Page 7 of Savior

Not that it matters when it comes to landing in the hands of the Italian mafia.

“Got it, Boss,” the man says, pushing back into the room and turning on a flashlight.

The intrusion of light is blinding. After who knows how long in the dark, it’s overwhelming, even to the calm demeanor I try to keep.

“Uncover your face,” he says in a thick Italian accent.

I growl, dropping my arm and looking into the blinding beam of the flashlight.

He chuckles darkly. “Ah, you’ll do just fine.”

Keys rustle from behind the light, and then he drops the flashlight back into the back of his pants and crouches to unbind my chains.

He hefts me off the floor, and it takes all the strength I can muster to keep my unwashed body on my shaky legs.

I hear a gun click, and then cold metal presses to my temple. “You try anything. Your pretty ass sleeps with the fucking fish tonight; feel me?”

I nod, self-preservation kicking into overdrive.

“Move,” he orders, gun pressing into my spine as he urges me out the door.

“May the Lord be with you,” Sarah says to me as I get into the hall of what looks to be a basement filled with cells.

I want to turn around and tell her to shove it up her ass, but I take her blessing and wrap it around me like a warm blanket of courage.

Because I’m going to need it.

Looking at the broad,tall man behind the desk with the scar right beneath his left eye has me realizing that I’m filthy and disgusting compared to his sharp-dressed body. He’s in a suit tailored to fit his massive frame.

He’s got a cigar hanging from his lips, but he’s not puffing on it; he’s chewing it.

It’s disgusting to watch.

The gun presses into my temple again as the brute who removed me from the cell rounds to my left.

“This one seemed the prettiest, Boss. I’d love to fuck her pretty cunt. Surely, the client will feel the same.”

The man behind the desk stands and gets even more enormous than he already was. “Did I ask you for your fucking opinion, Tomosso?”

He did when he told Tommaso to pick the next girl. I keep my mouth shut, however. My sass will only get me into more trouble.

“Leave,” the man orders Tommaso, and Tommaso freezes under the stare of his boss.

“But, Sir, if you need…”

The man lifts a paperweight off his desk and throws it in Tommaso’s direction. I dodge to the right to avoid getting hit with the damned thing. Tommaso remains still, likely as he’s supposed to. When it connects, the man grunts and blood sprays the Italian marble below our feet.

“You think I can’t handle one puttana?” the man asks, rounding the desk and pulling a gun from the back of his pants. “Is that what you fucking think, Tommaso?”

Now, I’m growing worried about the idiot I know as Tommoso. Because by questioning his boss, he’s put himself in his crosshairs.

“No, Boss. That’s not what I meant at all. I apologize. I’ll just go…”

A shot reverberates through the room, making my ears ring with pain. I cover them, opening and closing my mouth to get them to pop. It doesn’t help.

Tommoso’s lifeless body lies on the ground at the man’s feet. Ringing in my ears muted his commands to those who filtered in through the office door after the gunshot.

I back into a bookcase and remain there.

---