Once I get through the first row of books, I realize there’s another one hidden behind them. I start taking them out one by one. These books are different. They all have a dedication on the title page along with Lottie’s handwriting, as if someone gave them to her as a gift.
There are several names there, and I keep track of all of them in my mind.
To sweet Lottie, Pietro.
Dearest Lottie, enjoy! Francesco.
To the best sister in the world… Lorenzo.
I don’t recognize their names, but I slowly start piecing the story together. It all starts coming together in my head and I feel like I’m about to have a revelation when the door flies open. It’s so sudden, and I am so immersed in the books I don’t even hear the sound of approaching footsteps.
The monstrous man looms in the doorway, and I lurch to my feet, book in hand. I retreat backwards like a frightened animal, all my senses on high alert.
“What are you doing, little bird?” he asks me. His tone is menacing, and I’m frightened. I try not to let him see that, though. My instincts are telling me this man gets off on fear.
"N-nothing," I stutter. "I was just looking through the books here."
"You like them?"
He approaches me slowly, reminding me of a snake getting ready to strike. My heart is pounding as the man advances towards me. "They belonged to a very special girl, once upon a time."
I nod, trying to hide how badly I'm shaking. "Yes, they look great," I manage to get out. "Some of them I read when I was younger."
Oddly, he seems pleased by my answer and I relax a little. It doesn't look like he's gearing up for an attack. Instead, he crouches next to me on the floor and pores through the books with me. I can't relax though, and my fingers shake.
"This one was her favorite," the man tells me, pointing to A Little Princess. I blush, remembering the nickname Matteo used for me. I nod, trying not to let it show.
"Who was she?" I ask in a whisper. The man doesn't answer, instead handing me the beaten-up copy of the book and pointing for me to open it.
"Read for me."
With trembling fingers, I open the book to chapter one. I begin to read slowly, my voice shaking and stuttering when I speak the words. He doesn't seem to mind though, and I sneak small glances at him. The enormous monster of a man has become less tense and is now sitting on the floor. At least for the time being, he isn't an immediate threat to me.
I get to the end of the page, finally feeling a little more relaxed. "More?" I ask him. I need to get on his good side. I'm quickly realizing it's the only way I'll ever get out of here.
"More." He reaches forward and strokes my hair. It repulses me, but I try not to let my disgust show. I force myself to sit still and not shy away from his hands. I'm pretending it's nothing, though my mind is screaming in its shackles, begging me to make him stop this intimate interaction.
I reach for the yellowed page and turn it, but my fingers are too rough for the old tome. The page rips, falling out of the book and landing in my lap.
For a moment, everything is still. It's like we've been frozen in time as we both stare at the ruined page in my lap. Then, everything happens in a flurry of actions.
"I'll f-fix it," I stutter.
The man growls and the book topples out of my lap as he lunges for me. He grabs my hair and pulls hard, and I scream. He's so rough I'm sure he'll tear my hair out of my scalp. He drags me to the bed and I try to fight, but I'm helpless against his toned body. My scratches don't do any damage at all, and my heart pounds as he throws me onto the bed.
"You stupid bitch," he growls at me. "You ruined it. You ruined it. You ruined it."
Each sentence is punctuated with a blow. One on my face, one in my belly, one in my chest. I heave, holding my center as I topple over and nearly fall off the bed. It hurts. It hurts so fucking bad.
I'm trying to catch my breath, hot tears streaming down my face. The man is breathing heavily, and I don't dare look at him as I sob quietly. He is insane. An unpredictable, violent monster who would stop at nothing to get what he wants. And now I've pissed him off, and I'm honestly scared for my life.
"P-please," I manage to plead.
"Shut up, you whore." His words are filled with disgust and I shiver, crawling to the other end of the bed, as far away from him as I dare to go. I curl up in a fetal position and cry my eyes out. It's too much. My daddy, losing Matteo, losing everything at the hands of this madman. I need to escape. I need to get away, or he's going to kill me. Might be in a minute, might take years. He's unpredictable as fuck.
