by Rina Kent
I internally shake my head. I can’t stay, not when Jasper is on a mission to kill my father. I need to go back and stop him. And most of all, I need to see my dad.
As soon as we arrive at the fields, I tell Salli I’m going to greet the other women. Instead, I sneak by the rear of the truck that delivers the supplies and climb at the back after I make sure no one is watching.
It smells of dirt and fertilizers, but I reign it in as I cover myself with the piece of cloth. The truck comes only once a week and it makes two stops. One at the fields and the other at the garage.
My breathing hitches as the truck moves then soon stops at the garage. The moment the man hops down and goes inside, I search my surroundings before doing the same.
I retrieve my cats’ cages, hide them under the oversized cloth and then join them. “We’re going to be okay,” I soothe them when Mr. Bingly starts to whine.
At the exit, the guards stop us. My heartbeat skyrockets as I place a hand over my mouth to suppress any sound.
The guard and the driver talk in Italian, but they’re mostly asking about each other’s family.
I don’t release the breath I’ve been holding until the truck leaves the property. I resist the urge to peek from beneath the cloth and have one last glance at the place.
Something tells me I’ll never forget it. It’ll be that permanent dent in my life. The type I’ll never get off my chest.
“What are you looking at?” I whisper at my cats. “You’re wrong. I don’t miss it already.”
We go on for what seems like forever. When the driver stops at a public restroom, I take my cats, the small messenger bag and hop off.
At first, I run away as far as I can. Then, I ask a lady in Italian how to get to Palermo. I don’t have my passport or enough money. My stash is cat food, bread, and some Euros I stole from Jasper’s pocket before he left.
My only chance to go back is to go to the embassy, but from the maps I managed to Google on one of the workers’ phones in secret, the US embassy is in Rome and that’s too far from here. But there’s a consular agency in Palermo. If I get there, they can take me to the embassy and send me home.
The lady stares at me, probably because of my accent, and I freeze, thinking maybe she’ll call Enzo or one of the people at the farm. Jasper never let me out of there, but there could be a word going on about me?
“Città di Palermo?” she asks.
“Si, si.” I smile trying to appear innocent.
Apparently, this place is near Catania and is in the south and Palermo is in the far north. The woman gives me directions to a bus station.
I’m on the edge of myself every time anyone looks at me for too long. Whether it’s the ticket man or the people at the station. I know it’s because of the cats, but I keep looking behind me expecting someone to catch me. I spend a few more Euros on sunglasses at a cheap shop and pull the hoodie over my head.
Thankfully, the bus doesn’t take long, and the cats are allowed since they’re in their cages.
The attendant keeps repeating that dogs need muzzles. I’m too stressed to tell her there’s no dog, so I just nod.
The trip takes around three hours. Three hours of nail-biting and looking over my shoulders and feeding or petting the cats whenever they get anxious.
It isn’t until I’m in front of the Consular building that I release a breath.
I barge inside, my fingers shaking. The receptionist, a young man with blond hair and blinding white teeth, smiles at me. “Welcome to the United States Consular Agency, may I help you?”
“Yes.” I gulp. “I want to go home.”
Things go smoothly.
I keep watching over my shoulder, expecting Enzo or one of Jasper’s men to catch up to me and find me.
They don’t.
Instead, the people in the agency prepare me a ticket to Chicago. I thought they had to take me to Rome or at least make me wait until they get me the passport, but I find myself on a plane the same day. It’s first-class, too.
I nearly cried as I watched Sicily’s buildings in the distance, but then I recalled why I’m doing this and why I had to leave.
The flight takes more than a day. We stop in Rome then in London. The cats are restless by the time I pick them up at Midway airport.
I’m so exhausted; I want to lie down and sleep. I stop near the exit, remembering I’ve been away for months. I surely lost the lease to my apartment and my job. So I’m basically penniless and homeless.
Damn it.
I should call the bank and get a credit card and some money for living expenses.
It’s past five, though. Dropping on the airport chair, I sigh, scratching under Mrs. Hudson’s chin through the cage. “Looks like we’re staying the night here, babies.”
The few euros I have left will hardly be able to get us any food. Wait. Will I be able to convert them without a passport?
“Georgina?”
I jump up at the sound of my name. No one is supposed to know I’m here.
Did Enzo find me? Did I —
“Cara.”
My brows furrow at that and I slowly lift my head. An old man stands in front of me, his brows drawn together. He’s wearing an expensive suit. A few scary-looking men wearing black stand behind him.
I don’t focus on them, though.
Slowly, too slowly, I stand up as the familiarity hits me at the center of my chest. The same dark eyes, the same face, even though it looks slightly older.
“Papa?” I whisper as if I’m back to being a kid.
“Yes, Cara.” He smiles, the motion making him appear older. “I’m glad I found you first. I have friends in Palermo. If you went to Rome, it would’ve been a different story.”
“Papa,” I repeat, unable to believe my eyes. Emotions swirl inside me and I’m unable to control the flow of them.
“Come here, Cara.” He opens his arms and I dive into them, hugging him so close I’m scared I’ll hurt him.
