End of the Innocence

by Alessandra Torre

  I pulled out a Sharpie, labeling the cardboard box in front of me with neat block writing. Yearbooks. I was close to being done, only three or four boxes left. My DVDs, my accessories, and an assortment of crap that I should probably be throwing away, instead of carefully packing in cardboard boxes, bound for a shelf in Brad’s garage.

  I stretched, listening to the quiet of the house. The air conditioner, an ancient oversized unit that had wheezed and moaned its way through the summer coughed, raspy air expelled through its vents. That, and the noises of my own movement were the only sounds in the house. The boys had, in typical Friday fashion, gone out, Alex, and then Zach, stopping by my room, hugging me awkwardly before departing. They had been invited to the wedding but were not attending, both inventing a creative excuse that was completely unnecessary. I was secretly pleased they were hitting the bars tonight. The alternative would have placed them on our couch, weed smoke curling through the air followed by thumping bass, then unannounced guests. There would be music and laughter and arguments, and no chance for me to have a clear thought or good night’s sleep.

  I could have just stayed at Brad’s. Packed my meager belongings and then drove over. But I wanted this night, this goodbye to my old life. Plus, I was a traditionalist—at least when it came to this. The day of our wedding, Brad would not see me until I walked down the aisle. It was a sticking point that irritated our photographer, Brad, and Rebecca, but I held firm. We needed every bit of good karma surrounding this union. And I would only be married once. I wanted the anticipation and impact of Brad seeing me in my dress.

  I heard my phone ring and stood, deftly navigating through piles of clothes until I got to the bedside table and picked up my phone, Brad’s number showing up on the screen.

  “Hey baby.” I smiled as I spoke.

  “Hey, my beautiful bride. You all ready to become Mrs. De Luca?”

  “Can’t wait.”

  “How’s the packing going?”

  “Pretty good. I’m almost done, then headed to bed.”

  “Make sure the alarm is armed.”

  I smiled. “It is.” His fear was unfounded. If anything, the last year had proved that no one was interested in harming me, not as Brad De Luca’s fiancée. Might that change when I became a wife? An official member of the crime family? I swallowed the bead of nervousness and returned to my place on the floor.

  “And you’re not trying to move boxes yourself, right? I’m gonna send someone over tomorrow afternoon to pick up that and your furniture.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I know. You’ve told me several times. Don’t worry, I have no desire to heft my own boxes just for the hell of it.”

  “Any chance we can get breakfast? I may need a pep talk, reminder of why I’m leaving my life of bachelordom.”

  I huffed into the phone. “No pep talk, no breakfast. You can wait ‘til noon tomorrow like everyone else.”

  “But we’ll talk in the morning, right?”

  “Noon. You made it thirty-odd years without talking to me. You’ll survive just fine.”

  He growled, a sound that drove me crazy with desire. “I love you.” His voice was husky, and I smiled.

  “I love you, too. See you tomorrow.”

  “Noon.”

  “Noon.” I hung up the phone with a happy sigh.

  ♥♥♥

  Frustrated with my lack of cooperation in the form of personal security, Brad had focused his resources on Fort Knox-ifying my crappy student dwelling. It was a waste of money considering that the threat to my safety would begin after I moved out, my life only endangered upon my induction into the Magiano family. But maybe it was the thought of danger, or the idea that his family would renege on their promise—whatever the reason, I was surrounded by safety measures. Every window in my house had been replaced with security glass. If the windows were opened, cracked, or broken, an alarm would blare and the police and security firm would be alerted. The same went with exterior doors. A triggered alarm could only be ended with a personal code and a call to the security firm. A panic button was now installed next to my bed, allowing the police to be one short pressure point away. I was, with the best security system money could buy, safe.

  Security was only effective when protecting an intelligent individual. My safety was comprised in the simplest way possible.

  At 10:46 p.m. my car alarm blared. Three high-pitched sirens and then silence. I looked up from my packing and listened, unsure if the noise I heard had belonged to my SUV. Standing, I crawled onto my bed until I was at the bedroom window, pulling open the blinds and looking out onto our front yard. There, illuminated by our lone street light, sat my X5, parked on the curb, no one in sight. I started to back away from the window when something caught my eye. Leaning in closer, I tried, through dirty glass and a dark yard, to examine my car.

