by Rowena
I want to say something smart, to stand up to him, but there’s nothing more to say.
We’ll see what happens when it happens.
When I don’t say anything more, he walks away.
As he opens the door, I hear screams.
My eyes widen and my father smiles.
“What’s happening?” I ask, my voice choking with unshed tears and fear.
Father smiles, an evil look sliding across his face.
“Donnie’s friend killed the power. He’s being taught a lesson.”
Maxwell! I bite my lip to refrain from saying anything out loud.
My father’s smile broadens as he shakes his head, holding the door open so I can clearly hear Max begging for mercy I know from experience won’t come.
Father’s trying to break me.
I hate him.
Donnie can’t return soon enough. He’s our only hope.
“Clean yourself up,” he says from the door then slams it behind him as he leaves, cutting off the horrible sounds of Maxwell being beaten.
I stare at the closed door then turn to the window.
Men are searching the grounds with lights, but there haven’t been any more gunshots.
Donnie is free. He’ll come back for me.
All I have to do now is keep my head low and wait.
17
Donnie
I dodge another hail of bullets then leap up and grab the top of the fence.
As I climb over, shards of brick explode, cutting my face—a bullet hit the wall right next to me.
Scrambling, I drop to the far side and land in a crouch.
My pursuers’ footsteps close with the wall.
Panting, I jump and run as the grounds light up.
The power is back on. Damn.
I sprint toward the road, running down an incline.
I’m not sure what’s holding them back, but I take advantage of it to gain every bit of a lead I can.
A stitch forms in my side, but I can’t stop.
I push past the pain, panting and holding my side while trying to go just as fast.
I see the road ahead.
Car headlights flash, reflecting off the blacktop.
Maybe I can flag them down.
There’s a huge ditch beside the road and I have to scrabble my way up to reach it.
As I do, the approaching car speeds up.
I turn toward it and bend my knees, preparing to dive back into the ditch.
It might be them.
Just as I start to spring, the lights flash brights on then off, and the tires squeal.
The car slides to a stop a foot away.
Holding a hand up to shield my eyes, I strain to see beyond the lights as the door opens.
“Get in!” Francesca yells.
Relief hits me like a freight train.
I grab the car door and leap in next to her, and she speeds away before I can shut it.
I’m breathless so we don’t talk.
I lean back in the seat, concentrating on catching my breath and getting my heart rate under control.
I keep looking over at her, happy she’s alive.
“Hi,” I say at last.
“Water in that bottle,” she says.
I drink it gratefully.
“Glad you’re alive,” I say.
“No thanks to you,” she says. “What the hell went wrong?”
“Maxwell,” I say simply, and her eyes widen as her head snaps around to look at me. “Turns out he has a girlfriend,” I finish with a shrug.
“You’re shitting me,” she says.
“No, on both counts,” I reply, sensing her disbelief in him having a girlfriend just as I had.
“Hell, what’s the world coming to?”
“It’s coming to a change,” I say grimly. “Here’s what we’re going to do.”
I outline the plan I started forming in the cage.
3 months later…
“It’s been months, Donnie,” Francesca says, throwing a fresh stack of surveillance photos on the desk.
I glare at her unwelcome reminder of how long it’s taking.
But I can’t move fast, not this time. There’s no room for error. If Emilio gets wind of my plans, he’ll kill Bella—of that I have no doubt.
I sort through the photos quickly, not stopping until I see her.
Bella is standing outside the patio door, the same one I escaped out of three months back.
The backlight illuminates her form perfectly.
I run my finger over the swell of her belly.
She’s grown more since we last caught her on film. The baby is coming along well—my baby.
I’m coming, I say to her through the picture. Hang on. It won’t be long now.
“The best chance we’re going to have is now,” Francesca says. “It’s business as usual. There’s a contract out on you, but the streets are quiet, and anyone that matters figures you’ve left the country, so no one’s actively looking for you.”
“Good. That’s real good,” I say absently.
I flip through the rest of the pictures, stopping on the one I was looking for—a picture of Bella’s bedroom window with a single candle burning in the sill. A signal.
It’s been there every night, and I’m taking it as a message that she’s okay. She has to be okay.
“We’re ready, Donnie—there’s no better time.”
I put the pictures down and look at her.
“Any sign of Max? Any sightings at all?”
“No,” she says, shaking her head. “Nothing since that first week.”
“Shit,” I say.
That’s bad. I need confirmation he’s alive.
If he’s dead or caged, he’ll be no good to my plan. If he’s not, then I only hope he’s ready to play his role.
“What do we know of their activities beyond the manor?”
“He’s stretching himself thin. Just as you thought, he’s made reaches to the McLean in Boston. He’s looking to form new alliances and grab more territory outside New York.”
“He has no choice. The other families are too strong and have him boxed in. He grabbed my territory, but the other families are ready for him. He has to go beyond the city if he wants to grow.”
