Page 29 of Last Hand

Vittorio kneels, his face inches from mine. He grips my chin, forcing me to look at him. His fingers press into my jaw hard enough to bruise.

“Your father gave you to the wrong man,” he says softly, his breath warm against my face. “You belong to me now. The sooner you accept that, the easier this will be.”

I wrench my head away, a small act of defiance that costs me immediately. His hand cracks across my face, the slapechoing in the narrow alley. Pain blooms across my cheek, hot and sharp. I taste blood where my teeth cut into the inside of my cheek.

The shock of it silences me. In all my seventeen years, no one has ever hit me. Not even my father, with all his faults, with all his criminal enterprises and moral bankruptcies, has never raised a hand to me.

“That,” Vittorio says calmly, “was a warning. The next time you run from me, the next time you try to embarrass me in public, it won’t be a slap.”

I stare up at him, my vision blurring with tears I refuse to let fall. This is who he is. This is what my life will be if I don’t escape.

“I hate you,” I whisper, the words thick around my swelling lip.

“Hate is a passionate emotion,” he says with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “We can work with that.”

He grabs my arm to pull me to my feet. “Now you will come quietly,” Vittorio says when a voice calls from the entrance to the alley.

“Gina!”

I turn, hope flaring briefly before crashing down into horror. Because standing there, zip-tied and bleeding from a cut above his eye, is Adrien.

And I know, with sickening certainty, that things have just gotten much, much worse.

Adrien is barely standing, his face a mask of blood and confusion. His wrists are bound in front of him with plastic zip ties, cutting into his skin. His eye is swelling shut, his lip split. This is my fault. All my fault. The guilt hits me with such force I physically stagger, my knees threatening to give out beneath me.

“No! Leave him alone!” The words rip from my throat, raw and desperate. I lunge forward. Vittorio catches me by the hair, yanking me back against him. Pain shoots across my scalp, stars dancing at the edges of my vision.

Adrien tries to step forward, and one of Vittorio’s men shoves him hard, sending him stumbling against the brick wall. He doesn’t make a sound, and his eyes—God, his eyes—fixated on me with a mixture of confusion and concern. Even now, bleeding and bound, he’s worried about me.

“Please,” I whisper, the fight draining out of me. “He has nothing to do with this. Let him go.”

Vittorio’s fingers tighten in my hair, wrenching my head back until I’m looking up at him. His face is calm, almost bored, while his eyes burn with a dark and possessive intensity.

“You better still be a virgin,” he says, his voice low enough only I can hear. “If I find out I’m not the first, his death will be slow.”

The words turn my blood to ice. “He’s just a friend,” I say, my voice breaking. “We have classes together. That’s all.”

Vittorio laughs, the sound devoid of humor. “Don’t lie. I’ve watched you for days.” He leans closer, his lips brushing my ear. “You don’t kiss friends like that.”

Days. He’s been watching me for days. Following me, tracking my movements, learning my routines. The realization makes me sick. How many times did I think I was free, safe, only to have him lurking in the shadows?

Adrien shifts against the wall, his eyes never leaving mine. I can see him trying to piece together what’s happening—who Vittorio is, why I’m so afraid, why he’s been dragged into this nightmare. There’s blood trickling from his hairline, staining his collar crimson.

“Let him go,” I try again, forcing strength into my voice. “I’ll come with you. I’ll do whatever you want. Just let him go.”

“Oh, you’ll come with me regardless,” Vittorio says, releasing my hair to grab my arm instead. His fingers dig into my flesh hard enough to leave bruises. “But I’m afraid your friend has seen too much. Knows too much.”

My heart slams against my ribs. “He doesn’t know anything! He’s just a film student!”

“A film student who knows your name. Your face.” Vittorio’s grip tightens. “Who would go to the police when you disappear?”

One of Vittorio’s men steps forward, a hulking shape in the dim alley. He moves toward Adrien with the deliberate pace of someone who enjoys what’s coming next. Adrien tries to back away, only there’s nowhere to go. His back is already against the wall.

“Stop!” I twist in Vittorio’s grip, panic making me wild. “Don’t touch him!”

Adrien’s eyes find mine across the alley. There’s resignation there now, mixed with something else. Understanding, maybe. Or forgiveness. As if he’s putting the pieces together and realizing I’m not just some normal girl, that my world is one of violence and danger, that loving me has brought him here, to this moment.

“Gina,” he says, my name a plea, a question, a goodbye.

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