forcefully pulled back.
Another man, who’s even larger than the last two—wraps one of my arms around my back painfully, and grabs my neck.
I can still breathe, though I’m not underestimating my vulnerability.
I see out of the corner of my eye a man with a knife, prepared to attack at any moment.
Shit, this isn’t good. I knew it was bad, but it’s not getting any better.
I gasp for air, afraid that at any moment he could squeeze the life out of me.
“Don’t run, it’ll make it worse,” he says roughly with an annoyed look on his face.
“Don’t,” I manage to squeeze out.
“Don’t what? Is the bella donna afraid? No one is here to rescue you.”
“You have what you want, leave me alone.”
“We’re greedy. Cash can only get you so far.”
They all laugh at his remark. This is a fucking show for them, damn entertainment.
“A Bella as fine as you can make a man happy in more ways than one.”
He squeezes my neck a little tighter and eyes me up and down.
My stomach drops feeling his gaze on me.
I know I’m vulnerable—their strength more than outweighs mine—but I won’t go down without a fight, I’ll die trying.
I’m not a show to be watched, or an object to be used. I have left the shackles of a controlling fiancé, the restrictions of diets and beauty regimes. I need to fight for my freedom, for the life I’ve always dreamt of.
I have tools I can use—teeth, long nails, sturdy shoes, and a knee perfectly placed right under his most sensitive spot.
Once his eyes meet mine, I take my knee and jab it as hard as I can into his groin. He immediately releases his hold, and I punch him in the face. Another man comes towards me and I backhand him, making sure my ring hits him right in the eye.
Marriage might end up saving me, after all.
Chapter 34
Dante
My heart beats erratically, breaths coming in gasps. I feel myself edging on panic, my concern growing by the second.
Heads turn to follow me as I rush erratically down the street. My eyes scan every window, every alley. There has to be some sign of her. She can’t just have disappeared.
Finding her purse was just confirmation of what my gut was already telling me: Nicole is in trouble. She could be hurt, she could even be dead. My heart seizes on this last thought, panic pushing harder against my mind.
I stop suddenly, feet sliding over the rough cement. I can’t allow myself to lose it. I can’t let panic take control.
I force in a deep breath, another following behind it, my head lowered to block out the sights threatening to overwhelm me.
I have to find her, and to do that, I’m going to need a clear head.
The thought that she may already be beyond helping needles its way back into my mind, and I force it away with all of the energy I can muster. I refuse to acknowledge the idea any longer.
She can’t be dead. I won’t accept that.
So if she’s alive, which I’ve firmly decided that she is, then she’s clearly been mugged.
If only that were the extent of it.
Had she simply had her purse stolen, she would be here. Shaken, perhaps. Scared, maybe.
But she would have come to me. She would have let me comfort her.
Clearly, there’s more at work here.
I bring my head up, looking around the street with new eyes. Now that my heart has slowed its frantic beating, my mind follows suit.
I turn, making a complete 360, eyes scanning my surroundings with renewed attention.
Where would she go? I wonder, trying to put myself into her shoes.
She’s never been here before. Every street holds new wonder for her.
I run through countless ideas as I begin to move again, this time walking at a brisk pace rather than running like a chicken with my head cut off.
Pedestrians pass me on both sides, their attentions elsewhere.
I debate whether to continue showing her picture around, finally deciding that it’s hopeless. Every person that passes me seems wholly consumed in their own activities. If anyone even saw her, I doubt they’d remember now.
I reach an intersection, pausing to wait for traffic. With no clear direction in mind, I decide to follow the crowd.
Hopefully, they’ll lead me to the nearest tourist destinations. I could very well imagine Nicole finding herself someplace like that.
I’m halfway across the intersection when, from the corner of my eye, something seems to call out at me.
My head whips quickly towards the source, my eyes fixing immediately on a man across the way. Hanging loosely in his grip is a scarf that is achingly familiar.
My mind flashes back to
Nicole wrapping that same scarf so gently around Luciano, to the way it blew in the breeze as we rode the gondola.
I know without explanation that it’s hers.
Not one like it, or something closely resembling it, but hers. I’m absolutely certain of it.
