Page 32

Bella

They put me in a bedroom on the third floor and locked the thick wooden doors when they left.

The room smells musty like it hasn’t been used in a long time, but also like furniture cleaner as though it was recently scrubbed clean.

The decor looks like something Dante’s great-grandmother might have bought new.

Or brought over from the old country. There’s a canopy bed with yellowed, lace lined bedding covering it.

The walnut-colored furniture is gleaming and looks like it’s never been used.

There are also crystal vases everywhere, none filled with flowers.

There’s no tree hanging close to the windows and they’re much too high up for me to jump down. But I am considering it.

At least it’s not a dank basement. At least I’m not chained up. At least…

None of those positives do a damn thing to make me feel any better about this. The truth is, rooms like this are the stuff of my worst nightmares from a time when I thought I’d have to spend my life in a forced, loveless marriage to a mafia don just because my father had full control over me.

I’d forgotten those nightmares as I left that world behind. New ones came up. And now this one is back too.

My throat hurts from all the yelling I did, blood is still pumping through my veins, but it’s slowing, leaving behind that eerie, pulsing calmness which is fake, because I’m in no way safe here. But it’s making me sleepy anyway.

What does Dante want from me?

And how do I give it to him so he’ll let Blade go?

Those questions are looping on repeat in my brain and they will drive me insane. Because they have no answers. Or more like, there is no answer to the second one, the most important one.

I’ve just been standing by the window, watching the sun rise and arguing with that terrible certainty for what feels like my whole life.

The lock clicks and the door slides open, creaking like the hinges are about to give way. Stupid, fake hope that I’m being freed wells up in my chest.

But it’s just Dante, holding a crystal glass filled with amber liquid and the butt of an extinguished cigar. His shirt is unbuttoned, revealing his hairy chest and the revulsion I always felt for the guy grows by a couple more degrees.

“Doesn’t it bother you that you have me here when you know I don’t want you at all?” I ask.

“Sure, it bothers me.” He cocks a grin as he walks towards me. “It bothers me that you rejected me the way you did. That bothers me a lot.”

I hate the way he speaks. Hate everything about him.

“And now you want me to pay?” I ask. “I was never yours to begin with and I never will be. Just so you know.”

“You were mine. I gave you a ring. But noted.” He places his glass on the windowsill and looks out. I wonder if I could snatch the glass, break it and then use the broken shards to kill him. One of the many crystal vases would probably work better for that.

“So what am I doing here?”

I was afraid he’d come in here to rape me, but he doesn’t even seem interested in touching me. And he looks very tired.

“I’m claiming what was promised me,” he says and turns to me, pure black hate in his eyes.

The kind that knows no passion, let alone love.

I wondered how the great-grandmother who furnished this room felt about the lovelessness in this family.

“But not for myself. You’re spoiled, used up and washed up.

I’m giving you to The Butcher, he goes through wives fast and he’ll see it as a special honor that I’m gifting my once intended to him. ”

Some other Bella heard everything after he mentioned The Butcher.

I don’t know his given name, but his nickname is one I’d heard often enough.

He didn’t get it because he sells meat. He got it because he turns men into meat.

And has been known to take a bite of his enemies here and there.

That’s how my brother Ricardo told me the story when I was twelve.

He went into so much detail I cried. But I am not that scared little girl anymore.

“Fine,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. “But let Blade go. He’s got nothing to do with this. It’s between us.”

“So brave,” he says, eyeing me sideways. “You know how The Butcher got his name?”

“Yeah, I know all about that,” I say. “He better hope I don’t turn him into meat though. This is not a nice gift you’re giving him.”

That makes him laugh outright. It almost sounds nice. “Such fire. I would’ve liked you.”

Then his face turns stone cold serious. “But you’re just talk. All you Rovinas are. Lots of loud words, nothing to back it up. The Butcher will like you just fine. You just won’t like him.”

He picks up his glass, finishes his drink and heads for the door.

“What about Blade?” I ask. “What do you want from him?”

He turns. “Oh, don’t worry about him. He’s already as good as dead. They’ll just keep him alive long enough so they can send him back to his MC in little pieces.”

“What? Who?” I rush after him, but by the time I reach the door it’s already locked again.

Doesn’t stop me from banging on it, demanding, pleading and just plain screaming for him to let Blade go. It does absolutely no good.

I should’ve gone with plan A and tried to kill him with a broken crystal vase. Because doomed to failure as it probably was, it was still the best plan I had.