by Sunniva Dee
I’m playing right into the rage John wants me to feel. Silvina is trapped. I am too. Yeah, he’s loving my pain, but there’s nothing I can do to suppress this rage.
“The only thing you’re going to do is let her go. Open the goddamn door of that planetarium and let her out. That’s all!”
He studies me, smile curving in playful interest. “Was he always such a hothead?” he asks Silvina. When she doesn’t answer, he jolts her against him, squeezing her hard. Her face tightens with dread.
“Yeah,” she hiccoughs, “he gets angry easily.”
“Aww, don’t worry. You’ll never have to deal with him again. Okay? I won’t let him scare you ever, ever again. You’re mine now, and I’ll protect you forever, my pet.” He lifts his head, staring into the camera. “Now, Nascimbeni.”
My brain screams, Calm down! while the rest of me needs war.
Keegan nudges me.
“What!” I snap.
“Just do it. Play along.”
“Can you hear me over there?” An amused chuckle comes from the screen.
“Yes! I hear you, asshole.”
“Good. So, first things first. Silvina and I wanted you to know that we have consummated our love. She sure knows how to make a guy feel good, if you catch my drift. It was a beautiful, beautiful thing. We believe in mutual pleasure, Silvina and I, sai, cugino?”
A roar grows in my lungs and bolts out. I shoot to my feet and flip the table, papers and books avalanching off it. A chair’s right here, in my way. I hurl it at the screen, but I miss and it bounces against the wall instead and crashes to the floor. I stride over, seize it by the legs, and send it flying at Keegan’s window. The glass shudders, shards exploding as it flaps across the balcony.
Keegan’s upright by the table, palms frozen in front of him.
“Gioele!”
Ina mia. I hear her through the storm. She shouts my name. I turn to her—to her, my darling, and my heart bats like devil’s wings. I want to meet her eyes behind him, but they’re scrunched shut as she covers her mouth with a hand. She called my name. He’s hit her again?
“You back?” John lets out the laziest laugh. “So, I’ve got a little something that I wanted you to be the first to see.”
I can do nothing but watch him lift Silvina off his lap and push her back into the seat. Then, he straightens, saunters toward the camera, and makes a show of working something out of his pocket.
“Shh,” he whispers, eyes glittering with mischief. “It’s a surprise. She doesn’t know yet.” Only his whisper is loud enough for her to hear.
The urge to destroy more shit is overwhelming. I watch—fucking watch—as he produces a small jewelry box, dark velvet that flips open for me see a ring inside.
“I knew it last night, that the baby juice she milked from me had to come to good use, and I wouldn’t do that without making a respectable woman of her first.” He tips his head. “Does that make sense, cugino? Soon, I’ll let her grow little Santa Colombini heirs in her pretty belly. But look”—he slides his stare around him before holding the ring up for me to see. It’s a thick gold band with sparkling diamonds at its center. Its shine is so bright, it momentarily streaks across the screen, leaving nothing else to be seen.
“Sorry about that,” he says, turning it to the side. Can you see it better now?”
A crescent moon? Fucking bastard! “I’m going to stuff that fucking ring so far up your ass you’ll be squealing like a pig!” I bellow.
“Keegan,” he says, “calm him down, or every one of your girls’ll be shipped off.”
“Hear him out, man,” Keegan says hoarsely.
I whirl to him and watch his throat bob nervously. I shift my stare to the floor vent and back. His nod is almost imperceptible.
“We’ll have to make it quick,” John continues. “God forbid my pet loses her waistline before the nuptials. Now, stay right there.” He lifts a finger, stepping back toward Silvina.
She’s curled up on the seat he left her in, knees against her chest, clunky golden sandals peeking out from her ballerina-like dress. She visibly pulls herself together and straightens on her seat while he turns.
“You ready for this?” he asks the camera. He even throws in a wink before he drops to one knee in front of her.
“My darling. You are the apple of my eye, the stone of my wedding band. You’re my diamond in the rough that I will refine and polish until you shine bright and perfect. Dear Silvina. I love you. Will you me make me the happiest man alive and marry me?”
