Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
“You’re in the back of one of the Rossi family cars,” he says. I can’t see him, it’s so dark in here, with hardly any lights on the road ahead of us.
“And who are you?”
He doesn’t respond at first, just keeps driving like he’s hiding something from me. This can’t be the man I am supposed to marry, I reason. Men like him have drivers and servants and plenty of people to do their dirty work.
“What happened?”
“You crashed.”
We crashed. Probably harder than we planned on or expected.
I don’t reply, waiting for him to give me more answers, but he doesn’t.
“And everyone’s okay?”
He doesn’t respond at first, but when he does it seems reluctant.
My phone. I was texting Elise. If anyone sees it, reads the texts, pretends they’re me... I have to get out of here.
The car’s roomy and luxurious but feels like a small prison on wheels as he careens forward.
“Where are we going now?”
Again, a pause before he answers. “I’m taking you to your husband.”
My husband. My husband! I have to divert him, need to stall.
“I think you have to take me to a hospital first.” Not that it’ll be a cakewalk, but I have to find a way to escape without them knowing. And then it dawns on me.
God.
I can’t just escape now, though, because if it looks like I escaped, Elise will pay. I was supposed to be abducted or hurt or something. This is a total shitshow.
I need to get in touch with Elise.
“Where’s my phone?”
“I have no idea. Don’t worry, we’ll get you a new one.”
And if they read my texts…
My mind races, but it’s hard to connect thoughts when I’m so nervous about being found out, still injured from the crash. My mind feels jumbled and muddied, like a murky swamp after a hard rain.
“My contacts, though.”
“They’ll sync. We’ll get a good one.” We’ll. Like this is all a nice family affair.
I know nothing about tech things, so I guess that’s true but that’s also not my concern.
I close my eyes and lean back against the seat, and for the first time since we heard about all this, I wonder… what would happen if I married him? The stranger?
I remember what Piero said about them. I imagine what they’re like, bug-eyed monsters with rotting teeth. When I first figured out who Elise’s family was, I did a deep dive down YouTube, watching everything I could about mafia life. Some of it seemed pretty normal, and the rest absolutely terrified me. There was this one guy with these eyes that looked empty and cold. I had nightmares about him coming for me for years.
Is it safer for Elise if I stay? Or safer for her if I flee?
I don’t know. Oh, God, I don’t know.
I never planned on actually staying, on actually marrying the guy.
But when we stop for traffic, I realize that I don’t really have a choice.
In the light of the overhead streetlamps, I can see the huge shoulders of the man driving, his large height and girth, and he’s focused totally on me. I can’t just up and leave. A guy like him would probably follow me.
“Do you know my husband?”
“I do.” Is that my imagination, or is he laughing to himself? Like this is a laughing matter?
I'm not going to ask him what he's like. I'm not gonna talk to him at all if he's going to laugh at me when I'm injured and being brought all the way here for…whatever's going to happen next.
We're in Boston, that much is clear. The traffic’s congested, but the city excites me. There’s a man playing a banjo on a street corner, small clusters of people dressed in designer clothes, high-heeled boots, wrapped in thick woolen scarves. It’s a cool spring evening here in New England, and it looks as if most of the trees are starting to bud. I can’t help but wonder if it symbolizes my future. Again, with the poet’s mind. I can’t help myself, I guess.
A frantic thought keeps pounding in my mind. I have to get away. I have to.
I look at the lock on the car door, and then almost shake my head to myself, but I don’t want the driver to see. I can’t just flop out of the car like a tumbleweed. I feel so desperate, though, as if I want to claw my own skin to get out of here. I don’t know how to make this happen so that Elise doesn’t get in trouble. I don’t know how to make this happen so that I uphold my end of the bargain.
We’re coming into an intersection with cars on every street. We crawl at a snail’s pace because there’s so much traffic, probably going two or three miles an hour at most.
“How’s your head?” His voice is a deep rumble, almost a challenge, as if he’s defying me to actually be hurt. I’m not going to buckle.