"It's okay, hush now." I look up through teary eyes, droplets of my sadness clinging to my eyelashes. His expression has changed completely. He's somber now, almost sad as he reaches for me.
"It's okay, Lottie."
I stare at him, my eyes wide, too stunned to move. He reaches for me and strokes my hair, his touch as soft as it was hurtful just moments ago. His eyes are glazed over, staring. He strokes my hair, wipes away my tears. Tears that he put there in the first place.
He's insane. I want to tell him, I want to scream my head off telling the world how crazy he is. I make myself remain silent. I give him what he wants. I curl up in a ball and whimper as he touches me as if I'm a kitten.
He covers me up with the duvet, gently laying the cool fabric over my shaky body.
Insane.
Violent.
Unpredictable.
"Get some sleep, Lottie," he tells me.
I nod and shut my eyes, willing all of this to go away. Maybe if I sleep long enough, this won't be my reality anymore. Maybe I'll wake up and it'll all be gone, and I'll be with Matteo, his fingers inside me, his hand on the back of my neck. I moan softly, picturing myself in his strong arms. It'll be okay. It'll be fine.
"Sweet girl. Get some rest. I'll be back with your dinner," the man says smoothly. Delusional. Fucking crazy. "I won't let him hurt you anymore, Lottie."
Who? He's the only one who's hurt me thus far.
I keep my mouth shut. I look at the man through teary eyes, my gaze wide and scared. He smiles patronizingly at me. I hate him. I want to kill him.
"Who is Lottie?" I ask, already reeling back as soon as the words are out of my mouth. He's going to hit me again, and it's really going to hurt this time.
His eyes drain of the fairy tale he's imagining for himself. He looks at me blankly, a hard edge to his gaze. I can't tell whether he knows I'm here or not.
"Lottie," he says, the hurt coloring the name in deep sorrow. "Lottie was my sister."
He gets up from the bed, not giving me a second look as he leaves the room. I just stare at his retreating back until he closes the door and the lock clicks back in place. My whole body hurts from his vicious attack. I'm scared he'll come back. I need to find something to comfort me.
I lie on my side, the position in which my ribs hurt least from his violent blows. My fingers find the edge of the bed frame, and I stroke it in slow motions, trying to calm myself . It is only after a while that I discover ridges in the wood, long lines in the perfect white lacquer.
I can't help my curiosity. I get off the bed, crawling on the floor until I can see what I was just touching. There are lines in the wood, long lines covering the whole side of the bed. Someone carved it in the wood.
I stare at it. Lines upon lines upon lines. Several groups of them. And names.
Patrizia. The most lines. I can't even count them all.
Annabella. Five lines.
Kate. Three lines.
Lily. Only one. Only one line.
Something's tucked into the bed frame. I pull it out. A dull pocket knife. Not enough to attack him with. He must know it's here, since he must've changed the bedspread. I bet it amuses him, to think of me trying to hurt him with the dull blade.
I repeat the names in my head.
Patrizia. Annabella. Kate. Lily.
All here. All prisoners. All counting the days, or months, or...years they spe
nt here.
And Lottie. The key to the mystery.
I hold the center of my body. It feels like I'm holding myself together, and if I let go, I'll just fall apart.
Patrizia. Annabella. Kate. Lily.
And the lines carved in the wood.
Each one getting less time.
And now it's my turn.
I reach for the knife with shaky fingers, and I carve the first line into the wood. And I hope I'll be around long enough to carve a second one.
12
Matteo
We leave the brothers with specific instructions and head in silence to my father's car. I leave my own vehicle in the street and I open the passenger door and plunk down into the seat. I don't need to give my father directions where to –go – it looks like he knows the way.
We drive in silence. I don't fucking know what to say. There doesn’t seem to be any words. The first girl – no, first woman – I could possibly have feelings for, has just disappeared, and it’s possible she’s hurt somewhere. It pisses me off, and a deep overwhelming need to find and help her is eating away at my insides.