Silvina lets out a choked hiccough. Her polish is coming off—doesn’t he see? My smart, beautiful girl will be a lump of grey matter in the oyster he’s strangling her in.
“I would love to.” Such a light, thin, whimper of a voice. “But shouldn’t we wait a little, until we know each other better?”
The scene on the other side freezes. Absorbing her answer, John is perfectly still on one knee. Even his goons stop their lurking in the background, while Silvina’s eyes widen with understanding of what she’s just done.
Helpless, I can only watch, my arms leaden and useless along my sides. I could lift my fists. Slam them with all my force into walls, doors, and windows. I could attack Keegan, but it won’t change how she’s waiting for John’s violence. I hope she doesn’t know that he’s a murderer. Ignorance! What a terrible thing to hope for.
He doesn’t hit her. He doesn’t even lift his voice. Slowly, he stands, takes her hands like she’s the maiden and he some gallant knight. Then, he rises her to her feet too, until they’re facing each other. He positions them sideways, in my honor for the camera, I’m sure.
“Oh, Silvina.” His pitch rings intimate and low in the acoustics of the auditorium. “Aren’t you cute. I should have been a little clearer, but I wanted my proposal to be something for you to remember. ‘Women like romance,’ Mother always says. ‘Be romantic, John. They’ll love you for it.’ See? So that’s what I did.”
He curves her hand over his fingers, so the back of it meets his lips. “Dear Silvina. You and I will start our lives together as man and wife very, very soon. Now, let me put my ring on your finger.”
She wobbles on her feet, and he steadies her laughingly. “Careful, there. I know it’s not every day you’re getting engaged, but don’t hurt yourself.”
Suddenly, she turns to me. Her eyes are dark with the nightmare she’s immersed in. We all see it when she finds me, me only, when her mouth forms bravely, desperately, when she enunciates, I love you.
It’s a blur after that. John hitting her, me ravishing Keegan’s shelves, upending his desk, roaring. He’s a beast. I’m a trapped beast. She’s on the floor. He’s kicking her. The goons run toward them. One of them grabs the ring, presses it on her finger, while the other tries to calm John down.
There’s blood on her dress.
“Silvina!”
SILVINA
John’s hands are folded, eyes meek and caring as he watches me when I wake up. Damiana sits by my side. The tears in her eyes are real but not for me. I know, I know she had hopes. Someone else is here too, someone with a syringe.
“You’ve been through a lot lately, haven’t you?” the doctor says. “A fall from a window, and now an attack. This will sting a bit, but it should ease some of the swelling and take care of any infections.”
“Thank you,” I say, but it comes out as a croak. He’s at ease, like he’s making a visit to normal people. Maybe he’s the Colombini house doctor.
“Thank you for taking care of her on such short notice,” John says. “Our wedding day is on Sunday, and my darling would really like to look her best. This was such bad timing.”
Sunday!
The doctor sends him an inscrutable look at the last part. Then, for a brief moment, his stare meets mine. I hold my breath, imploring him wordlessly.
&nbs
p; “Thanks again, Doctor. We really appreciate your time,” John says.
“I love to draw,” I whisper to Damiana. She’s asked me if she can get me anything. She hasn’t apologized for her son. I don’t expect her to.
“Oh, that’s wonderful! With you in bed like this, we need to keep you busy. Plus, with the nerves of the wedding and all…” She trails off. “I do wish John was willing to wait. His father is on a business trip to Los Angeles, and he’s had some unexpected delays. I would have loved for the entire famiglia to bear witness to such a big, big day.”
She lets out a small sigh, looking wistfully out the window. It’s not the view from John’s place. Maybe I’m on her property?
She returns her soft gaze to me. “But it’s okay. The most important part is for you kids to be happy. You’ll be my daughter too now. I’ve always wanted a daughter.” Her laughter changes midway through, revealing her knowledge, the futility of John’s attempt with me, the fleetingness of having a daughter.
