Page 28 of Bianchi

A shadow, cloaked in wickedness, wraps around my ankle, turning the flesh black. It grips like a vise as it drags me across the restaurant. Its speed only increasing with each plea that tumbles from my lips. It doesn’t matter how hard I fight; its hold is stronger and overpowering. Shards of glass rip into my body.

The faceless man from earlier has returned. This time, his head floats around me and his evil laugh plays out like a soundtrack to the torment of the shadow. They work in tandem, seeing which one can break me first, but that happened a long time ago. Now it’s like a never-ending ride in the pits of hell and there’s nothing I can do to get out.

My fingers dig into the concrete floor, trying to stop his momentum. Streaks of blood are left in my wake and my nails pull away from the bed of my fingers. The pain is unbearable, but I won’t stop.

A woman screaming blares somewhere in the distance. The sound is gut-wrenching and foreign to my ears. I’m momentarily distracted from my own anguish as I search for her, even as the room continues to spin. My vision blurs, the restaurant unrecognizable as a space.

Suddenly, everything stops.

The sudden lack of motion throwing off my equilibrium. There’s no more screaming, no more laughing, no more sirens, and no more shadows.

It’s just me.

My chest is tight with every breath I greedily suck in. It feels like my heart is going to beat out of my rib cage and it’s only when I’ve got my breathing under control that I allow the whimpers to fall from my lips. Tears stream down my cheeks and I wallow in the trepidation that’s pinning me to the ground.

His black military boots come into view. The familiarity of them is clear, even through my blurred vision. My body tenses and I watch him come toward me, grinding the blood-covered glass into the ground as he prowls. I try to move, but my body doesn’t cooperate.

He tsks as he walks around me and then, much like the first time I met him, he crouches in front of me. Shoving the barrel of his gun into my bloodied, bruised cheek, he sneers. “I didn’t think you’d be this stupid, but clearly, I was wrong. You came back for more. There really is no getting through to you, is there, Aurora?”

I try to move away, but the force holds me still, wedging me between the ground and his weapon. With pleading eyes, I stare into the hollow of his hood and beg, “Please, I haven’t done anything wrong. You have to believe me. I don’t know why I’m here.”

He ignores me, tilting his head to the side. “Maybe I need to do something extreme to get your attention.”

The restaurant falls away and I’m tied to a chair in my apartment, the outside wall missing as rain pelts down into the space. It isn’t lost on me that this is the same position I was in when Romeo took me. Or that I feel everything. The fear, the hopelessness, the panic. They’re all there, battling to be the emotion that controls me.

My head is yanked back before bony fingers take hold of my cheeks and force my attention to the window across the street. Wide-eyed, my focus zones in on the only illuminated window. The same one that a camera was set up in for who knows how long.

The hooded man lifts his hand, pulling the building closer. When it’s inches from mine, my eyes widen as they land on my mom. She’s oblivious to us as she stares out of the window. I scream, but the gag that’s suddenly appeared in my mouth muffles the words. She can’t hear me. Helplessly, I watch as a shadow slithers up behind her. A knife appears at her throat, the light glinting off the metal before it moves, slashing from right to left. Her eyes flare, horror filling her face before she falls out of sight.

I bolt upright, screams of terror rushing past my lips as I look around the dark room. A warm body envelops me, and as I breathe in his familiar masculine scent, I try to calm my whirling mind. It takes me a moment to get my bearings and remember where I am and whose bed I’m in. God, it felt so real.

Romeo’s hand soothes a hypnotic rhythm up and down my back as he murmurs into my hair, “You’re okay. It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

For a moment, I burrow into him, taking the comfort I desperately need. I’ve not felt the warmth of another person's hug in so long. My fingers press into his bare back, urging him closer until I remember everything.

My brows tug down, and I try to pull out of his embrace, but he tightens it. It’s somehow still comforting even as he exudes his power to keep me where he wants me.

He pulls me back onto the mattress, settling me into his arms as he says, “Go back to sleep, Aurora.”

I’m too exhausted to fight with him. What would be the point anyway? If there is one thing I’ve learned about Romeo Bianchi, it’s that you do as he commands. Fighting him will only make it worse.

Cocooned in the comfort of his hold, I blink slowly, my eyes getting heavier with each second that passes. Please let me have a dreamless sleep.

Chapter 17

Aurora

Pink and orange hues illuminate the skin of my eyelids, lifting the veil of a dreamless sleep. I stretch my arms, luxuriating in the cotton rustling around me, and my eyes flutter open, squinting at the brightness. Maybe if I stay here, I can pretend that I’ve had the best sleep of my life and that none of this is happening to me. Avoiding reality sounds pretty damn good right about now.

In the safety of Romeo’s bed and with the calming quiet of the room, I allow myself to forget the events of the past few days. I turn onto my side, watching the branches of the tree just beyond the window rustle in the breeze. Water stains the windowpane and a lone droplet runs from one end to the other before being blown away.

On my periphery, I can see the empty chair just off to the side. I don’t want to look at it or address the disappointment that’s settled into my gut at him being gone. I should be relieved that he’s not here. He saw me at my weakest and I have no doubt that he will use it against me. I need to reinforce my armor before I see him again.

Throwing back the covers, I climb from the bed, wiggling my toes on the soft carpet before standing. I pad across the room, toward the window. Instinctively, my hand runs along the arm of the chair, like I might be able to feel him there.

What is wrong with me?

The man held me in his arms and yet I’m obsessing over a chair he spent mere hours in. Redirecting myself to the window, I gaze out at the rolling hills. The gravel driveway seems to go on for miles and it dawns on me just how remote this place is. Resting my head on the cool glass, I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to understand my jumbled thoughts.

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