Page 40 of Savage Enemy

Across the street rose a similar building instead of the duplex Saul had always complained about housing ‘the wrong kind of people.’

I wondered if he preferred the mid-rise apartments, or if he hated them more than their predecessors, and why he’d allowed it in the first place.

The limo pulled up to the curb. As everyone got out, Aris gripped my neck, his fingers digging in with enough hate to leave a bruise.

He maneuvered me around the wrought-iron gated garden separating the front yard from the public sidewalk. When he knocked me into one of the sharp points of the decorative bars, I knew it was intentional.

It always was because those points never ripped my clothing or broke the skin. The perfect way to hurt me without leaving a mark.

Then he pushed me through the door, and I stumbled into a house that looked both familiar and foreign.

Cold. Empty.

I missed Nonna’s voice and the smell of roasted garlic and tomatoes floating out from the kitchen to greet me. That aroma had defined the house in my memory, more than even the black-and-white marble tiles lining the foyer.

“Put her in her room until I figure out what I want to do with her,” Saul barked.

“I’m gonna get some grub,” Santo grumbled.

Aris marched me to my room, shoved me forward, and sent me flying. I landed on my hands and knees, my skin slapping against the rough wood floor.

Then he slammed the door and left me alone.

Pain radiated from my arm, reminding me that I’d taken a bullet only a few days before. I’d been keeping that pain masked as much as possible in front of the others. Especially from Aris.

If he saw that weakness, how much it still hurt, he would exploit it even more. He would dig his fingers into my arm again to aggravate the healing wound.

For now, at least he’d gone away.

My childhood bedroom hadn’t changed a bit, either. I would have liked to think they’d kept that way as memorial, but the thick coating of dust hinted otherwise.

I pressed my ear to the door to make sure Aris had gone. Then I searched my room for anything that might help me.

Below my third-floor window lay a brick courtyard, obviously by design. This room had always been intended for a daughter. A room difficult to reach and impossible to escape, all in the name of protecting my virtue.

No electronics remained—no way to contact anyone in the outside world.

What could I have done with a phone or computer anyway?

Like a dumb fucking idiot, I hadn’t memorized Stefano’s number or email, and any cop who responded to a call from this neighborhood already topped the Moscatelli payroll.

I wouldn’t have felt safe talking to police anyway, even if I made it out of the city and ran all the way to Joliet.

If I could find a weapon, I could protect myself when Aris came back to collect his pound of flesh.

Or maybe I’d get lucky and stumble upon a different escape.

At this point, anything was better than Klimov. I’d heard countless rumors about the man to whom my family had sold me, and if fate still meant for me to go to that monster, I might have to take matters into my own hands. Again.

The idea twisted a knot in my gut, and a cold shiver skittered down my shoulders.

My family murdered with ease, yes. They stole, cheated, schemed, betrayed, committed adultery, took the Lord’s name in vain… and broke every one of the Ten Commandments time and again, but we were still Catholics.

Devoutly—hypocritically—Catholic.

Which meant I deeply believed that if I took my own life, my soul would burn in hell. I’d never meet my son in heaven.

I sat on the queen-size canopy bed, and a cloud of dust rose from the duvet.

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