My feet move before I’ve even finished the thought, flying manically towards the man in question.
His eyes only move to meet me when I’m mere feet away, a look of concern flashing briefly across them.
I know what he must be seeing. I feel the anger etched harshly across my face.
Without giving him even a moment to process, I reach him, lashing out with one hand to grab him roughly around the shoulder.
“Where did you get this?” I demand, using my free hand to quickly yank the scarf from his hand.
He stutters, eyes widening in surprise.
“Where?” I demand, moving my face mere inches from his own.
“I—I bought it,” he chokes out.
I grip him harder, feeling my fingertips sink into his flesh. The wince that pulls across his face sparks encouragement inside me.
“Don’t fucking lie to me. I know whose scarf this is. Where is she?”
He shakes his head, looking around as if expecting to find assistance.
The oblivious crowd now benefits me, passing quickly in a stream, paying no mind whatsoever to the two of us.
“I don’t know!” he finally responds, gaze swiveling back onto me.
“I swear to God,” I force out between gritted teeth, “if you don’t tell me right now, I am going to make you regret it.”
My eyes burn into his, unblinking. I mean every word. The anger pouring through me seems to crescendo, my fists aching to break something.
“Okay, okay!” He manages, clearly seeing the truth in my words. “I got it off some chick, over at the Colosseum!” He gestures in the general direction.
“What did you do to her?” I demand.
“Nothing! I swear, I just grabbed the scarf. It looked expensive.”
His eyes trail down to my hand, looking regretfully at the item. It takes all my self-control not to lay into him anyway.
“Were you alone?” I ask, my voice eerily calm.
He pulls his eyes from the scarf to study the ground instead.
“Were you?” I scream, shaking him roughly.
“No! Okay? No, there were a bunch of us!”
“Is she still there?”
“I—I don’t know. Maybe.”
I release him with one quick motion, pushing slightly back as I do. The sight of him struggling to keep his balance would, on any other day, make me laugh.
Today, though, I don’t spare him a second thought, instead turning towards the Colosseum with renewed vigor, scarf still clutched tightly in my hand.
My feet strike the ground roughly as I sprint down the busy streets, this time not even slowing to apologize to the people I bump into.
I have no time.
Who knows what’s happening to her, right this very moment.
I run faster than I knew possible, the street seeming to blur around me as I go. I dodge quickly through foot traffic, shoving my way through those I can’t avoid. I realize I might feel a little shitty about this later—if I get to Nicole in time, that is.
I round a final corner, my feet sliding across the ground, the Colosseum towering before me, its gory past making it the ideal location for something just like this.
I don’t slow to ponder this. I don’t slow for anything.
In a daze, I run towards it, looking around for any sign of the woman I love.
I don’t know how long I’ve been searching when they finally come in to view. It feels like hours have passed—days even—my terror at what I might find seeming to draw out every second.
When I finally lay eyes on the group of them, everything seems to clear.
I can see her, still blessedly living.
She stands more or less surrounded, the eyes of several large men locked harshly onto her.
At one side, I see a man standing and cursing, blood dripping slowly from a large cut to his eye. In front of me, offering me my view, is another kneeling on the ground, muttering indecipherably while his hand massages between his legs.
I take this all in quickly, feeling pride well up inside me.
At least she’s managed to hurt them. If these men assumed she was an easy target, they were dead wrong.
A man steps from behind her, locking his arms tightly around her chest.
“Enough of that,” he croaks in a heavily accented voice. “Now the real fun begins.”
I’ve seen enough. The moment his arms come into contact with her, the instant he lays his filthy hands on her body, I see red.
Flying forward without a second thought, I careen into their midst. My eyes fall onto the nearest attacker, his attention still locked onto Nicole.
Without ceremony, I’m upon him, my leg flying towards his unprotected head in a high axe kick. The moment before impact, his eyes twitch quickly in my direction, noticing my presence for the first time.
Far too late to save himself, the kick lands with a sickening thud.
His body crumples to the ground instantly, flopping unconsciously to the cement.
Several heads turn quickly in my direction, the element of surprise no longer working in my favor.
