Page 7 of Sinner's Vows

My breathing falters. But Randazzo is dead. Or isn’t he?

This is Franco’s subtle way of telling me I’m dead, too. With the way things have been going, this is hardly news.

“Come now,piccola ragazza. Let’s make this easy. You should be glad I came for you. Imagine what they’ll do to you once they’ve figured you out.”

I close my eyes, fear over which I have zero control, sparked by this man, rippling to every last cell in my body. Franco Fiore is the most sadistic human I’ve ever known…and he’s come for me. None of the simulations I’ve worked through had him as my tormentor. Now all the preparations I’ve gone through to go undercover seem like a joke.

This is going to be real.

As real as what is going to happen to these women tonight. As real as what happened twelve years ago.

And I’ve done nothing to stop it.

We were wasting precious time. And now…

Fuck this.

I’m not dead until I’m dead.

I’ve been trained. I can get out of here. Mind over matter. With a nod and a deep breath, I steel myself. I can still fight, but timing is everything.

Franco’s hand circles my elbow, his callouses scratching, the scent of stale cigarette smoke clinging to his flesh like sweat.

“That’s it, baby girl, follow my instructions,” he murmurs, his voice silk that seems to flow into me, coiling and twisting me into a knot of fear no training could have prepared me for. He used those words on me before, in that exact tone?—

He can’t hurt you in that way. Nothing he could do could be worse than the first time.

My mind races, taking everything in, trying to find an escape as we walk the endless corridors of this hellscape. Eventually, we scale the stairs to the ground floor and reach an exit.

Franco firms his grip on my arm as we step into the night. Our footsteps crunch on the gravel, and behind me, his bodyguards keep close. We’re at the back of the building which, from the outside, looks like a deserted farmhouse and barn, so off-grid, there’s nothing for miles. The stars are luminous, uncountable in a clear sky.

It’s now or never.

I go for his waist, wanting to position my legs to force him to go down, but Franco anticipated this and blocks me with his shoulder and an elbow in the gut with such force, I stumble. His fist connects with my jaw, whipping my head back. God. He is tall and built. He must weigh twice my body weight.

“She fights back now?” he says with a smirk I want to wipe off his face. “You should know better, little girl. Remember how it went last time?”

I remember every second of that night.

His bodyguards watch idly as I try to take on the man who still haunts me. I go for him, screaming my rage, but he backhand slaps me hard and grabs me by the hair as he kicks my legs from underneath me. I hit the gravel, and then he is on top of me, his body pressing me into the ground in the same position from so many moons ago.

“Oh, Ariana, isn’t this a fond memory?” he whispers close to my ear as he grinds my face into the sand.

His weight squeezes the air out of my lungs, and my stubborn arrogance around everything that happened with Franco Fiore years ago turns into dust.

“Fuck you.” I bite out.

He only laughs as he shifts to tie my arms and legs. With brutal force, he turns me on my back. He caresses my cheek, running a thumb over the prosthetic.

“You’re a clever little one, Ariana, but not clever enough.” He finds the edge of the prosthetic, works it loose for a stretch, and rips it off in one go.

“Fuck!” I yelp as pain sears my skin.

“Open wide,” he says as he squeezes my jaw. My skin burns, and even if I could bite those fingers, he’s too fast. He shoves the prosthetic into my mouth as a gag. “Tasty shit, isn’t it?”

It’s all chemical and oily with a weird placating scent that comes with cosmetics. I’d take it any day over the number of other things he could shove into my mouth. Soon, I’m dropped into a car’s trunk, and we’re on the dirt road, my body bouncing along with each bump and pothole.

When we slip onto smoother tar and the car speeds up, I lose all sense of space and time. Eventually, the car stops, and the engine switches off. Right on cue, my pulse races and pounds in my temple. This could be it.

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