Page 16 of The Bonventi Hitman
Enzo ends the call before I can respond.
I toss the phone aside and press harder on the gas. My knuckles whiten against the steering wheel as I think of Luca's hands on her, touching what should be mine. The engine roars as I weave through empty streets, trying to outrun thoughts of her. Of how she's probably with Luca right now. Of how damn wrong that feels.
Focus on work. On the coming war. On anything but her.
But even as my car tears through the night, I know it's useless. Sofia's already under my skin, and sooner or later, I'll have to do something about it. Taking her from Luca might start another battle, but I don't give a fuck what it costs. I've never been good at denying myself what I want.
For now, though, I have a war to prepare for.
ANNA - 7
Isit by the window, watching Chicago's lights blur together in a haze of neon and shadow. I've stared at them so much that individual buildings no longer exist.
It's in these quiet moments, when I'm finally alone, that I allow myself to be vulnerable. It's been four days since Bill was murdered before my eyes, and the wound still feels raw. His absence is a gaping hole, a constant reminder of the sacrifices we make in this line of work. The fucked-up thing is, we put ourselves in these positions voluntarily because we hope we'll make a difference.
My gaze drifts from the window to take in this once-lavish suite. I say once-lavish because the Starlight has become a cage that serves as my prison.
Now, I find myself playing the role of Luca's mistress, a position that makes my skin crawl with every passing moment. The fucking slimy potbellied asshole thinks he owns me. Every time his hands touch me, I want to throw up, but I have no choice but to play along. For now.
I turn to the five designer boxes scattered across the couch. More presents from Luca. He plans on taking me out for dinner to apologize.
One thing I've learned about Luca Romano is that he likes to drink, a lot. After dodging his advances on my first full day here, he stormed off only to return that night in a drunken rage.
"You're mine, you bitch. I'll fuck you whether you like it or not. Your body, your pussy, it's mine."
I reacted without thinking and slapped him. He didn't like that – I suppose, who would? He pinned me against the wall and, while choking me, tore off all my clothes. He thought I'd submit, and maybe, since he's a man who could kill me and get away with it, I should have, but I didn't.
I fought him naked in the hallway with everything I had. The last thing I remember was his fist hitting my face.
When I woke, I was on the bed, dressed in a robe, with a bag of ice on my head. The hotel doctor, someone I'm sure is in debt to the Bonventis, was standing over me.
He told me I took a nasty fall while Luca apologized over and over. When they finally left, I went to look in the mirror – didn't know you could slip and fall and wake up with a black eye and busted lip.
Now that my makeup can hide the damage, Luca wants to "take me out on the town."
Little does he know makeup can never hide the important things.
I walk over and examine the dresses. If I play my cards right, I can leverage tonight into getting some alone time outside this damn hotel.
I haven't been able to contact the FBI, and I need to. I'm winging too much shit to be strategic, and I need backup.
I decide on the red dress and walk into the main bathroom to get ready.
As I apply my makeup, my face stings where Luca’s fists landed. As I press more delicately to conceal the bruising, flashbacks of my first night here flood in – standing in this same spot, trying to get Bill's blood out of my dress.
I think of Gabriel, the bastard who brought me here to become Luca's captive. He should have just left me.
Why did he take me?
The question haunts me, and it's something I need to know the answer to.
I hear the front door unlock and know it's Luca. Through the mirror, I watch him enter the bedroom. He sits on the bed, the stench of stale cigarettes filling my nose.
"Whenever you're ready," he says.
I don't respond.
My blood rises. The fucking nerve to just say that to me after what he did.