Reality is a bitch, and Damiana is fully aware. I’m aware of a few things too: one, John is sick; two, his mother is not my ally; three, I won’t survive long in this captivity.
I’m in another room with barred windows. I’m desperate. In my drug-filled haze after his attack at the planetarium, I dreamed of stabbing him with a sharpened pencil. Even now, my chest expands in a pointless surge of hope. John talks about things being poetic. So far, I haven’t had the chance to leave as much as a mark on him. But I’d give him “poetic” if Damiana was the one providing me with a weapon that took down her beast son.
For a while, I have peace, with Damiana only in the room. In the days I’ve been with John, he’s hardly left my side, so it’s a respite I wish lasted forever.
He looks preoccupied when he returns, a rare preoccupation that doesn’t focus on me. The leeches follow him in, the shortest sending me a concerned glance. It makes me think of the wedding; if he insists on wedding photos, I’ll be Frankenstein’s bride.
“Bye, sweetheart,” his mother says, kissing my forehead. “I’ll be back later with some nice, hot dinner for you. Now, get some rest. You’ll see. It’ll all be better.”
John’s focus, introspective at first, flows to Damiana. “I got a hold of Father.”
“Oh?” His mother’s hand shoots to her chest and remains there. Fabric flowers rise and sink beneath her fingers before they still. John sends a steely look my way. I shut my eyes. I can’t stomach more hostility right now.
“Let’s talk outside,” he tells her.
I wince at another kiss on the forehead, but it’s just Damiana.
“Ciao, carina,” she whispers. “I’ll be back soon.”
GIOELE
I stalk out of Keegan’s office. I get a glimpse of myself in a mirror, knuckles bloodied, eyes wild, face drenched with frustration. I shove the front door open and jog down to the car.
Bully jumps out with my cell stretched out in front of him. “Isaias and the guys are on the way to Crescent Moon Drive. Fritz just got the directions. We’re ready to go.”
I snatch the phone while I hop into the SUV.
“You there?” I don’t even recognize my voice.
“That bad?” my brother replies.
“How far from here?”
“An hour with traffic.”
“She needs out, Isaias.”
“We’ll get her out.”
I don’t know why we’re so careful. I want no part in playing coy. I want to shoot my way into their compound, rip apart everything they care about, and blow shit up until we’re at the center. She’ll be waiting for me there, and I’ll lift her into my arms and bury my face against her neck. I’ll let her watch while I torture him to death, leave her free of everything he did to her after that.
Soon, I’ll be there. I will give her freedom. She’ll be free of everything, every chain that’s ever hampered her, hell yes. Hell yes, she will.
But we’re hacking open the gate now. We’re ninjas loaded with Glocks and AK-47s, sneaking along bushes and behind trees.
The dome-shaped roof of the closest building makes the job easy. Felix himself is here with Isaias. Without a word, he lays into the front door, and in sync, two of his guys add their bulk too. The door shrieks open, tumbling inward, and we run into the dark with our weapons high.
The lights blink on in the same auditorium that held Silvina’s suffering. It feels like seconds ago. It’s empty, now. As quickly as we can, we search the main room, the backrooms, the small hallway leading out on the backside.
Two Colombini barge in. Isaias opens fire first. Fritz gets the second guy.
“This is a waste of time,” I bark and stride over the fallen bodies and out to the lawn. Freaking apple trees. That’s what they have here. Apple trees and pain and suffering. I need my hands around his neck.
“Main house,” Isaias mutters and waves toward a Gone-With-The-Wind construction that drapes into the sky with looming whispers of times past. Four men lunge off the porch like they’ve been waiting for us, but we’re too many. One of them yelps like a puppy when I step on his arm on the way up.
“Careful in there,” Isaias says.
“Careful won’t keep my girl alive.”
“Could keep you alive to save her.”
I shoot him a glare and storm in. Deep brown hallways leading to a large kitchen on the left side. Shit’s in the way. Chairs. Some enormous flower vase. It feels good to clear my path by sending it all flying.
The kitchen is empty.
