Page 76 of Inferno

This isn’t going to go well for me. It hasn’t in the past four years. He won’t kill me, not yet anyway.

He made that clear the night I tried to escape. Even with a blade plunged through his stomach, there was no getting out.

He has more hold over me now than he ever did. Despite my father being gone, the threat over my own daughter outweighs that. I get sent out on the most treacherous jobs; why? Because he knows I will always return to Isabella.

There is no way out for me from this prison.

A sinking feeling appears in my gut. Today is the anniversary of the last day I felt alive.

I wonder what happened to Jimmy?

The jarring impact of Vlad’s hand on my head snaps me out of it, my skull protesting with a dull ache as it is forced to the side.

“What do you have to say to me today?”

As he yanks back my hair and licks my throat, a shiver runs down my spine before he parts my legs.

“I’m sorry.” I make it sound as genuine as I can. I’ve almost perfected this scared, innocent act.

I’m begging for forgiveness when, in fact, all I want to do is slice open his chest. This time, fatally.

“Whore,” he whispers, his fingers digging into my thigh. I resist cringing. I am numb to this now.

A sharp intake of breath escapes me as he snakes his arm around my waist, his grip on my tender wrists a burning brand. Welts on top of scars. I gave up begging him to stop chaining me to the bed.

He doesn’t trust me not to kill him in his sleep. I suppose he’s clever in that respect.

Instead, now if I have a job coming up, he won’t do it as tight. It might impact my work.

I close my eyes and take myself back five years to the day. How it felt to have Jimmy’s hands on me.

How he set me on fire with his words, with his touch, with everything.

He cared about me.

He, even now, is still the light in this nightmare I live.

I tugdown on the sleeves of my hoodie when I open the door to Isabella’s room.

“Mommy!” she squeals excitedly, jumping into my arms.

“Hey, baby.” I hold her tight, breathing her in.

“Uncle Drago said we are doing maths today,” she says in a grump, and I laugh.

“Math is important.”

A deep frown creases her forehead as her face scrunches up in a pout, her lower lip jutting out.

“Can we do fighting after?” She gives me a cheeky grin. She reminds me of her dad when she does that.

She’s mischievous like him and knows what she does and doesn’t want. Just like him.

“If you do your math, we can do some training, yes.” I place her down on her feet and she slides her hand in mine, dragging me over to her painting bench.

“Wow, that’s pretty, baby.”

She takes a seat and gives me a brush smothered in pink paint.

---