“Whatever you need, Dad.” And that’s the truth. I would do anything for my family. You don’t get to where we are by not remaining loyal to those in your circle.
“Grazie, my boy.”
After lunch is over, we all go our separate ways. Cecilia asks if I want to take a cab back with her, but I have other things to take care of, so I tell her I’ll see her back at the club later.
Half an hour later, I’m standing in the senator’s office requesting to speak with him.
“I’m sorry, Sir. He’s not seeing anyone without an appointment,” his secretary says.
I smile and give her a wink. “Let him know Giovanni Valentino is here to see him. He will make the exception.”
She picks up the phone and calls her boss. After a bunch of “yes sirs,” she puts the phone down, and giving me a pointed look, huffs out, “He will be with you momentarily.”
I smile and walk toward the sitting area. There are several pictures along the walls. A couple of the senator at ribbon ceremonies, one of him shaking an old President’s hand. The last one looks like a family picture at a charity event. There are two women with Weston. The woman on his right is beaming brightly, but it looks fake as hell. She’s pretty for an older woman. She’s clearly younger than Weston but older than the other woman in the picture, who is standing on Weston’s other side. This girl is a mini-version of the older woman. She has chocolate brown hair, olive skin, and bright bluish-green eyes. She must be her daughter.
“Such a shame.” I turn to face the secretary to give her my attention. “His wife. She was killed in a car accident…well geez, it must have been almost nine months ago. Time sure flies.” She frowns.
“The girl in the picture? Is that their daughter?” I point to the one I was just examining.
“That’s his stepdaughter. I guess it’s a shame about her as well. After her mom died, she dropped out of college at the end of her sophomore year and took off.” Hmm… guess she’s not missing.
“Thank you, Margaret.” Weston’s voice is clipped. Cold. Not like a man who lost his wife tragically and it hurts to hear about her. More like a man who is hiding something. I tilt my head just a tad and give him a knowing smirk. I see you, Weston Hightower. Game on. Extending my hand, I go in for a shake just to fuck with him. He takes my hand in his, his fingers bandaged.
“What happened to your hand, Senator? Looks bad.” He pulls his hand back without answering my question and mutters to his secretary to hold all his calls.
The office door closes behind us and I cut right to the chase. “I haven’t heard from you. I’m assuming you are busy collecting my money from God knows where.”
“I need some more time. Give me two months.”
“You have two weeks to pay me in full. I want a percentage now, though.”
His one good hand balls into a fist at his side. He’s used to being the one in charge and he’s holding back from going off on me. He stalks to his desk and opens the safe hidden underneath, taking out a stack of bills. “This is all I have right now.”
I take the two stacks of wrapped hundreds and place one into each of the inside of my jacket pockets. “I’ll take this, for now. But you owe me the rest in the next two weeks. Don’t make me have to look for you, Hightower.”
He grimaces but keeps his mouth closed. Wise choice, Senator.
Chapter Four
ARIA
There’s shouting upstairs. I should care, but I don’t. Nothing matters anymore besides taking the drugs that numb me. I can’t even tell you how long I have been down in this pit of hell, but it’s been long enough that I have been trained like Pavlov’s dog to drool over the goods. Popping those pills means temporarily numbing the pain and shame I feel. It means forgetting I’m in a basement with no way out. That I’m being held hostage by my mom’s ex-husband, who has lost his damn mind. It means I don’t have to remember my mom is dead. That my life will never be the same.
I’m due for a fix, but instead of Derek coming downstairs, he’s arguing with Weston. My body is freezing. I’m shivering and I need some damn pills or powder. My head is pounding and my thoughts are running wild and loud. I need something to dim them, to shut them up. I can feel an anxiety attack coming on. Grabbing the thin blanket that doubles as a fitted sheet, I wrap it around me, trying to warm myself up, trying to find comfort.
It’s not working.
More shouting.
Can’t they argue later? Like after Derek brings me the damn drugs? I mean, seriously, it would take two minutes to come down here, hand me the pills, and walk back upstairs.
The shouting stops.
The door to the basement swings open and I sit up like Pavlov’s dog with my hands out, mouth dry, waiting for the drugs to numb me once again.
It’s not Derek. It’s Weston. Just great.
“Get on your fucking knees!” He barks out orders before he even makes it all the way down the steps. I want to argue and beg for my fix, but it’ll do no good. If anything, he’ll just withhold the drugs to torture me. I drop to my knees, close my eyes, and wait for whatever he has in store for me this time. Since I’ve been here, it seems Weston comes down once every few weeks, but recently he’s been coming down more often.
I can’t see him with my eyes closed, but I know when he’s in front of me because his hands fist my hair. I try to think about something else—finding my escape, grasping at every fond memory that still lingers.
My mom, our visits to the Hoover Dam, our hiking trips in Red Rock Canyon. I focus on my good memories instead of what’s happening to me in this moment, what he’s forcing me to do. The pictures I used to take of the scenery during our hikes. How my mom used to stop at various locations and insist I take selfies of us. I swear she did it just to drive me nuts.
“People ruin the photos,” I used to tell her. She would laugh and tell me I was wrong, it’s the people who make them. I try to hold on to the memories, cling to them like they’re my lifeline, but they’re getting harder to recall.
Those happy memories melt away like a skillet full of bright crayons all mixing together to make something black and ugly. It matches my heart. I’m decaying and lost.
He grunts, and I shudder away the last of the color in my world.
“Up.” He’s finished with me and forces me to stand. I open my eyes to see Weston tucking himself back in his pants. “I have company tonight and you’re going to entertain them. You understand?” He asks like I really have a choice. It’s not often he forces me to have sex with other, but when he does, he usually drugs me up first with the good stuff. While I hate that I’ve become dependent on drugs, I prefer it that way.
“I…” I close my mouth quickly. I almost slipped.
“You what?” Weston glares at me. “You what?” Smack! His palm strikes me across my cheek.
“I need drugs… please,” I beg.
“You need drugs?” He looks at me incredulously. “You need drugs?” Now he’s laughing humorlessly. “You don’t need shit. I tell you when you need something. And if you ask again, I’ll make you wait even longer. Tonight, you’ll be sober. You’ll entertain these men, and every time you feel them inside of you, you’ll remember what a whore you are.” He grabs my face with his hand and squeezes my cheeks. “And if you speak one single word, I will tear you apart after they leave.”