Page 15 of Cruelest Contract
“Cici.” He sounds terrible. Frightened. Exhausted.
Memories flood back at the sound of my childhood nickname. No one except Gabe calls me that anymore. I don’t let them.
Tears sting my eyes but I exhale with relief that he’s in one piece. Anything else I can handle. “Are you all right?”
“No,” he says. He coughs and gasps out a sob. “Cici, I’m in really deep fucking shit.”
4
CECILIA
The magazine ad is for life insurance and the caption at the top of the page screams at me.
“ARE YOU READY FOR LIFE’S UNEXPECTED STORMS?”
There’s a black and white illustration of a woman shivering in the rain as a bolt of lightning shears through the clouds above her.
I try to picture the corporate team that brainstormed around a conference room table to come up with this gem before breaking for lunch.
A lack of sleep is sending my head to weird places. The woman reminds me of me. Her shoulders are hunched up to her ears and her frightened eyes are turned up to watch the stormy sky with dread.
With care, I tear the page from the fitness magazine I found lying on an empty seat. I fold the page into quarters and tuck it inside the cover flap of my journal with other bits and pieces of collected paper.
A minute ago we were flying above the clouds but now a funny sensation tickles my belly. The plane’s descent has begun.Angelo is sound asleep in the seat across the aisle. His snoring is as loud as a power tool on high speed.
The two of us are the only passengers on board, aside from the flight crew. Plus there’s Louisa, captive in a cat carrier beneath my seat. She really didn’t appreciate being wrestled into a plastic box. If I hadn’t worn oven mitts for the task she would have scratched me to ribbons.
Another drop sends us closer to the earth. My empty stomach pitches. I regret shaking my head when a lunch tray was offered after takeoff. Angelo gobbled up his food and mine with the sloppy manners of a hog.
Digging through my purse in search of a snack only nets two sticks of spearmint gum. They taste like dusty sugar but chewing burns off some nervous energy as I push the window shade up several inches and watch the ground get closer.
Yesterday’s problems seem so quaint. All I needed to do was file for unemployment, update my life goals, feed my cat and eat birthday cupcakes in solitude.
Now I’m thousands of feet in the air aboard a private jet belonging to Mafia king Cassio Tempesta and dreading what comes next when we touch down in Wyoming.
Across the aisle, Angelo saws out another deafening snore. His mouth is hanging open and his seat is reclined all the way back. A half empty bottle of wine is cradled in the crook of his right arm with no crisis of conscience in sight.
Got to give him credit. Most people couldn’t pull off such serenity right before handing off their only sister to a horde of mobster brutes.
Perhaps ‘horde’ is the wrong word. I’m not sure how many men are required to make a horde. There are four Tempesta brothers so maybe horde-lite is more accurate. Still, four sounds very substantial when it refers to the number of men who will be competing for my hand in marriage.
When Angelo told me what it would take to save Gabe, I was initially stumped.
“What does that mean?” I asked, my ears still ringing with the sound of Gabriel’s sobbing. “How am I supposed to join the Tempesta family? Is Cassio Tempesta planning to adopt me?”
The question sounded absurd as soon as it left my mouth. A really horrible prospect crossed my mind, that I was being offered up to the fifty-something Tempesta patriarch himself.
Angelo was quick to clarify the situation.
By presenting a different but still horrible plan.
“You just need to marry one of his sons,” he said with a shrug, like we were mulling over dinner plans. “You can take your pick.”
I laughed. When Angelo didn’t join in the laughter, I had no choice but to quit laughing.
The Tempestas, anticipating that I’d immediately accept their offer of protection in order to avoid the agony of burying my twin brother, had already sent their private jet to Phoenix in order to collect me. Less than eighteen hours after I found Angelo sitting in my kitchen, I’m in Wyoming air space.
So far I’m afraid to ask how this will work. Should I expect a reality show setup where they’ll turn on phony charm and follow me around, pleading for a chance to win my hand?
