Page 3 of To Hell

“Yes,” I know no one would invite him, especially not the host, but the host owes me a favor, and he can stand Mikhail for a few hours if I tell him to.

“And that’s just one thing I will be getting out of this?” He asks curiously, and I nod.

“Two more invitations and you can tell by the first that they will be completely worth it,” I wait for him to break.

It’s simple.

Being accepted means something to him. He has a wounded ego from being stereotyped. He wants to be accepted because, in truth, we are all made from the same soil. The men who won’t accept him are no lesser evil than he is.

“Three million,” he doesn’t mean it. He can take the two million. It’s an outrageous amount, but I know she is worth it.

I try not to look at her as I make my bargain so he doesn’t see my desperation. I can tell by the look in his eyes that he wants this deal more than anything.

“Two million, but if you want three, I take back the invitation…”

“Two million is fine,” he shrugs, “I can let her go for two million,” he makes a sad face, putting up a caricature show as if he is losing something of irreplaceable value. To me, she is that and more. To him, he can cut the bullshit.

“So?” I lean back in my seat.

“I will get the paperwork ready; let her entertain you while I do that,” he says, reaching into the inner pocket of his suit and bringing out his phone. “I didn’t know you were into slaves.” He smiles as if he has just found a buddy in me.

“I’m not,” I set the glass of shit down on the table, then turn my eyes to stare at her as she spins around the pole, then slides down to do a split.

I’m not into slaves.

I’m into her.

Chapter Two

VIRGILIO

Itry not to touch Zoe as I open the door of my car outside the VIP parking lot for her to go in.

I can’t help staring down at her. The same blue eyes that remind me of the glistening ocean on a sunny day. The same mousy brown hair, chin-length, a little duller than I used to remember, but still the same.

She stands by the door. Her hesitation is like a slingshot aimed at the door of my mind’s dungeon, where I locked up the memories that now make up all of my nightmares.

The last time I saw her, she hesitated. And maybe I should have listened.

She didn’t want to follow through with it, even though a part of her knew it was for her own good.

“Are you sure?” Zoe stuffs her mouth with peanuts like she always does whenever she is anxious, and right now, she is a wreck of nervousness.

“Yes,” I answer again. It doesn’t matter that she has been asking the same question since we got here; I will keep giving the same answer until we get out of here and for good. “You will love Milan,” I add because I have seen pictures, but it’s not that we are leaving just for the love of Milan.

Zoe is pursuing her dream of becoming a fashion designer, and I am pursuing my dream of watching her succeed.

We are so close to putting everything and everyone behind us, and each step we take, hands interlocked, leading to the airport terminal feels like a step into the promise of a new beginning for both of us.

She is leaving her abusive father behind, and so am I.

All the hard work she has put into designing and having me model for her became fruitful when she got picked to be part of the breaking-out designers to showcase their collection in this season’s Milan Fashion Week.

“We are never coming back,” she smiles, and then more peanuts get poured into her mouth directly from the pack.

No more covering up her bruises with makeup. No more masking her pain, pretending to be happy. Now, she can truly live and live freely. She has been given a shot and I’m grateful just to be a part of it.

We breeze through the crowd, and I can feel the excitement inside her just by glancing at her face from the corner of my eyes.

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