Page 72 of Caesar DeLuca
I should’ve run from the beginning. I should’ve listened to my female intuition when it told me getting mixed up with a man like him wouldn’t be good for me.
At the time, I was overworked and underappreciated, drowning in a sea of stress and anxiety. Alfredo—or Freddie as I eventually dubbed him—was able to take my mind off things. He swooped into my unsatisfying life and made me feel special for the first time.
I was his gal.
I stopped caring about what he did for a living, convincing myself so long as his criminal activity stayed outside of our relationship, it wasn’t any of my business. For the first year or so of our relationship, my out of sight, out of mind approach worked.
But the higher up the food chain Alfredo made it, the crueler he became. The more critical he behaved toward me. Soon, I went from being told I was his only gal to being criticized for having a round belly instead of a flat one.
Alfredo began having his men follow me. Keep tabs on me. Report details about my day to him.
There was no such thing as objecting.
If I spoke up, I was shouted down. I was told to stop talking… or vaguely reminded that I wasn’t supposed to be mouthy. In time, Alfredo made sure I understood I was lucky to have him. No other man was interested.
The relationship gradually turned poisonous. I wasn’t allowed to leave. I was told I knew too much. You don’t just get to leave when you’re in a relationship with a mafia capo like Freddie.
He determines when it’s over and what that even entails.
So I made myself disappear. I wrote him a goodbye letter, packed a few things, and drove to the smallest, most secluded town I could find in the state. Then I discovered an even more isolated home for sale and bought it in hopes I could live in hiding.
I could escape the stranglehold Alfredo had on me.
As he and his men handcuff Caesar and I in the bedroom upstairs, they make no secret of what they have planned. They spill gasoline everywhere. They flaunt the box of matches they carry with them.
It happens in a matter of minutes.
Caesar and I listen to the disturbing soundtrack as it plays. First the scratch of the match against the box. Then the whoosh of the matches as they drop to the gasoline and ignite a flame. The eventual crackle that only grows louder.
I let out a soft cry of panic as engines start up outside and Alfredo and his men drive away.
They’ve left us to burn alive.
“Ariana,” Caesar says. “Ariana, are you listening to me?”
I should reply, say something to let him know I’m lucid, but I can’t bring myself to do anything more than cry. The panic’s erupted inside my chest and left me unable to take in a fresh breath.
“Ariana, calm down!” he commands from the opposite side of the room. “Ariana, I’m going to need you to stick with me, alright?”
I shake my head side to side, the fog of panic too thick.
The room’s already begun to feel like an oven as the house I’ve worked so hard to make a home goes up in flames.
All because I got mixed up with the wrong man. I knew Alfredo wouldn’t let go easily. I let my desire for love guide me as I fell for Caesar. Did I really believe I could have some relationship with Caesar when his archenemy was my ex-boyfriend?
“Ariana!” Caesar yells loud enough to disrupt my thoughts. “Stop fucking disappearing inside your head and listen to me—you got a bobby pin? Ariana, look at me!”
I shove the panic down as far as I can and force my gaze to his. “Caesar… I…”
It’s all I’m able to choke out before another anxious cry bubbles out of me.
“Ariana, listen. You’re going to have to be brave for me right now, alright? Do you have a bobby pin? In your hair… or any kind of clip?”
I dab at my eyes with my free hand, the other handcuffed to the bedpost. His question slowly pierces the fog I’m surrounded in, and I process what he’s asking. My eyes go wide and I warble out, “Y-yes! I… I have a bobby pin.”
“Good, good. Ariana, I need you to slide it over to me. Push it as far as you can so I can try to reach it.”
“You can… you’re going to pick the lock?”