“I missed you so much, Papa.”
“I missed you, too, Cara. From today onward, no one will take you away from me.”
17
Jasper
People who don’t know torture think it’s some sort of physical pain.
Like some beatings, some punches.
It’s more than that.
It’s the decimation of the human mind. Actual torture starts physically but always ends up being mental one way or another.
It’s like waking up, hoping the torment is over, but you find yourself in the same fucking hell.
I stay like that for days — or maybe it’s been weeks or months. I lost all sense of time and space after the first few days.
All I know is that I’m hanging by my arms, my limbs dragging on the filthy concrete floor as Stephan and Marco torture the fucking daylights out of me.
It’s not only whipping or punching, but there’s also all sorts of waterboarding. Whenever I lose consciousness, they douse me with water forcing me to wake the fuck up.
While Lucio is doing this for information, these two fuckers are only doing it for their spite against me. They never liked how I was the closest to their master, how he preferred me over their miserable existences, and they make it known.
At some point, I lost hope that Angelo and the men will return for me. Maybe they were ambushed and killed, maybe Angelo rode with Rebecca into the fucking sunset.
All I know is that my only hope of escape is by taking this whole mess in my hands.
And I need to fucking escape. My little Petal has been on her own in Sicily, and if Enzo thinks I’m dead or in danger, he won’t hesitate to either finish her life or use it as a bargaining chip.
He’s an unfeeling motherfucker, just like I once was.
I never thought there would be a day where I would be tortured to within an inch of my life, and all I would be thinking about is someone else’s life. Hers.
In the blackout moments or when I try to zone out from torture, her fac
e is all I see, with that warm genuine smile. I imagine her features etched in worry when I finally go back to her; I imagine how she’d kiss me and ride me and make all this fucking chaos disappear in the background.
That’s why I need the fuck out of here.
Lucio is getting impatient and he’s starting to think I have no information to give him about Paolo. Once he makes sure of that fact, he’ll finish my life without a second thought.
I wait for my chance patiently, ever so patiently, until one day, I get Stephan alone.
He’s the dumbest of the two. Marco often makes decisions for both of them.
“You know about my history, Steph?”
“Fuck you.” He punches me in the face and I reel against the rattling chains, gritting my teeth.
“Lucio made me his dog after killing my family.”
“And why the fuck should I care?”
“Because he did the same to you, you dumb fuck.”
“I’m an orphan,” he snarls.
“He made me believe I was an orphan, too.” I cough, spitting away the blood in my mouth.
Stephan comes closer to shut me up, but I continue, “Remember Luca, the previous hitman? He made him believe he was an orphan, too, as if he saved him when he actually murdered his entire family.”
“Shut the fuck up, Jasper.”
“Whatever, fucker, kill for your family’s murderer.” He punches me then and Marco returns so they continue their torture fest.
I repeat the same speech whenever I get Stephan alone. I can sense his resolve waning and after days, or weeks — I’m not sure — he finally releases me when Marco isn’t there.
“Angelo is here,” Stephan drags me behind him as I stumble and choke on my own blood. “I’m not saving you.”
“Then what are you doing?”
“I’m taking my revenge.”
“Your revenge?” I did look into Stephan’s past, but I didn’t find much of a trace. I came up with the whole thing that Lucio killed his parents so he’d help me; I didn’t know it was actually true.
He places a gun in my hand as he slams the storage door open. “Shoot me.”
I can barely stand on my feet as he releases me and I brace myself near the wall. Sure enough, Angelo appears in a black-tinted car.
Stephan’s eyes dart sideways, probably expecting Marco or someone else to appear.
I don’t hesitate as I aim at his shoulder and pull the trigger. He grits his teeth cursing me.
“What?” I show him my bloodied teeth. “You said to shoot you.”
“A warning would’ve been fucking nice.” He clutches his arm, clenching his jaw.
“Consider it payback for the torture.” I hold on to Angelo when he comes to my side, clutching me by the shoulder.
“I’m sorry, boss. Many of our men were killed when they came to the States.”
I curse under my breath. Fucking Lucio.
As he guides me to the car, I stumble in the back seat. Enzo is in the passenger seat, his face solemn. When I see him, my injuries almost go unnoticed. “What the fuck are you doing here? Where’s Georgina?”
He says nothing and it’s worse than if he stabbed me with a knife.
If I was in a better physical state, I would’ve grabbed him by the throat and punched him in the fucking face.
“Where the fuck is she?” I snarl then cough up my own blood.
Angelo offers me a bottle of water and I throw it away, still glaring at Enzo even though blood is dripping from my lip.
Enzo’s jaw tightens. “She’s gone.”
I pause, breathing heavily at the thought that something happened to her.
She’s gone.
Dead.
No longer alive.
“What do you mean by she’s fucking gone?”
Enzo releases a long breath. “She ran back to Paolo Costa.”
Sure enough, my little Petal ran away.
A part of me is proud of the stunt she pulled on Enzo, how she got herself to the embassy in mainland Italy even though her Italian isn’t that good. Though maybe she went to Palermo and found her way from there.