Half an hour later, my father parks in front of Da Costa's house. Our car is immediately surrounded by guards, and when they see who we are, their eyes widen in shock. The men draw and point their guns at us as we slowly open our doors to get out of the car, chattering urgently to one another in heavily accented Italian that I can barely understand.
"We mean no harm," I tell the man standing closest to me. I make sure not to make any sudden movements that could be mistaken as a threat. The man shoots me a skeptical look. "This visit is about Miss Da Costa," I say.
In a motion so sudden that I have no time to react, the man brings up his arm and hits me with the butt of his gun against the left side of my head, causing me to stagger backwards. My father curses loudly and makes a lunge for the man, but another one of the men grabs his arms to hold him back, preventing him from striking.
"Calm down," I appeal to him in Italian. "We are here to speak to Da Costa about his daughter."
"And what the fuck do you want?"
A booming voice interrupts our encounter, and I look up to see a man who looks much frailer than his voice would imply. He looks massive and has broad shoulders, but his face appears almost lifeless. It looks as if he's slowly fading away, barely clinging on to this life.
My father hisses next to me, and the guard finally lets go of him at Da Costa's finger flick indicating his release.
"Let them come closer. I want to kill them with my bare hands," Da Costa hisses, his eyes narrowing to dark angry slits.
I take a few steps forward to approach the man, who I know must be Bianca’s father, but my own father remains frozen in place. I don't encourage him to follow me towards Da Costa knowing he needs time to come to terms with seeing his old friend after so many wasted years of anger. Finally, after several minutes of awkward silence, I hear my father speak.
"Sofia's daughter is missing." My father's voice is loud and clear, but it’s filled with anguish.
"She's my daughter, too." Da Costa gives him a defiant look, sizing him up, and for a long, awkward moment, I'm convinced they’re going to lunge for each other’s' throats at any minute. Murderous intent blazes in both man’s eyes. It’s obvious they want to kill one another, I can tell.
"You don't think I know she's fucking missing?" Da Costa hisses. "You took her, you fucking monster!"
"I did." My father responds calmly, still glaring at his nemesis. "Right from under your nose, you old piece of shit."
Da Costa growls. I take this as my cue to step between the two men, unsure which one of them I'm trying to protect. My priority is still Bianca. I need her back and in one piece. Da Costa might be able to help.
"Bianca was with me until today," I speak up.
"And who might you be?" Da Costa turns toward me and snarls.
"He's my son." My father’s words send shivers down my spine. That's the second time today he's called me his son. It gives me hope for the future.
"Which one?" Da Costa's question is laced with both bitterness and sadness. I know how badly it must hurt him, knowing his sworn enemy has so many sons while he has only a single illegitimate daughter.
"The Hound," father says simply. "My best."
Da Costa’s eyes size me up for what seems like a long time before he nods simply, as if he accepts my father's words. “What do you want from me, then?"
"Why didn't you come to save Bianca?" I ask, surprising myself with my own braveness. I need to know. From what Bianca told me, I'd assumed she was close with her father, yet he didn't make a single attempt to rescue her from my family.
Da Costa looks from me to my father. "You told him about Sofia?" he asks incredulously.
"Some of it." The two men are still glowering at each other. "He knows enough."
"I believed your father would not kill Bianca," Da Costa explains. "I believe he just wanted to be near her. And I believed I owed it to him."
His answer is strange, but I don't argue. I simply nod and deliver the horrible blow, the news that will destroy Da Costa’s world. "Bianca is missing. She disappeared from my apartment this morning."
Da Costa stares at me, sheer terror glazing his eyes. "Gone?"
I nod.
"Just like that?"
I nod again.
He calmly strides over to me and then, without warning, slams his fist in my face, sending me to the ground, blood dripping from my nose. I deserve it. If I’d been more careful, she would still be safe – with me – and our fathers wouldn't be having this stand-off. They might never have had to see one another again. Ever.
