Page 13 of Sinner's Vows

He stands, and I turn my face into my seat to ignore him, but then he leans over me.

“Come on.” He takes hold of my chin and forces me to look at him. He studies my eyes, checking how out of it I am. Then he lets go of me to casually slap me on the cheek a few times. “Snap out of it now. You have work to do.” He straightens and calls to the back. “Food and water for ourpiccola ragazza.”

Two of his henchmen are on the plane, and one comes over with a sandwich and a bottle of water. He uncaps the water, and I take it with a hand that seems to dumb for the task.

“What work?” Probably prostitution, and for that I don’t want to sober up at all. But I’m not dead yet, and my mouth is parched. Base needs first.

Franco nods to the henchman, and he brings a case over, perches it on my seat’s armrest, and opens the lid. Makeup. My gaze jumps over the array of brushes, containers filled with cottonwool and cotton buds and other essentials—it’s filled witheverything I need to transform someone—then snags on the beard prosthetic.

“Drink up,piccola ragazza, so you can sober up. Otherwise I’ll have to funnel it into your stomach.” Franco pulls out his phone and checks the time. “You have four hours.”

“And then?”

“And then you’re going to behave like my darling wife while we collect my fucking AWOL fiancée. Or else…”

Or else what? Death is hardly a threat anymore. Keeping me alive and doing what he’d done to me over the weeks in that dungeon is a far worse fate.

“Imagine arriving witha wifeon your arm to fetch your fiancée,” I joke, defiant. Something’s gone wrong with his plans for the Trapanis, and Franco has lost his cool and is on the warpath. There might be hope, after all. “Awkward, much?”

Franco grinds his jaw. “I’ve packed my kit. There’s a lot of you left, Ariana.”

My stomach turns, and I push down the bile by drinking all the water in one go. There’s no hope. Just this monster still on a mission to take me down.

I have so many questions, but respect for Gigi Trapani blooms in me—she’s given the maniac the slip and an up-yours in the process. Good for her. If only I can help her keep it that way. A pang of guilt blooms in me. I shouldn’t be helping the Italian Mafia and their offspring in any way, but a woman with Franco on her scent? Anytime.

Franco starts to strip. First his jacket then his shirt. I want to look away, but I’m mesmerized by those hands with the snake tattoos. Hands, unmarred at the time, that once touched me in places no fifteen-year-old is ready for. Franco had said it was in preparation for the work Randazzo had lined up for me. After that night, I’d known my only option was to run. No man has ever touched me again.

My gaze drops to his chest. Franco’s tastes have evolved, and so has the man. He was already into tattoos back then, but nothing like this. He’s covered, and my job is probably to hide it all. I stare into the case and reach for the full-coverage concealer and the biggest brush there is. I’ll have to mix and blend it, and that’s going to take time. At least that’s doable with my head seeming to float separate from my body as it’s doing right now. Anything more complicated, I’d mess up.

Three hours later, I have a blistering headache, and I can’t drink enough water, thirst constantly scratching my throat. But I’m done, and through the ritual of applying makeup, I’ve claimed back my inner calm. The bearded man in front of me looks so different from Franco, even I buy into it. He looks like some American country star, cowboy boots and all.

“Dress the part, darling,” he says as the henchman tosses a plastic bag filled with clothes by my feet. “And do it here.”

I’m used to this. Since being taken out of the dungeon, I’ve been afforded zero privacy. Even when I showered or used the washroom, someone was always right there, watching me. I don’t question anything. I still have no idea where we’re going, but this flight has been long, and once the morning dawned, the small oval window gave glimpses over the ocean. America? That’s all I can think of…and that I’m screwed. Dead in a country where I don’t belong. I’d be a body they’d never be able to identify,ifthey find me. No chance in hell my team will be looking for me anywhere but in Italy.

Apparently, we’re landing in forty minutes. I strip, overly aware of every pair of eyes on me, how pale and sickly my skin must look, and how fragile I’ve become in just weeks. My hands skim my ribcage which is mere skin on bones now. Parts of me seem to have died, every want and need and desire, everything except this desperation to stay alive at all costs. Screw human nature and the need to survive.

I’m going through the motions because I have no choice. The denim miniskirt and tank top sit loose even though I’ve been eating everything that came my way. A white denim jacket and cowboy boots round off my outfit. The henchman hands me a brush, and I drag it through my hair.

“Good enough?” I venture, no longer daring to poke at Franco’s mood. He seems to hang over the precipice of something here, probably his sanity.

“Color in your face,” he snarls. “Do you think I’ll walk around with someone who looks like this?”

I haven’t looked at myself in the mirror. Not if I can help it. Obediently, I dig through the makeup box and take twenty minutes to hide the dark circles under my eyes and do the best I can to look like some dolled-up version of someone on death row. It’s sickening.

“Just so you understand what’s happening next,cara,” Franco says as we’re strapping in to land. “I know who you work for. I have names, addresses, family connections, everything. One wrong move on your side, and triggers start pulling all over Europe.”

Of course he does. Why am I not surprised? He found me with such ease, I bet he has a list of agents all over Europe. They might not be connected to me, or even to Randazzo’s case, but for Franco, we’re just no-name bodies in a much bigger war.

“Do you understand, Ariana?”

I could claw his eyes out, but then he just reaches for my hand and wraps his fingers around mine.

“I’d hate for anything to happen to Pietro Garlini’s twin girls, don’t you agree?”

The casual way in which he throws my team lead’s name out there sends chills down my spine. How much intel does he really have? How did he manage to dig so deep into our operations to knowthis?

“You know what they say,piccolo ragazza. Keep your friends close but keep your enemies closer. You know better than to underestimate me.”

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