Page 101 of Possessive Mafia Vows

I watch the puzzle slotting together before my eyes. All the pieces were there, I just didn’t look hard enough for them, because I was afraid of what I might find. I knew what he did to my mom, but I still gave him the benefit of the doubt, I still believed that people are not born with evil in their hearts.

I was wrong.

It’s this realization that causes me to sit back down.

“You were never interested in putting things right,” I say dully.

“Don’t sound so disappointed, sweetheart. You never reached out to me. It works both ways, you know.”

Something snaps inside me. “I wasn’t the one who tried to kill Mom.”

“I never tried to kill her, sweetheart. If that’s what she told you, then she was lying.”

“I saw you!” I stand up again. I need to be level with him; I refuse to be intimidated by this man ever again. “I fucking saw you strangling her. Me! I was there. Or have you blanked that bit out of your warped version of events?”

“I remember.” He wrinkles his nose as if the memory is distasteful to him. “But you have to put things into context. She?—”

“Oh no!” I’m shrieking now. “Don’t you fucking dare blame her for what you did.”

“Keep your voice down, sweetheart. If they hear you, it won’t be pleasant.”

“Ha!” I scoff. “You call this pleasant? You fucking sold me out to clear some gambling debts. After everything you’ve ever done, you still can’t accept responsibility for your own actions, can you?”

“Sweetheart…” He motions with the gun for me to lower my voice. “This is for your own good.”

“No, Dad, this is foryourown good, because that’s all that matters to you, isn’t it?”

I no longer feel the bite of the cold air in the basement. His patronizing tone is filling my head with excuses and lies.

“Help!” I yell as loud as I can, projecting my voice towards the open doorway. “Nick! Someone? I need help!”

My father raises his fist and pulls it back over his shoulder ready to let it go. My heart is hammering. Then, with one final sidelong glance, he says, “Have it your way,” and walks out of the room.

I wait for the key to turn in the lock before I collapse onto the cot and start sobbing.

I need to get out of here.

Kyle won’t let them get away with this, but if my father is armed, then the others must be armed too, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned from the Murrays, it’s that the mafia always honor their word. Nick said Kyle has until midnight to hand over the Titan.

He won’t.

The Titan belongs to the Murray family.

So, then what?

I’m not sticking around to find out.

This building, whatever it is, is built on the edge of a cliff. But what about the other three sides? It stands to reason that the entrance will face inland; all I need to do is get out of the basement, make my way upstairs without getting caught, and let myself out.

Easy.

I practice walking around the basement—I refuse to acknowledge that it’s a cell—putting my weight on my ankle and ignoring the throbbing ache in my knee. If my life depends on it, I’ll run a marathon, even with a sprained ankle.

I check the door. It’s locked. I knew it would be, but I wanted to be sure.

There’s only one way I’m getting out of here: I wait for someone to unlock the door and distract them long enough for me to slip out unnoticed.

I stand in the middle of the room and replay various scenarios in my head, none of which lead to me overpowering an armed guard and escaping before they can stop me.

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