“Silvina!” I roar. Behind us, the others run through the hallways, into living rooms, up the stairway. Isaias and I meet in some parlor, eyes locking over a grand piano.
“Anything upstairs?” he shouts.
Someone yells out a response. It’s not a simple “no,” which makes me take the steps three at a time. I stop, lungs expanding, on the second floor.
“Just this one.” Fritz has a middle-aged woman by the arm. Small, soft form, she’s all eyes. Her lips quiver with the urge to cry, but she doesn’t as much as whimper.
“Who are you?” I growl. Honest, straight, efficient. We’re doing this my way.
Her hair is rolled up in the back like my mother’s. Avoiding my stare, she’s trying to keep it together.
“Answer me!” I roar.
She flinches, pulling in a quiet gasp.
“She’s Damiana Santa Colombini. John Ulrich Himmel’s mother,” Isaias says from behind me.
“Oh, yeah?” I let out a short laugh. “Nice job raising your son, Signora. You must be proud.”
Her chest moves in spastic shoves. “Let me go.”
“Do you know who we are?” Isaias asks, voice low.
She nods once.
My brother leans down. Pinches her chin between two fingers and makes her look at him. “Who? Say our names.”
Her gaze glides from my brother, to me, and back. “You’re sons of Il Lince. Isaias and Gioele di Nascimbeni,.”
“That’s right. And what do we want from you, Signora Santa Colombini?”
“Non lo so,” she whispers.
“Oh, you know.” I shove Isaias to the side. The scent of old roses mixes with my rage as I shake her. “You’re going to give me Silvina.”
28. BRIDGE TO VEGA
SILVINA
I’m in a floral getup. It’s white with red and black flowers, a one-piece with a long skort flowing over those golden wedges he loves so much.
The pain is everywhere. A constant thumping in my lip, my eye, my ribs, and the soft middle of my stomach where he’s kicked me.
His mother would be back later, she said, bringing me relief in the form of sharp pencils. You find hope in the improbable when you’re as far down as I am.
“I can’t have you look like this,” he said with contempt. “You look sick.”
/>
I couldn’t have it either if I wanted to survive a little longer. He likes to dress me up. He likes summer clothes. So I lifted my arms and let his leeches fold this outfit around me.
“Much better,” he says, voice more peaceful. I try for a smile, but it sends another sting through my lip. Sitting on my bedside, he’s holding my hand, twisting it for a better view of his ring on me.
“Crescent moons become you.” He puffs humor out through his nostrils. “Who knew you’d look better under the crescent moon than the silver Nascimbeni wolf?”
I’m glad when he doesn’t expect an answer.
“You know what’s interesting?” He’s speaking to the ring, gaze languidly caressing it. “My father was right; when you find the woman you want, you’ll do anything to keep her. That moment when you accepted my ring and I put it on your finger, I knew I’d tied you to me forever. You’re mine, now. You know?” Celestially blue, his gaze floats to my face and rests there. “Say it.”
“I’m yours.” Regretfully yours.
“Yes. No one else can touch you. In three days, you’ll transform from Silvina Nascimbeni to Silvina John Ulrich Himmel.”
I want to jab your Adam’s apple out. The thought flares brightly through my mind. A spur to who I am, it comes with a crackle of energy, a reminder of me before him.
“It’s like that. It’s why we guys put rings on you, to trap you. I know that sounds brutal, but we’re biologically predestined to make and execute ideas, while women need guidance. Look at you, for instance. Sometimes, you want it all with me. Other times, you whine and have no idea what you want.” He shrugs as if he finds this funny. At any moment he could rage over it.
Slowly, his eyes still on me and remain there, and I know what he wants. I’m to meet those eyes until he decides the stare-down is over.
“Sit up and give me a kiss.”
I’m prone against the pillows. Broken and haphazard, my ribcage is a card house with missing pieces. If it’s my death, I need to get to where he wants me, positioned next to him on the bedside. He won’t tolerate any whimpering. Deceptively angelic eyes would go muddy with anger, he’d send me right into unconsciousness, and… would he ever let me wake up again?