"There were signs of a struggle," my father explains. "It appears that we...two old men aren't the only ones with an affection for Bianca."
Bianca's father looks down at me questioningly, and I give him a desperate look as I rise to my feet. His eyes float from my face to my father's, and then he shocks us all by roaring with laughter. Even the fucking guards look uncomfortable.
“What a fucking turn,” he says, shaking his head, still grinning. “What a fucking turn. Abbate’s son…and Sofia’s daughter.”
We all shuffle around uncomfortably while Da Costa scrutinizes us. I don’t really know what to say, and I can tell he’s deciding whether or not he’ll invite us in to discuss Bianca’s disappearance. But this is about the well-being of his daughter, after all, and in the end, Da Costa does the right thing. He signals for his guards to back off before stepping aside and motioning for us to come closer. My father and I follow him like two sheep. We’re at his mercy.
We’ve been sitting in Da Costa’s study for a few hours now, mulling over our options. Da Costa seems to think the gun we found under the bed in my apartment is a bad sign, but I can’t think of anyone who would want to hurt Bianca in that way.
The two men are talking between themselves, which is a miracle of its own, when I my cell phone vibrates in my pants pocket. I excuse myself to answer the call in the hallway. It’s Pietro.
“Did you find anything else?” I bark down the line, desperate for more information about Bianca. I can tell by his greeting that he doesn’t have good news.
“Nothing,” he says regretfully. “The neighbors we talked to didn’t see anything and the others are refusing to speak to us about it.”
“Are you still searching?” I ask.
“Yes, but we have other obligations….” Pietro seems nervous, and rightfully so.
“I don’t give a damn!” I roar down the line. “This is your priority. Find Bianca and bring her back to me unharmed.”
“Okay, okay.” Pietro hesitates on the other end of the line, and I wait impatiently for him to finish whatever it was he was going to say. “Matteo…no, it’s nothing.”
“What?” I run my fingers absentmindedly through my hair.
“It’s probably nothing.”
“What? Tell me or I’ll pull your heart out through your throat, you j
ackass.” I don’t normally treat Pietro this way, but I’m pissed, tired, and I need answers.
“The gun,” he says slowly. “The gun we found in your room….”
“What about it, Pietro?” My patience is wearing thin.
“The gun was planted,” he says flatly.
My heart skips a beat. I furrow my brows and start barking questions at him. “What do you mean, it was planted? How can you be sure? Have you seen it before? Whose gun is it? Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”
There is silence on the other end of the line. I’ve never been this angry in my life. “Tell me right now,” I seethe at him in Italian. “I need to know. Don’t you understand?” I hiss.
I take a deep breath before continuing. “I love her, Pietro. Fuck! I love Bianca. Tell me what you know.”
He sighs on the other end of the line and I can tell his answer is forthcoming. I wish he’d hurry the fuck up and spit it out, but I wait patiently for him to deliver the news. “The gun…there were no bullets fired,” he finally concedes, then starts clearing his throat. I’m waiting like a viper getting ready to strike for Pietro to make his point.
“The gun is fully loaded. I don’t understand why anyone would leave it behind like that, unless….” Pietro hesitates, and I can clearly hear the discomfort in his voice.
“Unless what, Pietro?”
“Unless someone left it behind on purpose.”
“But why?” I’m overcome with fury and pound my fist into the wall in the hallway. It serves no purpose, except making my fist bleed. The walls here are thick, the sign of a building solidly constructed from expensive material. “Why would someone do that?”
“To plant evidence,” Pietro says. He sounds tired as fuck. “To lead us in the wrong direction. To make us think the gun was fired and she was maybe dead. Make us stop looking for her.”
“Who would do that?” I ask confused. “Why would anyone do that?”
What I couldn’t figure out was who even knew Bianca was in my apartment? Or fuck, who even knew where I lived?
Dark Blood: A Mafia Hitman Romance Page 10