Collateral

by Natasha Knight

  It takes all I have to bite back my words when what I really want to do is tell him to go to hell.

  “You have your first fitting at one o’clock.”

  “What fitting?”

  “For your wedding dress, Gabriela.”

  “Do I get a say in any of this?”

  “I chose the dress. I think you’ll like it. It’s perfect for a princess like you.”

  “You don’t know who I am. You have no idea. You don’t know anything about me.”

  “I know enough and can guess the rest. Our engagement will be announced tomorrow night at a party. Your father hasn’t RSVP’d yet, but I’m sure he’ll be there. He can’t not show up, after all. You’ll also be fitted for a dress for that.”

  “Why are you doing all this? I mean, everyone knows this isn’t for real.”

  “It’s very real, Princess. The sooner you wrap your brain around that, the easier this will be for you.”

  “Do you want it to be easy for me?”

  He walks toward me, and it takes all I have not to retreat.

  With his finger beneath my chin, he lifts my face. Having him this close feels strange. My chest tightens and it’s hard to breathe around him.

  I watch his eyes skim my face, my lips, my throat. I wonder if its bruised. He’ll probably like that. Another mark of ownership.

  “Whether or not you’re my enemy is up to you,” he says.

  “Aren’t I already simply for being who I am?”

  “You’re right about what you said last night. You are a pawn. My pawn. But believe it or not, your misery isn’t what I want. When I bury your father, you don’t have to go down with him. I don’t want to put you in that hole with him.”

  I tug my face away, step backward. I need to focus. To watch him. To figure out his game.

  His voice is harder when he continues. “But if you stand in my way, I will bury you too without a second thought. Do you understand?”

  “My father was wrong about you, you know that?”

  He cocks his head to the side.

  “He said you were as much a monster as him, but I think you might be worse.”

  His jaw tightens.

  “But to answer your question, yes, I understand. I’m collateral damage. That’s all. I’ve never thought otherwise, Stefan. Not with him. Not with you.”

  He studies me and I feel my eyes warm with tears. Something twists in me, squeezing me from the inside.

  “Is it my pity you want, Gabriela?”

  At that, I shove all those feelings down. It’s good he’s such a jerk. It makes it easier. And besides, I know how to shove feelings into a box and lock them up tight. I’m a pro. I stand taller for it and harden my eyes.

  “I want nothing from you but my freedom. Let me be perfectly clear on that. And I want you to understand that I will never see you as anything other than my jailor. So, you go on about your business. You take your little revenge. You see if that brings you happiness or if it buries you right alongside my father.”

  He makes a clucking sound with his tongue, exhales and shakes his head.

  “I’ll see you tonight, Gabriela,” he says and walks out the door.

  9

  Gabriela

  I wait a full half hour before I go downstairs. I want to be sure he’s gone.

  Miss Millie is humming to herself as she puts a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice on the table for me.

  “Well, good morning, dear. How did you sleep?”

  “Fine,” I snap, not meaning to snap at her, but still upset from my conversation with Stefan.

  She looks me over, frowns. “You’ll be too warm in that. You should wear one of the sundresses.”

  “I’m fine,” I say, although I’m already too hot.

  “What would you like for breakfast?”

  “Um.” I look at the table. “This is okay,” I say, seeing toast and butter. “Just some coffee if you don’t mind.”

  “I’ll bring some cheese too, and homemade jams.”

  “Thank you, Miss Millie.”

  “You’re welcome, dear.”

  I put my napkin on my lap, and I notice the knife beside my plate. I glance at the closing door which I assume leads to the kitchen and wonder if she’ll notice if I take it. Probably. But I decide I’ll take it anyway after breakfast. Although honestly, I’m not sure what I’ll do with it.

  A few minutes later, she’s back with a fresh pot of coffee and a tray loaded with more food. I thank her and she leaves me on my own to eat breakfast.

  I take my time and when I’m finished, I tuck the knife into my napkin and shove it into the deep pocket of my jeans. I’ll take it up to my room as soon as I carry my things into the kitchen in case Miss Millie counts the silverware.

  There are no guards inside the house, I notice as I load as much as I can onto my plate. But when I go into the kitchen, I see that the men who’d brought me here yesterday and two others, including the one from last night, are sitting at the kitchen table having coffee and laughing which they stop doing as soon as I enter the room.

  Most turn away, but the one from last night, his eyes track me as I walk to Miss Millie.

  “Oh, you don’t have to clean up, dear,” she says when I reach her at the sink where she’s drying her hands.

  “I don’t mind,” I say, setting the things in the sink. “I can wash—”

  “Don’t be silly. Mr. Sabbioni has staff for that. You go and relax until the seamstress gets here.”

  Relax.

  Do they think I’m enjoying this? That this is some sort of vacation for me?

  “Thanks,” I say, because there’s no point in saying anything else.

  I walk back out, hoping someone else will wash the dishes so she won’t notice the missing knife.

  I go straight upstairs and tuck the knife under my pillow before returning downstairs to the large living and dining rooms to the left of the front doors. They take up the entire space on this side.

