Heat flushes my cheeks and I look away, hugging the blanket tighter.
But he takes my jaw in his hand and turns my head so I’m looking at him again.
His eyes narrow but it’s not a malicious, calculated thing. I think he’s just really looking at me. And I’m hyper aware of what I must look like.
“Watch your mouth, understand?”
I want to say yes. I want to nod my head. Be agreeable. Because something about him scares me. Even now, even when he’s calm, and when he smiles like this, almost kindly.
Because he’s not kind. I know that.
“Do you understand, Gabriela?” he asks again.
I swallow, feel how his hold tightens just a little.
“This is where you answer yes. Or yes sir, if you prefer,” he suggests.
“How about go fuck yourself instead?” I offer.
There’s that smile again, and I force one corner of my mouth upward too. Inside my chest, my heart is racing.
“Ah, Gabriela,” he says, showing all his teeth now. “You will make this interesting.”
An instant later, his grip shifts to my hair and he shoves me face down onto the bed and smacks my ass so hard, I’m not sure what’s worse, the sting or the fact that he just did that.
He draws me back up to a seat and this time, his hand in my hair is a fist. And I see the thin veneer of his composure as he tugs my head backward, so it hurts my neck to look at him.
“You’re hurting—”
“Do. You. Understand?”
“Yes!” I cry out, tears filling my eyes from my hair being pulled so hard, from the humiliation of what he just did. From my stinging butt cheek.
“Good.”
He releases me and stands.
I immediately massage my scalp with one hand while with the other, I wipe at a stray tear.
“Your bags?” he asks, all calm and collected again.
I shake my head because I can’t speak. My throat has closed up with the effort of swallowing down my tears because yes, this is for fucking real. And this man, he’s not someone to be toyed with. He’s not the pathetic boy Charles McKinney is. He’s not even like that buffoon, John.
“What does that mean? You’re unprepared? I told you to be ready early.”
“It’s still night.” I sound like an idiot, but it’s all I can think to say.
“I’ll give you that. Five minutes then.” He walks to the door. Opens it. “Car’s waiting to take you to the airport.”
“Where’s my father?” God. Fuck. Is this so bad that I’m asking for my father? What is wrong with me?
He turns, cocks his head to the side. “Daddy can’t help you now, Princess. Five minutes.”
5
Gabriela
I shove whatever I can into my duffel bag, feel for the cash and fake passport sewn into the lining. At least they’re still there. John didn’t find those. But maybe he didn’t bother to look considering this impromptu change of plans.
Just before I walk out of my room, I glance back at the pistol my father left and, without overthinking it, I pack that too and am out of my room in five minutes.
But it’s not Stefan waiting for me downstairs. It’s two of his men, neither of whom introduce themselves.
John stands nearby watching.
“Where’s my father?” I ask him.
“Meeting,” he says.
“At this hour?”
He only nods once, and I don’t know why I feel hurt that my dad’s not here. That he won’t see me off. See me taken.
One of the two men clears his throat and gestures for me to walk outside. I do and an SUV, probably one of the two from last night, is idling.
The man opens the back door for me and takes my duffel as I climb in. I’m surprised when they sit on either side of me on the drive to the airport, like they think I might try to jump out of a moving vehicle.
My father must have given them my passport. We’re ushered quickly through security to our gate and onto the plane. Once again they sit on either side of me in our first-class seats to Italy.
I hate flying. I’ve always hated it even as a kid, and in these circumstances, it’s worse.
The only time they talk to me is when they ask if I need to use the bathroom or if I’m hungry and I’m not surprised when I get up to use the bathroom and one of them follows me.
The flight connects through Rome and it’s almost fourteen hours later when we arrive in Palermo. It’s the height of summer and if I thought New York was hot, it’s absolutely steaming here.
But I’m not outside for long as a car pulls up almost as soon as we set foot outside of the airport. This time, I’m not sandwiched between the men and sit by the window in the backseat to take in the view as we drive to our destination.
It’s another forty minutes by the time we turn onto a private road a little outside Palermo proper. A mile in, large gates and a thick wall tell me we’ve arrived at what I want to call the Sabbioni compound because that’s what this is. A highly secure compound.
Our driver greets one of the men at the gate and the striking difference between these men and those at my father’s house is that they have large automatic rifles slung over their shoulders. My father’s men are a little more subtle, though, I’m sure, no less deadly.
They’re all smoking, and I see the curious peering eyes of the men as they get a look at me through the open front window. The back windows are tinted black.
I push the button to open the window but it’s locked.
“Can you unlock my window?” I ask. “Please,” I add for good measure.
The driver glances in the rear-view mirror and the one beside me tells him in Italian to unlock the windows.
Although I speak Italian, I’m out of practice. But I do understand almost everything.
I push the button to lower my window to inhale a warm, salty breeze and catch glimpses of the blue sea in the distance.
My father still brings us to Italy at least twice a year, but I’ve never been this far south.
It’s another few minutes until the house comes into view.
Well, house is an understatement.
I guess I expected some sort of prison with barred windows. That’s not what this is. Not even close.
This is probably one of the most elegant houses I’ve ever seen. It’s big, but it’s somehow not pretentious. With the blue backdrop of sea and sky, the impeccable white of the exterior seems brighter. Columns that support a balcony stand perfectly spaced, two of six framing the large carved wooden front doors. The windows on both floors are large, the shutters nailed back, everything in pristine condition with a chimney on either end of the house.
As the SUV comes to a stop, I can already see from here that the back of the house must have spectacular views of the sea.
The men who rode with me climb out and two of them light cigarettes the instant they’re outside. I wonder if Stefan doesn’t allow them to smoke inside the car.
I go to open my door just as the third man reaches for the handle and pulls it wide.
I slide out and look up in awe at the bright sun, the beautiful house.
Two armed men stand at the front door and when those doors open, I’m surprised to see an older woman emerge. I know immediately she runs the house from the way she snaps at the smoking men who quickly put their cigarettes out. It’s almost funny.