Big Bad Wolf: A Bad Boy Next Door Second Chance Romance

by Frankie Love

  All three of them look uncomfortable as fuck, and I can't help myself. I lunge for Francesco, who is standing the closest to me. My hands wrap around his throat and I barely hear the screams of the other men in the room. I need to kill, kill, kill. It won't bring her back, a small voice inside my head tells me, but I shut it up. I don't fucking care. I need to hurt, kill, maim.

  Three pairs of hands are barely enough to drag me off Francesco. I'm screaming curse words at him as he grabs his throat, choking on his words.

  "Jesus fuck," he yells. "Don't kill the messenger."

  "Shut up," my father tells him, his voice sharp. "Keep looking. Go talk to the neighbors. Find any clue you can. She can't be dead. He would've left her body here. She's worth more alive, anyway."

  The brothers scatter out of the apartment with Francesco clearing his throat, trying to recover from my attack. I feel embarrassed as fuck now. It wasn't his goddamn fault this happened. If it was anyone's fault, it was mine... And that's why it's so hard to accept.

  My father sits me back down on the couch, joining me again. "Calm down," he speaks to me in Italian. "You need to calm down or you'll be of no help to anyone."

  I understand his words, though they aren't making any sense to me. How the fuck am I supposed to calm down in this situation? I need her.

  "I know what we need to do." My father's voice is heavy, and I look at him, trying to search for an explanation in his eyes.

  "What?" I ask.

  He takes a deep breath, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. "We need to speak to someone else."

  "Who?" I ask, feeling pissed off. "No one knew about this apartment. No one but you knew I was the one who took her."

  I give him a long look and he stares right back. For a second, I wonder if it was my father who took her back. I search for answers in his eyes, coming up empty every time. It couldn't have been him, I decide. It feels like my father sees the revelation in my eyes, and he smiles slowly, as if to corroborate the story in my head. I smile back weakly.

  "It wasn't me," he says simply.

  "I know." My voice is weak. I'm embarrassed of it.

  "We need to talk to someone else," he repeats.

  "Who?" Who could possibly help out here? There isn't much we can do except have the brothers search for clues, possibly find out who took her, and have our revenge.

  My father takes a deep breath before answering me. "We need to speak to Nicolas Da Costa," he finally manages to get out. "We need to go to Bianca's father."

  11

  Bianca

  The first day passes in a haze. I’m scared, shaking with every sound and unable to get a moment of peace. I’m shivering each time I hear something, so afraid he’ll come here again. My eyes hurt from the artificial lighting in the room, and I’m growing really hungry.

  I’m surprised to find the bathroom fully functional, but I’m too paralyzed by fear to explore my surroundings further. Instead, I spend hours crouched in a fetal position on the bed, thankful that he at least untied me.

  I still don’t know who the man is – he never told me his name. But I know I’m very afraid of him, and I’m dreading the moment he comes back in here.

  I guess I eventually fall asleep despite my fear, feeling exhausted after the horrible few days I’ve had. I’m a deep sleeper, and I don’t wake up once until I’ve gotten some proper rest. As soon as my eyes fly open what I assume is hours later, I spring up in bed, feeling paralyzing fear. But I’m still in one piece, and nothing hurts.

  However, there is a platter with some food on the nightstand, and I know he came in here. I shudder at the thought of the man seeing me in such a vulnerable position, and pull up the duvet around me to protect myself. I wonder briefly whether the food he brought me is drugged, but I don’t have the option of leaving it. My stomach is rumbling, and I need some sustenance.

  I eat the lukewarm chicken noodle soup and follow with a grilled cheese sandwich. They’re not hot anymore, but they feel good in my starving belly. I wash it all down with a glass of milk that accompanied the food.

  Once I’m done, I’m wide awake and unsure of what to do with myself. I know I need to try and find a way out of here, though. The way that man spoke to me… it was obvious he wanted to hurt me. And the longer I stay, the bigger his chance of doing just that.

  I climb off the bed and find some clothes neatly folded on the chest in front of the bed. They’re my size, in pastel pink and white. I put them on reluctantly, only because I don’t want to prance around naked. It would be too much of a dangerous situation.

  The outfit consists of pink yoga pants and a white T-shirt. Too girly and childish for me, but I put it on nonetheless. There’s a set of lacy lingerie as well, and I put that on, too. The more clothes that separate my skin from this madman, the better.

  I pace the room softly, trying to make as little noise as possible. I want the man to think I’m still asleep and not come back in here for as long as possible. The fact that there are no windows means I don’t know what time it is, though, and I can only guess when he’ll be back.