“Yeah, that’s exactly what he’s doing,” she says. “There’s one more thing.”
She pauses, and I know what’s coming.
“What?” I nudge.
“He’s going to trade her for the alliance,” she says, pointing at a picture of Bella.
A slow smile spreads across my face and I nod.
“You’re not surprised?” she asks.
“No. All is going according to plan.”
“Your last plan didn’t work out so well,” she reminds me.
“This one is better,” I reply with a tight smile.
She nods. “Better be.”
“You have any doubts?”
“Nope,” she says.
“Good.”
“Callum going to play along?”
“I’ll call him in a moment and finish the details, but yes.”
“Emilio doesn’t seem to know the connection between you two. Stupid on his part. Bad intelligence?” she asks.
“Deliberate subterfuge. Callum and I have known each other for years. When he was a teenager, he developed a ‘street persona’ for himself. His reputation is all a front. The man himself is nothing like what the world believe him to be.”
“Clever,” she says.
“Very, and it will serve us well,” I say. “Emilio is trading Bella to him because of that reputation. “Sick Nick” Spinelli has nothing on Callum, if you believe the word on the streets.”
“I’ve heard,” she says. “Hell, I even thought about tracking him down for a hookup to see what all the fuss was about.”
I snort. That’s my Francesca. Find the biggest and the baddest, and then prove to them and herself that she’s still tougher than they are.
&
nbsp; She sorts through the photos then stops and drums her fingers on the desk.
“This is dangerous, Donnie. Dangerous and stupid. You sure our men will still be ours? What if they’ve given up on your return? What if Max betrays us again?”
“We can’t live a life filled with what if’s and maybes, Francesca. If you want out of this, now’s the time to say so. No hard feelings and I won’t ever hold it against you.”
She stares at the pictures, the steady drum of her fingers on the desk the only sound.
For a moment, I think she’s going to take me up on my offer.
My stomach churns.
I meant what I said to her, but losing her will make this infinitely harder to pull off.
Her fingers stop then she looks at me with a grim smile.
“I’m in,” she says. “I’ve ridden the train this far down, might as well go straight to hell on it.”
“Good,” I say with a grin. “We’ll take this ride to the end of the road.”
I watch her walk away and let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
After she closes the door, I pull out my phone and call Callum.
It rings three times then I hang up, wait thirty seconds, then dial again.
He answers on the second ring.
“Donnie,” he says.
“You ready?” I ask without preamble.
“Yeah. This is going to be fun. I’m ready to give that old fuck what he deserves,” he says.
“Good, ‘cause it’s time. He’s giving you a hard time about the delays?”
“Sure, but whatever. He wants a lot from me and keeps weighing the deal in his favor, like I’d agree to it.”
“He’s old school,” I say.
“He’s senile is more like it,” Callum responds.
“That too,” I say. “Let me know the details when you finalize it. I’ve got one more piece to put into play then we roll the dice.”
“Sounds good. Looking forward to working with you again like this.”
“Yeah, me too,” I say, then hang up the phone.
I sit it aside, close my eyes, and run through the details of the plan one more time.
Every piece is in place.
There’s just one last thing. One key thing that has to work.
If Max is alive.
The bottom drawer of my desk squeaks as I pull it open, then sticks.
I yank on it so that it opens the rest of the way then reach into the back and pull out the old walkie-talkie.
Max and I had these when we were kids. Military issue, they have a range of two miles. Plenty to reach the compound.
If Max is alive and he’s not caged, and if he’s able to get access to some electronics, this will work.
That’s a lot of ‘ifs,’ and a major portion of this plan rides on those ifs.
Setting the mass of plastic and circuit boards before me on the desk, I stare at it, willing this part of my plan to work.
Then I reach for the walkie-talkie slowly to keep my hands steady, then tap out the Morse code signal.
I repeat it over and over for the next several hours and wait, hoping beyond hope for a response.
18
Isabella
While staring at the boxes that fill my room, my stomach lurches, and I have to run for the bathroom.
The sickness passes after a few dry heaves.
I get a glass of water then go back to sitting on my bed and sip it.
The cool water calms my belly.
Rubbing one hand over the growing swell of it, I can’t help but smile. Was that a kick? Is it too early for that yet?
I don’t know but I like to think it was.
My baby. Our baby.
Donnie and I created a life that is growing inside of me.
He’s coming for us. When he does, we’ll get away and be free, and this child will have the most amazing life ever. A home filled with love and attention, not just things. A place completely different from the one I grew up in.
“Hush, little baby, don’t you cry, Mommy’s going to buy you a mockingbird,” I sing softly to my belly.
I realize I probably screwed up the lyrics but it doesn’t matter. In one of the stacks of books next to my bed about pregnancy, it says that babies like this—the sound itself. It helps their brains develop and forms a connection to their momma.
