Page 62 of Bianchi

He smooths a hand over his rounded stomach and leans back in his chair. “Oh, mio caro, I see your parents kept many things from you. Well, I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but your father is dead.” He flicks his wrist, indicating over his shoulder. “Floating somewhere in the Hudson River. Or at least that’s what my sources tell me.”

He winks and I know his sources are him. Romeo has been chasing a ghost. My stomach drops, knowing my father is gone for good this time. And my ‘uncle’ is responsible for his death. I swallow down the nausea and chew on my lip as the grief I didn’t think I’d feel at this news wraps around me.

Did he have my mom killed too?

My throat constricts, and a stabbing pain takes up residence in my chest. I want to cry and demand an answer to my question, but I don’t want this monster to see the effect he’s having on me. Schooling my features, I welcome the numbness that seeps into my body as my uncle—if I can even call him that—lays out his plans for me.

His demeanor is casual and his tone level, like he’s recounting a shopping list rather than his murderous plan. “I’ve been working with the Bratva”—he waves his arm, indicating to the other men in the room—“for the last six months. It all just happened, really. They want a bigger piece of the pie and I want to go home. I’m getting older and so returning to Sicily to take over the operation there makes sense.

“I see your confusion, Aurora. Decades ago, it was our family that ran the mafia. We’re only righting the wrong that was done. I have no interest in an American arm of the operations, so once Massimo and Romeo are gone—along with most of their men—the Bratva will take over New York.”

All of this is over territory and greed.

The thought that I could die, that Romeo could die, because my own flesh and blood wants to have it all, is sickening. This is too much, and it’s all my fault. Had I not kept that note from Romeo, I wouldn't be here and he wouldn’t be walking into a trap.

My uncle's voice pulls me back into the moment. “So, you see, that is how we’ve ended up here. We’ve drafted in the lovely Anastasia. She’s… what would you call it?” He taps his finger on his chin before holding it up as a sinister smile spreads across his face. “Ah, yes, a contractor. Romeo will watch as Anastasia inflicts a great deal of pain on you.” Standing, he stares down at me and adds, “I don’t want to ruin all the surprises. You can use that imagination of yours to figure out how this all ends. But don’t be mistaken, you won’t be leaving here alive.”

My mind works furiously to figure out a way to make this reality not be true. At each turn, I come up empty. There is no getting out here or making this right. My uncle walks away to the table where Anastasia is laying out more items and my attention shifts to the camera.

Like a lightbulb going off, an idea forms. It just might be the only hope I have of protecting Romeo and getting a message to him so he doesn’t come for me.

Chapter 39

Aurora

Blood runs down my chin, dripping into my lap as my head lulls forward. I try not to move. The excruciating pain radiating from my cheekbone only gets worse whenever I do. My fingers dig into the splintered wood on the arms of the chair, the stabbing sensation a welcome distraction.

Sucking in a lungful of air, I fight to contain the grimace of pain that shoots through my body. Every inch hurts from the assault I’ve been subjected to.

I’ll hand it to her; Anastasia has been brutal with the onslaught of blows she’s forced me to endure. My face is swelling, and despite my pleas, she’s remained uncaring. When she crouches in front of me, I notice through my swollen eyes, the latex gloves on her hands covered with specks of my blood. She changed into white overalls before getting to work on me, a cap covering her hair. “Have you had enough, Aurora?”

Yes, God, yes.

Lifting my head, I meet her eyes before spitting the blood pooling in my mouth onto her black boots. “Is that all you’ve got?” I taunt.

Throwing her head back, she lets out a throaty laugh as she stands. “Oh, babe, you haven’t seen anything yet. If I wasn’t under strict instructions to keep you alive for him, you’d already be dead. I don’t make it a habit to play with my food.” Turning away, Anastasia walks over to the table, lifting up objects and putting them back down as if deciding what to use on me next. With a casual air to her command, she says, “Get her up and in the chains.”

Two men come forward, their faces hidden by the same skull masks. They untie the rope from my wrists and roughly force me to stand. My legs buckle beneath me as a numbness seeps into them. The room spins as they yank me around like a doll. The taller of the two comes to stand behind me, pushing my arms together and caging me in. With my wrists outstretched, the other binds them and I jolt forward from the force when he tightens it.

As much as my mind is telling me to run, my body is too weak from the abuse it’s suffered. God, I wish I had strength to fight them off. Or at the very least, try to make a break for it, but I feel so out of it and woozy from the pain and blood loss that I can’t concentrate on even the smallest of things, let alone dodging the inevitable gunfire.

My arms are yanked above my head, and the cool metal of a hook slides against my skin. Disorientated, I tip my head back, staring at the chain hanging from a low beam in the ceiling. They winch me up until my feet hover just above the floor. The pain as my arms pull at the sockets is momentarily distracting. At least until the panic overcomes me and my feet scramble to touch something solid.

Anastasia comes to stand in front of me, a mask now covering her face, leaving only the blonde of her hair and a slither of her eyes. There’s an emotion in her eyes that looks like… regret? That can’t be right. My brow furrows, and I blink, trying to focus, but it’s gone.

I’m definitely imagining things, because there is no way this psychopath is empathetic toward me. Who even does this sort of thing for a job?

Shaking my head to clear the thought, my focus drops to the metal bar Anastasia is holding. She moves around me, dragging it across the floor behind her. The noise it makes is grating and an unwelcome reminder of the circumstances I find myself in. And the pain she will inflict.

Stay strong, Aurora.

I won’t beg.

An image of Romeo pops into my mind. He’s smiling at me, the love I feel for him reflected in his inky blue eyes. I’d give anything to be back in his arms.

The first blow of the pipe hits the back of my thighs. Despite being aware of the weapon and her intentions, the contact is still unexpected and the pain unbearable. I cry out, my body thrashing around. The confines of the rope pull harder on my arms, the burning sensation almost enough to mute the rest of the pain in my body. I suck in a breath as I fight to suppress the bile clogging my throat and the need to beg her to stop that sticks to my tongue like a poison I refuse to spit out.

With my eyes closed, every muscle in my body tenses, and I hold my breath, waiting for the next hit. When it doesn’t come, I crack open one eye to find Anastasia walking across the room to the camera. She removes the lens cover before nodding to a guy I hadn’t noticed before sitting with my uncle and a few of the masked men behind the camera. He’s sitting in front of a laptop and after a few quick keystrokes, a red light illuminates on the front of the camera.

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