Page 5 of Ruined

“Get up,” he orders.

I rise to my feet.

“Look at me.”

My eyes shift to his obediently. My ass is throbbing with pain, but I am alive and that is more than I could have hoped for, given my situation.

He seems pleased, nodding slightly as if he has confirmed something inwardly.

“You’re going to be such a good girl for me, aren’t you.”

I bite my lower lip. I know he wants me to say yes, so that’s what I say.

“Yes.”

I say it softly and huskily, and I say it with even a little conviction, because I know Angelo Vitali could make me a good anything for him.

3

Angelo leads me deeper into his house. I feel as though I am being digested by the elegant walls. There is no decor in the traditional sense. No pictures. No portraits. It should feel empty, but it doesn’t because I am in Angelo’s company, and he could fill a stadium with the force of his personality.

He opens the door to a room without a window. There is a bed on a simple iron frame and nothing else. It is a room designed to keep a person like an animal. Worse than a cell, because there is no toilet, and no mandatory light filtering in.

“You will not be comfortable here,” he says. “You will not be safe. But you will be kept.”

With that, he guides me into the room, his hand on the small of my back, and closes the door behind me. I hear the unmistakeable sound of a lock being clicked into the closed position.

I have lived my life in service of the law, and now I find myself imprisoned. Fate, it seems, really loves irony.

I sit down on the bed, but immediately bounce back up again as pain flashes through my system. The cane has left its mark on me, and I will be feeling Angelo’s lashes for a long time to come. I am sure this is just a preamble to a much more intense and lengthy session of pain. He will want to take me apart. He will want to find my weaknesses and exploit them. He will want to revel in my pain.

In this dim room with no creature comforts, I am left to consider my position. I know that I will eventually be noticed as missing, but perhaps not right away. This was not an officially sanctioned mission. This was something I had taken on myself, in an effort to gather intel on one of the country’s most fascinating and enigmatic organized criminals. Angelo doesn’t know it yet, but I am on my own.

* * *

“What the fuck is going on?” Suddenly, I hear Bobby’s voice, raised in frustration. He must have come looking for Angelo, trying to pick a fight. I can hear the aggression in his voice, but confusion as well. He really doesn’t understand why I am here.

Angelo takes prisoners more often than the average criminal. He likes to exert dominance over his environment, and he enjoys the process of breaking people down. He is truly a connoisseur of control.

“What do you mean, boy?”

“Why is she here, in the house? You want us invaded? You bored? That it? You want to pick another fight with the government?”

Bobby is practically lecturing Angelo, which is interesting to hear. I never thought Bobby was capable of rational thought or concern. My impression of him was that of a tamed beast just barely kept on Angelo’s leash. But right now he sounds worried. He sounds like a true partner worried about what is being brought down on their house.

This is my first indication that Bobby is not the stupid animal previous surveillance has made him out to be. For the first time since my capture, in the darkness of this room, I am aware that I have a perspective no other person has ever had on what is referred to as the House of Vitali.

I know that I will suffer here. Angelo will keep me in darkness. He will deny me human necessities. He will make himself my world. But I will see him more clearly than I ever imagined I would. This was never my plan, but perhaps it should have been.

“Why are you keeping this one? We’ve killed dozens of these agents. Why is she different?”

“Do I owe you an explanation now, boy?”

“No. Yes. If you want to torture some Fed, I don’t care. If you want to bring some woman into our home and fuck her… that’s weird, but whatever. But I don’t know what the fuck you’re doing with her.”

“I was going to kill her,” Angelo says, his voice softening into explanation. It sends a chill through me as he quite casually describes what might have been my death. “When I saw her, I intended on snapping her neck. Then she fought back. She’s strong. She’s small, but she’s… there’s an energy you feel when a dog bites you, or a man hits you. It’s not just the bite or the punch. There is energy transmitted with that aggression. It’s usually simple and base. But, boy, when she hit me, I felt something special. I felt a unique charge. There is something to be made out of that one. Something to be unleashed, and then collared, something to be caged and then set free.”

“I fucking hate it when you talk in poetry,” Bobby growls. “You called her a boy too. Why?”

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