Page 80 of Mob Princess

My time was ticking down. And I wanted nothing more than a future with Israel.

I wanted to live the full life my parents never got. I wanted to indulge in my love of Israel every day for the rest of my life. I wanted all of the things my uncle ripped blindly away from my family because of some selfish need for more money. But as I laid there crying, a voice sounded in my head.

You won’t get what you want by being weak.

“I’ll see you in a few hours, Bonnie,” my uncle called as he left. “I can’t wait for our party to start.” He slammed the basement door behind him.

I pushed myself up from the floor. “All right, Bonnie. Time to get crafty.”

If I was going to get my ass out of this mess, I had to be cunning. I had to play this smarter, not harder. I wiped the tears away from my face and stood, searching for any sort of weapon. A gun, or a knife, or a crowbar for crying out loud. Anything I could use to defend myself.

I found a broken piece of glass on the floor and drew in a deep breath. “All right. Now what?”

The basement door opened. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’m taking it down to her now. Tell the old man to shut his trap.”

I slid the piece of glass into my bra as the guard walked down the stairs with a tray of food. The only light I was afforded was a small bulb that kept flickering with every step the behemoth guard took. And as he rounded the corner to face me, a quick plan formed in my mind.

So, I dropped to the floor and acted like I’d fainted.

“Shit.” the guard froze.

I groaned as I closed my eyes then swallowed hard.

“Shit.” He stood beside me. “Are you sick or somethin’?” He pressed his toe into my stomach.

I faked a heave. “Fuck,” I moaned.

“Uh, you good?” the guard asked.

“Pava. He—”

I held my head and faked another heave before I forced myself to dry-retch.

“Holy shit!” the man exclaimed.

“Con—concuss—”

I heaved again and managed to spit up a bit on the man’s shoe.

“Oh, fuck me. The damn man hit you too hard in the fucking head.”

I gagged. “The food. I—I— can’t. I’m sorry.”

He bent down. “Damn it. Come here. I gotta check your eyes and shit. Can you sit up?”

I shook my head slowly. “I don’t know. I don’t—I don’t think—”

“Here. Let me help.” The man picked me up.

I groaned in pain. Well, fake pain. And while he was distracted, I pulled the massive piece of glass from my bra. I hid it in my palm as he sat me down in a chair in the corner. And almost immediately, he began doing things like checking my eye function and tilting my head from side to side.

“You got some nasty bruises on your eyes. I don’t see any on your head, though.”

I heaved again. “My neck. It—it hurts.” I held the piece of glass at the ready while another plan formed in my mind.

“Here. Let me take a look. Moretti’s gonna shit himself if I don’t check you out before going back up there.”

As he rounded around to my left, I grinned. I slid my hand down and found the butt of his gun before slipping it silently from its holster. I slid it under my shirt as he moved my head forward. I felt his fingertips dancing around, moving my hair out of the way.

“I don’t see any bruising back here, either,” he said.

And as I smiled to myself, I clutched both of my weapons in my hands.

“I don’t know what it is, but I—I—”

I leaned forward to fake another retch, and the man quickly backed up. I knew I didn’t have long before I had to act, so I made sure the gun was cocked. With the glass in my left hand and the gun in my right, I readied myself for action.

The guard walked back around to my front.

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