  “What the ...” I whispered, trying to tell what was on the BMW’s windows. Some white marking of some type. Letters. I let go of the blinds and hopped off the bed, shoving my feet into shoes and heading for the front door. Disarming the alarm, I stepped outside, taking a few steps into the front yard and looking closer, my eyes widening as I got close enough to see the letters in the dark.

  S L U T. In letters big enough to scream, the writing angry in its strokes. I glanced around, seeing only the empty street and walked forward, scared to see what was written on the other side. I reached in my back pocket and pulled out my cell.

  I heard a sound from behind, out of place enough to make me turn. Then, a wet cloth came across my face, so tight I couldn’t breathe, much less scream. I tried to take a breath, my fingers tried to move across the screen of my phone, tried to...

  Oblivion.

  Chapter 55

  Brad hung up the cell. “She’s at home.”

  “And you don’t want to go out.”

  “We did. We went to Bern’s after the rehearsal.”

  “Bern’s?” Stevie shot him a look that communicated everything in one simple glare. “The king of pussy goes to a steakhouse before tying the knot.” He shook his head.

  “I’ve had pussy. I don’t feel the need to jeopardize my relationship for subpar ass.”

  “Then take us out so we can get some. I’ll take subpar over none. And your definition of subpar is another man’s dream.”

  Brad took a long drag of his beer. “You have nothing to bitch about. There were plenty of girls at the party we had last month.”

  The man snorted. “And guys. A joint bachelor party? I don’t understand how you guys can let loose and have fun when the other person is there.”

  Brad laughed. “Yeah. A couple doing things together. Doomed.” He leaned back in the couch. “I hate to break it to you, Stevie, but my life as a slut is over.”

  “And you seem remarkably calm about it,” Ben remarked, walking into the room with fresh beers and passing one to each of them before settling into one of the large leather armchairs.

  Brad shrugged. “You know Julia. I don’t deserve her as it is. This is the happiest I’ve ever been.”

  “I’m not saying it doesn’t make sense. I’m just surprised that you recognize it.” Ben leaned forward, clinked his beer against Brad’s. “You hit a home run with her.”

  Stevie groaned. “This all is great, but let’s at least order a stripper. Get a PG-rated lap dance, and then let me take her upstairs.”

  “The man owns a strip club. He’s not going to get excited about some tits bouncing up and down,” Ben said dryly.

  “Owned a strip club,” Brad said, finishing the bottle and setting it on the counter.

  Stevie glanced over. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Didn’t seem like something a husband should have. I signed it over to Julia.”

  Stevie coughed hard, sitting up and setting his beer on the floor. “Holy shit. You really are whipped.”

  “Don’t give me that. You handed Nikki your balls in a velvet sack on your second date.”

  The man s
hrugged. “Hey, she handles them better than anyone else.” He stood. “That doesn’t mean I’m turning down blowjobs from strangers. I guess I just assumed that if Brad-fucking-De Luca ever froze over hell and got remarried, that he’d go out with a bang.” He laughed. “Or five or six bangs, given your reputation.”

  “Sorry,” Brad said shortly. “Guess Ben will have to be the new wild man.” He leaned forward, clapped the man on the back and stood. “Martha made some carrot cake this afternoon. You guys want some?”

  They moved to the kitchen, Stevie bitching the whole way about the unnaturalness of cake at a bachelor party, before pouring a big glass of milk to drink. They drank, ate, smoked cigars on the porch, and then crashed, the two men heading to the guest bedrooms while Brad climbed the stairs to spend his final night as a bachelor, alone in his big bed. He glanced at the clock. 1:35 a.m. Too late to call, but he needed to hear her. Already missed her. He rolled over in the silent dark and tried to fall asleep.

