Page 22 of Impenitent Claim

“Pick that up!” Siera marched up to me, a villainous glint in her eyes.

Several people were staring, so I pulled myself straight and tall. “No.”

While I preferred more fluid exercises, I wasn’t a stranger to weightlifting. From the sharp pain in my joints—not the ache in my muscles—I was done and should rest the areas for a few days before trying at a lighter bar weight. Workout injuries were no joke.

“Insolence,” Siera sneered.

I rolled my eyes. This woman was taking her role much too seriously. “Don’t make me call your supervisor.”

“Is that disrespect I hear?” The woman was in my face. “Because I have permission to show you no mercy.”

Well, that definitely wasn’t legal. The tough girl bootcamp act was one thing, but that comment was taking it too far.

Since we were in a non-mob gym that catered to affluent suburban housewives, this woman couldn’t actually do anything in such a public setting. Absently wondering where the strega found this drill sergeant, who’d been making my last week a living hell, I disassembled the weights. Sierra didn’t say anything as I picked up my personal belongings and trudged to the locker room.

I should have known better than to go somewhere private.

Coming up behind me, Siera pushed me against the lockers. “You think you’re so tough now? I know who you really are, MissRinaldi.”

I cried out as she twisted my arm. The pressure on the joint threatened to pop the damn thing in a very inconvenient way. Warning bells pealed in my mind. This wasn’t just some wackadoodle trainer. This woman’s morals crossed a line—a very dangerous line. She was like me, from the criminal underworld.

Shit!Why did I have to pick a fight with her?!

“You’ll go out there and run five miles around the track,” she hissed.

“Get off!” I screamed, wrenching my body in a last-ditch effort to break away.

“Wrong answer.”

Her fist connected with the soft flesh of my stomach, sending an explosion of pain and misery through me. I cried out.

“Stop that,” I protested. Fear coiled deep inside me when I realized a moment later that no one would believe me if I told on her. They either wouldn’t believe me, or they wouldn’t care.

“I’m responsible for making sure you lose the weight.” Another hit, this one no doubt bruising something vital. “By any means necessary.”

I coughed. It was bad enough the cooks were starving me with a severe calorie deprivation diet that they dared refer to as nutritional. Now Cecilia had an ally at the gym? Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing to let this woman beat me so badly that I couldn’t leave my room for a few days.

They can’t win! Fight!

I stomped on the woman’s toe, launched myself backward, and screamed at the top of my lungs. Her grip on my arm faltered. I twisted free, landing a solid kick with my shoe before leaping over her prostrate form. It was a small victory. There would be repercussions, of that I had no doubt.

But for today, I was free.

Hurrying from the locker room, I went straight for the front doors. The goons there gave me a cursory look before escorting me to the waiting vehicle. If they wondered where my gym bag was or why I didn’t have my jacket, they didn’t say. I couldn’t stop shivering in the backseat. The cold in my bones had nothing to do with the temperature. I was in serious trouble with no one to help me escape the nightmare. At the mansion, I bolted to my room, and in a rare stroke of good fortune, the strega didn’t catch my arrival.

I felt it immediately as I stepped over the threshold. Something was different. I closed and locked my door before sweeping a look over the room.

Again….It’d happened again.

From past experiences, I knew the stalker wasn’t here. But his essence lingered.

“What did you leave me this time?” I whispered, going to my reading nook.

On occasion, he’d left trinkets on my writing desk, vanity, or bathroom counter. Never on my nightstand. But more often than not, there were items in my favorite spot, the place I felt most at peace, the area I designed to comfort myself when times grew rough.

“I should tell the don,” I whispered, trying to make myself comprehend the seriousness of the situation warranted the risk of being blamed.

It was madness to accept these offerings. A complete stranger had access to my room. And yet, as my fingers brushed over the white cardboard box with the wordsPost Workout Treatwritten in a strained scratch of a Sharpie, I couldn’t bring myself to march down to the underworld boss’s office.

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