Page 4 of Trapped

I’d turn into a woman he liked—beautiful, willing, and in need of something only he could provide. Then I’d offer him the one thing he couldn’t resist:

Me.

TWO

SANTINO

Vitale shoved the man forward.

Joe caught himself on the back of the chair, wincing. His shirt was torn. His lip, busted. Blood dripped onto his chin. Pathetic.

I’d seen that before too many times. My father used to stumble through the front door after losing everything at the poker tables. He’d head straight for the bottle. The electricity bill would sit on the kitchen table, unpaid, while my mother cried in the bedroom.

The sound of the door slamming meant my father was home. I’d take my little brother, Kill, into the closet and hide while my oldest brother, Romeo, took the brunt of my father’s rage. When Dad sobered up, he’d promise the big score was around the corner. It never was.

This guy was another loser who thought he could talk his way out of a hole he’d dug himself into.

I watched Joe mop up his face. “You remind me of my father.”

Joe perked up. “Oh yeah?”

“That’s not a compliment.”

Joe said nothing. He shifted in his seat like he knew the noose was tightening.

I looked him over. “You know what your problem is? You think I’ll forget that you fucked up. Somehow, you’ll convince me that things will get better. This is just a rough patch. I’ve heard that before, Joe. I grew up listening to it.”

Joe swallowed hard, but I wasn’t done.

“My old man used to come home like you. Face fucked up. Disheveled clothes. Talking about how he’d almost won thousands of dollars. Always the same shit. You know where he ended up?”

Joe paled, his head shaking.

I leaned back again. “I’m not in the business of giving second chances. Make this right, or I’ll take everything.”

If I learned anything from my dad, it was to never bet on people who couldn’t pay their debts. This was my favorite part of the job. When it dawned on them that it didn’t matter, the game was over, and I held all the cards.

I didn’t have to raise my voice for this guy to sweat bullets. I broke men like him, and they still came back to kiss the ring. That’s what it meant to be Santino Costa.

“I just need ten more,” Joe begged. “I have an opportunity lined up. Luxury goods. Double the investment, I swear. Just give me a little more time.”

“What’s your backup plan when your deal goes sideways?”

He wiped blood off his cheeks. “It won’t.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I’ll—I’ll get it. I’ve never been late before, have I?”

”No, but I don’t trust people who bet on things they can’t control.”

His mouth opened and closed, but nothing came out. I watched him squirm, making sure he understood how thin the ice was beneath him.

“You want ten grand, fine,” I said after a long pause. “But it’ll cost you.”

He blinked. “How much?”

“Twenty points.”

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