  The furniture is pretty, fitting with the house, the colors mostly muted. It all has a decidedly feminine touch and I can’t imagine it was Stefan who decorated the house.

  There’s a grand piano in one corner and I wonder who plays.

  I go to it, touch the polished surface, check out the fully stocked bar and make my way to the dining room.

  A long oval table matching the one in the foyer is topped with a beautiful centerpiece with room for a dozen chairs. I wonder who eats here and think about the engagement party tomorrow night. What is he thinking with that? And is my father really going to fly to Sicily? He hates Sicily. The farthest south he ever goes is Rome.

  Leaving the dining room, I walk to the rooms on the right of the front doors, but only see two closed doors. When I try them, I find they’re locked.

  I wonder about the front doors and am surprised that when I try one, it opens.

  But as soon as it does, two men in reflective sunglasses turn to me and I see why they don’t have guards inside.

  Because they’re standing just outside.

  Neither man smiles at me and when the one puts his hand in his pocket, the shiny butt of a gun in its holster peeks out from beneath his arm.

  I go back inside and close the door. I walk out to the patio to sit on one of the chairs by the pool, bored.

  At home, I barely have time to get bored. Although I don’t have any friends, not any real ones at least, I was home-schooled, and I do have some level of freedom. When I go out, though, John always takes me and even with something as innocuous as shopping at the mall, he’s never far.

  One thing I do like to do is run. I’m not much into sports, but I love the high after a long run. I go up to my room and change into the running clothes I brought, leaving the T-shirt and just wearing the sports bra, shorts and running shoes.

  I dig out my iPod Touch. Yes, I still use an iPod. I think I’m the last person on earth who still has one but when everyone else moved on to iPhones, I wasn’t allowed one.

No cell phone for me. My father’s argument was that I didn’t have any friends to call anyway, which was true for the most part. But it was just another way he could control me.

  I don’t think he realized that I’m able to send text messages via the iPod, though.

  I open the app and check for new messages, but there aren’t any. It’s pretty much only Alex I text anyway and I’m sure he doesn’t want to talk to me right now.

  I consider sending him another message. Another text to tell him I’m sorry. Ask how he is. He risked everything to help me and when we failed, he paid the price, not me. I won’t forget that.

  But I look at my last half-dozen unanswered messages and decide against it. I’ll give him time.

  Popping the earbuds into my ears, I find a Queen playlist and turn it up loud, hopping down the stairs and casually going out the front door.

  I don’t really think I’ll get by them, but I’m still surprised by the strong grip on my arm when I try to leap past.

  “Hey!”

  The one who has me looks at his fellow idiot while I tug at my arm.

  “I’m just going for a run,” I try.

  The one shakes his head. “Inside.”

  “Get off me. I’m going for a run. I’m not leaving the property, don’t worry. I don’t even know the way out.” I do, but it’s about two miles to the gates and even if I got there, there’s no way I’d get past those guards. This place is like a fortress. Armed men on one side, the ocean on the other.

  “In,” he says again, and they walk me back inside just as Miss Millie comes around the corner.

  “What’s going on here? Get your hands off her,” she says to the man.

  I’m released instantly and she looks me over.

  “What are you doing, dear?”

  “I just want to go for a run. It’s what I do at home.”

  “Why not swim?” she asks. “It’s too hot for a run, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t swim, Miss Millie. I just want to run. Please.”

  “All right. Let me see what I can do. Just a minute.”

  She returns to the kitchen where, a few minutes later, the man from last night walks out. He’s chewing on something and looks me over as he swallows. I think I should have put a T-shirt on over my sports bra after all.

  “Gabriela,” he says, extending his hand. “I’m Rafa Catalano, Stefan’s cousin.”

  I look down at his outstretched hand, so surprised by the gesture that it takes me a full minute before I put my hand inside his and we shake.

  “Nice to meet you,” I say.

  He nods. “It’s a little hot for a run, don’t you think?”

  “It’s fine. I need the exercise.”

  “There’s a treadmill in the gym. I’ll show you.”

  I shake my head. “I really want to be outside. Look, I’m not going anywhere. I’m just asking for this one thing.” I realize how desperate I suddenly am for this. Desperate to get away from all these people, from this place where I’m not wanted.

  “Please,” I add on. “I’m going to go crazy in here.”

  It takes him a minute, but he nods. “All right. Give me a few minutes to change. The exercise will do me good, too.”

  “You’re going to run with me?”

  “Can’t let you go alone. The men don’t know you yet. Stefan would kill me if you got hurt over something as stupid as mistaken identity.”

  God. Does he mean if I got shot?

  “Okay,” I say, suddenly not sure I want to run at all, but not wanting to give up the opportunity.

  Rafa takes out his phone, makes a quick call and I hear him tell someone that we’re going for a run as he heads up the stairs. Is that him calling the guards to make sure they don’t shoot us?

  As I watch him disappear into a room, I wonder if he lives here when, a few minutes later, he’s back wearing a T-shirt, shorts and running shoes. I don’t think he has a weapon on him. I’m not sure where he’d hide it, honestly. The shirt and shorts hug his sculpted body.

