2
Penelope
Santiago gets outof the car, and the journey continues for hours. There's no food or water, and I didn't come prepared. Millie cries from hunger, and the few small items I keep in my purse for emergencies go quickly. She wets her pants and sobs, but there's nothing I can do besides hold her and assure her everything will be okay.
But I don't know if it will.
We cling to each other. I try to keep calm so she isn't scared, but my insides never stop shaking. She finally cries herself to sleep.
It's dark when we finally stop, the sun having set a long time ago. The outline of a compound shines under the full moon. The car door flies open.
"Get out," Santiago orders.
I step out with Millie in my arms.
He says nothing else and walks into the house. His driver grips my elbow and leads me inside. Like Santiago, it's intimidating.
The ceiling feels as if it reaches to the sky. Black curtains, white marble floors, and a grand staircase with thick black spindles looms at the entrance.
The driver steers us into a den area where Santiago is waiting. The room is similar in design and color to the entryway, with the addition of blood-red accents. Black leather furniture and a dark wooden desk adorn the room.
"Millie needs food and water," I say the moment I see Santiago. "It's been hours. And I need fresh clothes for her. She wet herself in the car."
"We keep ourselves clean in this house."
"My daughter is always clean. It's not her fault you subjected her to hours trapped in a car," I cry out.
Millie stirs from my harsh-sounding words and cries into my neck.
Santiago steps forward. He controls his voice, but all I see is the devil in his eyes. "You don't speak to me in that tone. Do you understand?"
I stick my chin out in defiance but soften my delivery. "My daughter hasn't eaten this morning. We were supposed to have blood tests for her physical. She's fully potty-trained and doesn't have issues unless she's scared or not taken to the restroom. I need to feed and change her. Please."
He scans both of us, taking several moments, which creates further chills in my bones.
"Please," I beg again. "Surely you aren't heartless when it comes to a child?"
Santiago's lips turn up slightly. "Do you think I care about your daughter?"
Fear demolishes my nerves. "I'll tell you whatever you want to know. But my daughter needs to be taken care of. You have children. Please."
He scoffs. "I slaughtered my father in the room next door, in front of our entire family. All our men were there. You underestimate me. There's no heart full of emotion beating in my chest. It only pumps blood through my veins to keep me alive."
Terror, as I've never felt, annihilates me. Against my will, tears fall.
He drags his finger over my cheek and smears them in a circle and across my trembling lips. "You will become presentable. Then we will talk." He steps back and orders the driver, "Take them to the room."
"What?" I gasp, afraid of what is happening. "Please. My daughter needs something to eat and water."
Santiago sits at his desk as his thug practically drags me out and through the house and into a bedroom. He shoves me in it and immediately bolts the door.
The room has bare white walls, no windows, a bed, and a full bathroom stocked with shampoo, conditioner, soap, and shaving cream. Toothbrushes and toothpaste for Millie and me sit on the counter, along with mouthwash.
A walk-in closet is full of designer gowns, cocktail dresses, and expensive shoes in my size. Fancy clothes in Millie's size hang next to mine.
They planned for both of us to be here.
Why do I only have clothes for events?