  ♦♦♦

  The seven month old BMW X5 4.41 was wrapped in plastic and loaded onto a vehicle transporter, along with other cars of questionable origin. It left town less than two hours after Julia Campbell’s capture, traveling north on a busy interstate, headed for Canada.

  Chapter 56

  WEDDING DAY

  I woke up in pure blackness, my senses reengaging one by one, slowly reporting grim details of my surroundings. Sight. Pure dark, so complete in its entirety that I felt a wave of claustrophobia hit me. Sound. Muffled voices, hard tones filled with anger, hate, and—most terrifying of all—glee. The rustle of fabric against my ear as I twisted my head, the sound informing my brain that I was, in fact, blindfolded. Smell. A sickly, sweet scent, coming from the blindfold, almost, but not quite, overriding the dirty, masculine stench that reeked in this room. Taste. Wet cloth in my mouth, tugging at my skin, keeping my tongue in place, the horrible aftertaste of vomit in my mouth. Touch. Hands bound behind my back with rough, scratchy rope. Ankles spread and secured to chair legs beneath me. Sitting upright, utterly secured, my body recognizing, even without sight, the bruises that covered me.

  My brain understood everything about the situation immediately, bursting into reality in one, horrific instance, like stepping into the harsh sun, painful in its strength. I screamed through the cloth, my effort producing only a small sound, and strained every muscle, thrashing my body from side to side, trying to free some small part of my body in at least one minor way. The chair rocked, tipped, and in an agonizingly slow motion, tipped back and crashed to the concrete floor. The impact slammed my head backward, and with one painful crack, my body stilled, all senses instantly snuffed.

  ♦♦♦

  I was taken for a reason. To win a battle, a battle of control and emotions and pride. Step one was to take me. Step two involved making sure I would never be a part of the Magiano family. That step could be accomplished in two ways, one of which was death. The other option’s viability would depend on how I reacted to my capture.

  I did not react well.

  Chapter 57

  “Did I miss something?” Becca barged through the doors of Noche with a ferocity that startled half the women in the spa’s lobby.

  Olivia shot her a look of warning. “Stop yelling. This is the type of place where you whisper.”

  “Ten, right? I checked my text messages. We were going to meet here at eleven. Look.” She thrust her cell out, forcing Olivia’s eyes to focus on it. “Hair and makeup appointment at eleven at Noche. From that scary ass assistant of Brad’s. Did you get one?”

  “Lower your freaking voice,” Olivia hissed, sending an apologetic look to the woman to her right. “Yes, I got one. And I talked with Julia last night. She said she’d be here.”

  “So where is she?” Becca didn’t wait for a response, she pressed a button and held the phone to her ear. “I’m calling her again. She hasn’t responded to my texts.”

  Their names were called, and they stood, Becca taking a long look at the clock before following the uniformed attendant through the frosted doors. 10:19 a.m. Julia was late.

  As they walked through the quiet hall, Becca’s phone buzzed, her eyes catching on the lit screen and reading the message quickly, then passing it to Olivia.

  I won’t make it to Noche. I need time to think. I’ll call you later.

  Their eyes met in the dim light, and Becca frowned.

  ♦♦♦

  White uniforms converged on Fleur De Lis like maggots, bits of white weaving with a rapid pace through the stone halls, placing gloved hands on every available surface. Flower arrangements were wheeled in, tablecloths ironed, place cards straightened, then straightened again by nervous fingers. Corsages were pinned, bobby pins placed in curled hair, and wedding programs were unwrapped and placed in the hands of eager ushers. The final moments were completed in an orderly and excited fashion, everything unfolding exactly as to plan. And, an hour before the ceremony was to begin, limos began the slow, precise journey through the front gates. The guests were starting to arrive.

  The world ran on appearances, and that day was no exception. Brad disagreed with that mandate, but you had to play the game to win it, so he played along. And, as usual, he seemed predestined to win, the details handled perfectly by Rebecca and the two wedding planners’ capable and expensive hands. And, as he glanced through the open doorway off the lobby, everything seemed in place. Just missing one thing. He moved into the drawing room, set off to the side of the chapel and scowled, settling into one of the high stools. Lucas walked over with a smile, moving around behind the bar. He poured a shot of whiskey and held it out.