A man growls, clearly furious at this latest turn of events, and several others shout at once, their voices mingling, indecipherable.
I hear none of it, my mind fixated only on Nicole.
She stares fixedly ahead, clearly having missed my big entrance.
That’s okay, though.
I scan the group quickly, taking stock of my opponents. A smile tugs at my face even as fury continues to wash over me in waves.
There’s plenty still to show her.
Chapter 35
Nicole
All I feel is pain.
He’s crushing my hand, and I hold it to my chest, hoping the pressure will relieve the pulsating ache. I look down at it and see blood. At this point, I’m not sure if it’s the man’s blood or mine.
I hit him hard, like I’ve never hit anyone before. Shit, it hurts.
Suddenly, I see the crowd of men—once feasting on me—direct their attention to a sudden movement. Something I can’t quite make out in my haze of adrenaline, pain, fear, and anger.
The man with the wicked smile falls to the ground, hitting the concrete with a harsh thud. I follow the men’s gaze and look up to see who or what did that. Praying it’s someone, anyone, here to help.
It’s him.
It’s my knight in shining armor.
Dante.
He came after me! He’s here!
A wave of relief rushes through me. I exhale, feeling some of the pain release.
He is mad, though, dangerously mad. The expression on his face is terrifying. There are veins in his neck that I’ve never seen before. They look as if they’re about to pop.
He looks strong, too. Intimidating. It frightens me, and I shudder, though I know the anger is not directed my way.
Cradling my hand, I move away from the action and stare in awe of the man who has come to my rescue. He’s radiating fierceness, and he’s focused, prepared to fight anyone who dares him.
Dante punches another man mere seconds after his first assault. The man grabs his head in anguish and retreats, tagging another to finish his job. Hah. Coward.
But one turns into five, and five multiplies into ten. It’s now ten to one.
Shit. They become a sea of darkness—leather-clad men with dark features fueled by anger and toxic testosterone.
It’s a heavy mix, one that I’m becoming more fearful of each passing second. I was scared before, but watching them swarm around Dante, I’m now panicking.
He pins one down with little to no effort. But they keep popping up, wanting more. Fighting for their livelihood, their manhood—I’m not sure—but they won’t
give up.
I stare at Dante, amazed and afraid. He looks like a gladiator, fighting off the animals programmed to destroy him. I can’t look away.
He searched for me. Then, finding me like this, without any hesitation, he took it upon himself to rid me of this trouble. Helping and supporting me, like a man in love does.
I’ve been so wrong. This man, my Dante, is volunteering himself to protect and fight for me.
He could’ve left me and have gone into the arms—or bed—of another woman, one of the many eager for his attention. But he’s here, showing me that he’ll do anything for me.
Unlike the gladiators he resembles, he is not enslaved. His livelihood doesn’t depend on winning this fight and destroying these animals. His livelihood relies on me and my well-being, the life he is fighting for.
Warmth envelopes my body, and my pain dissolves. I look at him—surrounded by scoundrels foaming at the mouth—and I see my husband in a whole new light: a man who loves me, and the man I love.
I can’t believe I didn’t see this before.
I do…I love Dante!
I quickly snap back to reality when I see a man punch him hard in the gut. He kneels over from its suddenness, gasping for breath. Shit. Vulnerability is their specialty and just like last time, they take advantage.
After a punch in the face and a kick in the back, Dante is on all fours, hovering over the concrete. He looks at me with the most pained expression, and it breaks my heart.
I feel useless, hopeless. I don’t know what to do. I need to touch him, tell him I love him.
A man plunges at him from the side with a knife.
“Dante!” I scream.
He reacts immediately, grabbing the man’s arm, the knife now inches away from his chest. Standing, the assailant holds the knife pointed at his heart. Dante, holding him still, struggles to push him away.
I gasp, closing my mouth shut, trying to contain my reaction. One wrong move, and the knife would be in his heart. Stabbing him, leaving him for dead.
This is too much.
He can’t die.
This can’t be it.
It can’t be the end of our story. We’ve barely had one.
I need to tell him I love him. I have to tell him that he’s the one, the one I want and need. He can’t die not knowing.