I don’t have any idea if it’s true and I don’t really care because it makes me feel better.
Also, it helps pass the time.
Time.
I have so much time on my hands.
I’m barely allowed out of my room and never off the grounds.
When Father found out I was pregnant, he was furious.
I didn’t know what was wrong with me at first; I thought it was the stress. I was sick to my stomach almost every day—couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep very well either.
Finally, my father brought in a doctor to see me.
“When was your last period?” the doctor asked.
“Um, I don’t know for sure.”
“Any unusual amounts of stress lately?”
“Uh, yeah, quite a bit,” I said and he noted that down on his clipboard.
“Okay, well lie back on the bed there.”
He prodded, probed, and then took blood.
He didn’t want to wait on lab results, so in the interest of speed, he had me do a urine test, already sure he knew what the result would be. By then, I was sure too. Pregnant, and there could be no doubt who the father was.
I thought Father would kill the doctor or me after he found out. I sat there on the bed, my head spinning with the news, feeling sick.
The doctor had told him in the hallway outside my room.
Father didn’t say a word as the doctor spoke. I could see the anger in his eyes and on his face, though. His hands were balled into fists and he shook his head as he stood there.
He asked the doctor three times if he was sure, which, of course, he was.
He thanked the doctor, paid him from a wad of bills he pulled from his pocket then stood there staring through my partially open door while Paulie led the doctor away.
We stared at each other, my father and me.
I felt defiant. Happy even. I was carrying Donnie’s baby.
He couldn’t trade me off to some nutcase. Who would want damaged goods like me? With me being pregnant with another man’s baby, that deal would be off the table.
Father stalked through the door but I didn’t bother standing up to meet him.
Let him rage; he can’t hurt me. I have a piece of Donnie with me.
“Proud of yourself?” he asked.
I didn’t bother answering. He knew how I felt about it and I didn’t want to provoke him.
“This changes nothing. You’ll still serve your purpose, one way or the other.”
“What purpose?” I asked.
“Expanding the family’s power base. What other use for a woman is there in this world?”
He left my room and those were the last words he said to me directly.
The guards are with me always, but that’s not that new.
Paulie comes every once in a while and brings some news.
The guards never speak to me unless it’s to stop me from doing something I’m not allowed to do.
Every night, I light a candle and set it in my window.
I don’t know if Donnie sees it or not, but I light it for him.
I always loved that song by a guy who won American Idol—Leave a Light On. I play it every night while lighting the candle before bed.
There’s a knock on my door, causing me to start.
“Come in,” I say.
Paulie walks in, his eyes roaming the room.
“Are you all packed?” he asks.
“Yeah, mostly,” I say.
“Good. Callum will be here in a couple of days to pick you up.”
“Does he know?”
“Know what?”
“That
I’m pregnant,” I say.
“Don’t matter none to him. Bitches are bitches what I hear about him. I also hear he has kids already so what’s one more?”
A shiver runs down my spine.
“How can you do this to me?” I ask.
“Do what?”
“Hand me over to a man like him?”
Paulie shrugs and then a slow evil grin spreads across his face. I’ve never seen a look like it before.
He moves closer to me and fear grips me tight.
I can’t get a deep breath and cold chills run down my arms.
“Like him?” His voice is low and husky.
He’s in my space. Barely two inches between us. His aftershave is overwhelming and his presence makes me nauseous.
I’m so scared, my hands are shaking and I’m about to vomit.
“Paulie,” I say, my eyes watering.
“What’s that? You’re a woman now. All broke in by that little dick bastard, the one that got away. He ran away and left you here like a little bitch. Maybe now I’ll show you what a real man is like. You think McLean is bad? I know how to treat a woman.”
I lean back as far as I can, trying desperately to put space between us.
He doesn’t touch me, yet, and I don’t want him to. I can’t stand him being this close.
He leans with me.
I’m leaning back on my elbows on the bed and trying to scoot away.
“Please, Paulie,” I whimper.
“Please? Oh yeah? I’ll make you beg until you can’t stand it, then I’ll still make you beg some more before I tear you in half like the little slut you are.”
He touches my leg and I jump backward, scrambling across the bed in blind fear.
I fall off the far side and grab onto my stomach, yelping when I hit the floor.
Tears stream down my face, but I keep scrabbling until I come up against the wall.
I hold my hands up in front of me to fight him off, but he’s still on the far side of the bed.
Paulie laughs and shakes his head, but I can see the hard bulge in his pants.
I don’t know if he was joking or serious.
My father is so angry, I don’t know if he would care if Paulie did rape me. Hell, he might enjoy it, consider it a lesson taught.
Oh god, Donnie, get me out of here.
“Your father wants you to have new clothes. Something that makes you look less fat.”