  “Bottoms up.”

  Brad shook his head, sliding his phone in his pocket.

  “What’s wrong? Pre-wedding jitters?”

  The comment earned Lucas a scornful look, and Brad stood and walked to the window. “Can’t get ahold of her.”

  “Julia? She told you—you couldn’t see her today.”

  “I want to talk to her. Hear her voice.”

  “Brad. The ceremony’s in an hour. Then you’ll have the rest of your life to talk to her. Relax and take a damn shot.”

  “I can’t just sit here. The waiting is driving me crazy. Let’s head outside, Stevie is down there.” He stood, shouldering into his tuxedo jacket.

  “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were nervous.”

  Brad met his eyes. “When it comes to Julia, I’m always nervous.”

  Chapter 58

  “It seems a little early to panic.” Olivia’s voice rang out in the lavender-tinted room, causing six updo’d heads to turn her way.

  “Early?” one of the wedding planners said, her over-plucked eyebrows coming to a point in the middle of her lined forehead.

  “It’s eleven-thirty,” the other planner said anxiously, as if everyone in the room wasn’t aware of the hour. “The ceremony starts in thirty minutes. And no one knows where she is. A bride, missing from the wedding ...” She started to breathe quickly, in terse gasps, on the verge of what appeared to be a nervous breakdown.

  “She cancelled on us for hair and makeup,” Becca said flatly, shooting Olivia a look, their argument already hours in the making.

  “Which would make sense if she ...” Olivia shrugged suggestively as the words dropped off.

  “If she what?” Becca shot back.

  “I’m just saying ...” Olivia said airily, “maybe she changed her mind. Decided she was making a mistake.”

  “Making a mistake?” The female linebacker, who worked for Brad, stepped forward, her arms crossing in front of her ample chest. “Making a mistake by getting married? Have you been in the same room with them? Spoken to either one of them in the last year? They were made for each other; I’ve never seen two people more perfectly matched. Not to mention this is Brad-Fucking-De Luca. Women don’t ‘change their mind’ about Brad, they hunt him down like rabid animals.” She snarled the final words, now officially inside of Olivia’s bubble
, her teeth bared and claws out.

  Olivia wilted slightly, glancing away and studying her fresh manicure. “I’m just saying that we could give it a little more time. You already drove by her house. She’s not home so she’s probably on her way here.”

  “I think we should tell Brad,” Martha spoke from her post at the window.

  “No,” the two planners spoke in unison, panic crossing their faces. One stepped forward. “It’s common for brides to flake. It’s better that the groom doesn’t know. It can taint the ceremony for him, or cause a fight right before the wedding.”

  The room was silent, her logic making sense. Rebecca nodded. “Brad will lose it if he knows.”

  “So what do we do?” Julia’s mother spoke from her seat in the center of the room, her features tight, mouth pinched.

  “We wait. We wait for her to show up. She’ll show up,” Becca spoke from the doorway, and it was the last words spoken for a while, no one having a better solution to offer.

  Chapter 59

  Rebecca knew this was bad. This was beyond bad. She ground into nothing the soft napkin, the one with Brad & Julia perfectly printed, just as she’d wished. It seemed ridiculous that she’d ever cared. Why did napkins matter when a bride was missing? And it didn’t matter what the bimbo in the other room thought. Julia wasn’t flaking out. It was impossible. She wasn’t that kind of girl. And Brad wasn’t the kind of man who got left at the altar. Something was wrong, she could feel it in her gut. She looked at her cell and wondered, for the thirtieth time that day, if she should call Brad.

  ♦♦♦

  Debra Campbell paced, her heels snagging on the carpet when her steps got too hurried.

  “Please, dear. Sit.”

  “I can’t sit. Something is wrong. I should have known it earlier. Her not returning our calls this morning?”

  “She’s always hard to get ahold of by phone.” The man stood, stopping his wife’s journey with firm hands, pulling her over to a loveseat and pushing her down. “Your blood pressure has to be sky high. Please. Panic isn’t helping.”