  It could be any second, or it might take hours. I need to use every chance I get to familiarize myself with my environment. I’m too scared he’ll put me in the binds once he comes back, preventing me from trying to find a way to escape.

  The room is very generic. Pretty and nicely decorated, yes, but there is not a personal touch in sight. The only place I deem worthy of interest is the bookcase, filled with books I’d read myself when I was a younger girl. Little Women, Pride and Prejudice, The Little Princess. So many books I remember from my childhood.

  My fingers trace the pretty spines, noticing all the books are quite old. They’re not ancient, but definitely about as old as I am. I even remember some of the covers from the editions I have back at home from my childhood.

  Curious, I pull out one of the tomes and the spine cracks open in my hands. It opens on the title page by itself, and I stare at it in wonder. A name is written down the page in swirly writing, hearts dotting the I’s.

  This book belongs to Lottie!

  I stare at the writing before setting the book down. I pull another one out, and sure enough, it also has the same writing on the first page. I wonder who this mysterious Lottie might be. By the time I’ve gone through most of the collection, a big pile of books sits on the floor, and I feel like I know Lottie’s taste already. She sure liked her classics, and she must’ve been a younger girl, judging by her childish bubbly handwriting.

  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’s 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 stands in the doorway, and I scatter 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 on 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 open it.

  "Read for me."

  With trembling fingers, I open the book at chapter one. I begin to read slowly, my voice shaking and stuttering when I speak most of the words. He doesn't seem to mind though, and I sneak small glances. The enormous monster of a man has relaxed, 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 disgusts me, but I try not to let it show. I make myself 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.

  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 rip 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 on 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 get out.

  "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 his 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 with eyes wide open, too stunned to move at all. He reaches for me and strokes my hair, his touch as soft as it was hurtful moments ago. His eyes are glazed over. 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 shut up. I give him what he wants. I curl up in a ball and whimper as he touches me like 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 writing for himself. He looks at me blankly, a hard edge to his gaze. I can't tell whether he knows I'm her 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 blows. My fingers find the edge of the bed frame, and I stroke it in slow motions, trying to calm myself down by doing that. 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 lining 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 spent 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 on what to do, and silently head for my father's car. I leave my own in the parking lot and get in the passenger seat. I don't need to tell my father where to go - it looks like he knows the way.

  We drive in silence. I don't fucking know what to say. The first girl, no, woman, I could possibly have feelings for, has just disappeared, and is possible hurt somewhere. It pisses me off, and a deep 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. We're immediately surrounded by guards, and when they see who we are, their eyes widen in shock. The men point guns at us as we get out of the car, chattering to one another in heavily accented Italian I can barely understand.

  "We mean no harm," I tell the man standing nearby. He gives me a skeptical look. "This is about Miss Da Costa."

  In a sudden motion, he hits me with the but of his gun, and I stagger back. My father curses and makes a lunge for him, but anot
her man holds him back, preventing him from striking.

  "Calm down," I say to him in Italian. "We are hear to speak to Da Costa."

  "And what the fuck do you want?"

  A booming voice interrupts our fight, and I look up to see a man who looks frailer than his voice would let me imagine him. Yes, he looks massive, but there is no life in his face. It looks as if he's slowly letting go, barely clinging on to the leftover straws of his lifeline.

  My father hisses next to me, and the guard finally lets go of him at Da Costa's finger flick.

  "Let them closer. I want to kill them myself," Da Costa hisses.

  I approach the man, but my father remains frozen to the spot. I don't encourage him to follow me, knowing he needs time to adjust. Finally, he speaks, after moments of awkward silence.

  "Sofia's daughter is missing." My father's voice is loud, but hurt.

  "She's my daughter, too." Da Costa gives him a defiant look, and for a long, awkward moment, I'm absolutely certain they'll be at each others' throats any minute now. There's murderous intent in those eyes. They want to kill each other, 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 glares at his nemesis. "Right from under your nose, you old piece of shit."

  Da Costa growls and I step between the two men, unsure which one of them I'm tying to protect. But my priorities are still revolving around Bianca. I need her back, and in one piece. Da Costa might be able to help.

  "Bianca was with me until today," I tell him.

  "And who might you be?" Da Costa snarls at me.

  "He's my son." The words my father speaks send shivers down my spine. That's the second time today he's called me his son. It gives me hope for the future, and for everyone's sake, I hope it's not in vain.

  "Which one?" Da Costa's question is bitter and full of sadness. I know how badly it must hurt him... Knowing his enemy has so many sons, while he's down to a single illegitimate daughter.