  “Try to keep up,” he says with a wink and apart from Miss Millie, I think that’s the first time someone’s been nice to me since I got here.

  “I’ll try to take it easy on you,” I reply as we head out and break into a jog.

  I don’t switch on my music, but I still have the earbuds in my ears, so I don’t know if he thinks I’m listening to something or not when we don’t talk for the first fifteen minutes. It feels awkward but I can’t think about that.

  I’m grateful he doesn’t make conversation though because I’m out of breath as I follow him up and down the rocky hills. Twice, he turns to me looking relaxed and smiling, asking if I need a break. He speaks to me in English and I wonder if any of them realize I understand Italian. That I can speak, although I’m rusty. I decide not to mention it.

  We only stop when, thirty minutes later, we reach an old pump.

  We’re both sweating and it really is too hot to jog but I won’t admit that because I think this may be one of the few freedoms I’ll be granted.

  “Water,” Rafa says.

  I’m out of breath but he isn’t.

  “I’m not used to the cliffs,” I say as he works the old-fashioned pump and water rushes out.

  “You can drink it,” he says.

  I cup my hands and am happy to feel the ice-cold water. I drink and when I watch him duck his head underneath the flow and soak himself, I splash my face then do the same, gasping then laughing as the icy water drenches my head and neck.

  When I straighten, Rafa’s watching me.

  I clear my throat and look down at myself, grateful he can’t see through the sports bra but very aware of how much skin I’m showing.

  “Is Rafa short for something?” I ask, walking toward the edge of the cliff where I can see the sea.

  “Rafael. My mom’s the only person who ever called me that though.”

  “And you’re Stefan’s cousin?”

  He nods. “First cousin. My mom is his mom’s older sister.”

  Wow. I’m trying to visualize this strange family tree when he interrupts.

  “Was, I guess.”

  “Was?”

  “They both passed away some years back.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.” I don’t remember reading anything much about Stefan’s mother. Only his father and brother.

  Rafa sits down on the ground and I join him.

  “Do you live at the house?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “No, not technically. I leave clothes here though. I’m here a lot.”

  “You were here last night,” I don’t know why I bring it up.

  “Stefan’s got the better pool.” He smiles at me and I remember the naked woman swimming in that pool. “We’re close, Clara, Stefan and I. Grew up together,” he adds more seriously.

  “Clara is the woman from last night?”

  He nods and I wonder if he knows what I saw.

  “Is Clara a cousin too?” I ask it casually, but I hear the strange tone of my voice and hope he doesn’t.

  “You should ask Stefan what Clara is,” he says, his dark eyes steady on mine, and I think those smiles—I can’t fall for them. Can’t think he or anyone else here is a friend or ally.

  I look beyond him. “What’s that?” I ask.

  He follows my gaze. “Cemetery,” he says, standing. “I’ll take you, then we’ll head back. I have a meeting in town.”

  “How far is Palermo from here?”

  “Twenty minutes by car.” He points to it in the distance and I can see even from here how busy the beach is. “There. That’s Palermo. That’s where I live. Too quiet for me out here.”

  I follow him when he leads the way to the short iron gates that creak when he opens them.

  The cemetery isn’t big, and some of the graves are quite old.

  “Family plot. I’ll be buried here someday too. This is Stefan’s mother,” he says, pointing to one. “And his father, although we had no body to bury. They only sent back his ashes even though it’s against our beliefs.”

  “He was killed in prison,” I say.

  “You know?”

  I nod.

  “Killed while awaiting trial,” he says. “And this,” he points to another marker. “This is Antonio’s grave. Stefan’s brother.”

  I catch the date and it makes an impression because he died one day before my birthday. My sixteenth birthday.

  When I look up at Rafa, he’s watching me, and I get the feeling he knows how this will impact me. He knows this is important. And I wonder if everything he told me just now was calculated.

  He checks his watch. “Let’s go back. You’ll want to shower before your fitting.”

  He knows about that, too?

  I have questions. So many questions.

  But the expression I can’t quite read is gone and he gives me a wide smile displaying perfect, white teeth, if not a little sharp. “We can walk if you’re tired,” he says with a wink

  “Haha,” I say, and turn to jog away.

  We’re silent on the way back, my mind on what I just saw, trying to work out the details, remembering the flakes of what I knew was blood on that necklace Stefan brought me on the night of my sixteenth birthday.

  10

  Gabriela

  The seamstress is an older woman who has the personality of a doorknob.

  Actually, I think she might be middle-aged, but her pinched face and unfriendly manner make her appear older and when she sticks me with a needle for the third time, I think she better be careful not to swallow all those pins she’s got stuck between her lips as she takes in the dress Stefan chose for the engagement party.

  She has two assistants with her who seem to jump at her every command.

  I have to say, as I stand on a stool in front of the full-length mirror, it’s not a bad dress. I want to hate it, but it’s pretty. If not a little more showy than I like, leaving more skin exposed than I’m comfortable with.

  But it’s a pretty mauve satin with a faded layer of tulle the color of ashes of roses.

  I think about my sixteenth birthday party. The pink roses. As much as I hated those, this is pretty. Elegant.

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