She even took the fucking cats. That takes a woman of steel, especially in a foreign land where she knows no one.
The other part is fucking livid, and that’s the part I’ve been focusing on the past few weeks.
While I’ve been recovering from the torture, I made a few business decisions back in Italy and left De Marco in charge of the lands.
Enzo, Angelo and I are staying here now. It’s pointless to draw the enemy back to Sicily when we can get him on his own fucking ground.
Now that we have Stephan on the inside, a new plan is forming.
And yes, part of the reason why I’m here is because of her, Georgina, my little Petal. My fucked up obsession.
Only is it just an obsession anymore? I’m starting to think it’s morphing into something more than that, something potent and out of fucking control.
I haven’t stepped into the bedroom in Sicily because it reminds me so much of her. The thought of walking in that house, not hearing her singing or talking to her damn cats makes me fucking depressed.
So I went back to my old habits, watching from afar.
Now that she’s with Paolo, I can’t unleash my full stalker mode — considering he’s become more religious about security, but I catch glimpses of her when she goes out.
A pampered mafia princess.
Paolo has unleashed his doting father role on her, making her the princess of his little mansion.
She’s enjoying it, too, or maybe she’s enjoying the fact she’s with her father. There’s a spark in her gray eyes whenever she looks at him, not to mention that she hugs him every chance she gets.
My little Petal always needed affection. Even when she was Joseph, she would snuggle to my side and hug my arm, my waist, or even my leg. Anywhere was fine as long as she had human contact.
Over the years, she smothered that part of her, but now that she found her family, the longing is slowly peeking out.
I try not to feel bitter about the fact that I somehow, in my fucked up fantasies, wished that I’d be the one who’d provide that for her.
Enzo and Angelo have been trying to stop me from taking the next step, but fuck them and fuck her if she thinks she can get rid of me this easily.
No matter how good Paolo’s security is, there are also small openings that you can’t control that well; like drunk guards.
All the time I’ve been watching, I caught one of Paolo’s men drinking during his night shift and because of that, he has to take pauses to piss. They’re one of the rarest moments I’ll have to go inside.
I spend most of the night by the corner of a house across the street in my car. Through my binoculars, I see my little Petal on her balcony, petting her fat orange cat and going through something on her laptop.
She couldn’t be watching porn or she’d have her headphones on.
She’s wearing a robe, her hair tied back, and she’s without makeup, but she couldn’t look any more beautiful.
My little breakable Petal.
Soon enough, she disappears inside and her lights go off.
Sleep while you can, my pet.
It takes me another hour of patiently waiting until the guard takes his first pissing pause.
My ribs still ache from the torture session, but I grit my teeth and stalk over the wall in the camera’s blind spot.
I’ve been watching this place so religiously; I know every hole and every camera’s position.
After one last sweep of my surroundings, I climb the wall until I reach my little Petal’s balcony.
Mrs. Hudson winks at me from her sleeping position on the laptop. I swear all that cat ever does is sleep. Mr. Bingly mewls, standing by the glass doors and I place a finger in front of my mouth.
He ignores me wiggling his tail left and right. I lock them both out but leave the blinds open, allowing the moonlight to bathe the room
in a silver hue.
I stalk toward the bed, kicking off my shoes and yanking down my pants and my boxer briefs.
My little Petal is splayed on her back, the duvet stopping at her middle. Her nightgown is thin and hints at her hardened nipples.
For a moment, I stand there, ignoring my hard dick and the need to fuck her until she screams the whole damn place down.
I watch her, the soft curves of her face, the steady rise and fall of her chest, and allow myself to get my fill of her. And the collar. She hasn’t removed the collar from her neck.
All these weeks, I’ve been roaming along the earth, plotting and scheming and watching from afar. Always from fucking afar.
The fact I haven’t touch her in fucking weeks has turned me into this grumpy fucker who snaps at anyone and anything — more than before.
I yank off my jacket and shirt, remaining naked, and slowly remove the duvet, leaving her completely at my viewing pleasure. I crawl atop of her slowly not to alert her and plant both my knees on either side of her.
“Wake up, Pet, time for another fantasy.” I wrap a hand around her throat and squeeze so hard, she wakes up with a start.
For a moment, she’s frozen in place, staring up at me with wild eyes and mouth agape.
Then, slowly, too slowly, a light sparks in her gray gaze, something like relief.
Wait. Something like...relief?
She’s relieved to see me?
“Jasper?” She chokes.
“The one and only, Pet. Did you really think you’d get rid of me?”
Her nails dig into my arms as she tries to fight me off, but it’s useless. She’s already at my complete control.
“You ran away from me, but you can never escape me, Pet.”
“Jas…” She claws at my skin, and I know I’m squeezing hard, hard enough to leave prints for later, and that’s why I’m doing it.
Another part is the fact she wanted to go, to leave me, to never see my fucking face again, while I was being tortured.
She left me when all I did was fight for our lives together.
Still choking her, I yank her nightgown up, ripping the sorry excuse of cloth in the process. She moans when my hand makes contact with her bare cunt.