Page 122 of Unholy Union
I’ve been drugged!
My eyes widen as the disturbing reality crashes over me and I try my hardest to stay alert and not slip back into the dazed state I woke up in.
It’s just so hard when it creeps up and I’m bound and paralyzed to stop it.
I focus on my surroundings, letting my gaze sweep over the area around me.
The room is vast and open like some kind of warehouse, cluttered with old machinery veiled in thick cobwebs. On the left is an industrial rotary cutter, the edge dulled and rusted but still unmistakably sharp enough to lose fingers or limbs.
Across the room sits a thick steel hydraulic press, its control panel coated in layers of grime and more cobwebs. Conveyor belts wind through the space, likely to optimize proficiency at the time the warehouse was in use.
There’re stacks of wilted boxes that look like they’ve been forgotten about for decades. If I had to guess, they’re filled with whatever merchandise the place produced.
The whole warehouse smells like dust and mildew, the air itself dry and suffocating. Every breath I take tickles my lungs and eventually makes me cough.
I pull against the ropes restraining me, wishing for something as basic as a glass of water.
It’s funny how you take those things for granted until you’re in a crazy situation like this.
My mouth is dry. My throat aches. My tongue feels way too thick and heavy and like I won’t ever be able to get any words out, but I open my mouth and try again anyway.
“He...” My voice cracks, barely audible. I swallow and try a third time, pushing the sound out. “He… help...”
The word breaks apart at the end.
Footsteps thud against concrete from behind me. The pace is unhurried and measured, like the person has all the time in the world.
Whoever it is, they want me to hear them coming.
A figure steps out of the shadows, coming around until I see his face. My stomach twists into a hard, sour knot as Mario Pompa grins at me.
And then it comes back to me—I’d ran into him in the corridor at Papi’s headquarters. I’d walked right into him and he’d told me his boss wanted to see me before everything went black. He must’ve drugged me and taken me away.
“Well,” he says, “glad you’re awake, princess. Now we can get started.”
He reaches inside his jacket and pulls out an M9 handgun, handling it like it’s an extension of himself.
My pulse twitches hard in my veins watching him begin to load the magazine. Each bullet slides into place with a quiet, mechanical click that echoes in the empty warehouse.
Panic explodes inside me, heating my skin on the outside as I become restless and desperate. I have to do something, anything to make him stop.
Otherwise, I might not walk out of here alive.
He needs to believe I’m worth more alive than dead. He needs to believe I’m not scared. That I’m dangerous. That touching me would bring a level of hell he’s not prepared for.
“I don’t think you understand who you’re dealing with,” I say in a snappy tone unlike my own, sounding more New York Italian gangster than I ever have in my life. “I’m Sabrina Corsini-Valente. Daughter of Don Rinaldo Corsini. Wife of Caporegime Cato Valente. If you so much as hurt a single hair on my head, my father will hunt you down like a fucking dog.Thenmy husband will fucking skin you alive.”
I meet his gaze, glaring at him like I’ve seen Papi do on the rare occasions I’ve been around when he’s conducted business, trying to channel every scrap of rage and bravado I’ve got in my bones. I lift my chin and hold eye contact like I believe every single word I just said, even though my insides tremble and I’m pretty sure I’m about to pass out.
But Mario doesn’t so much as blink.
He finishes loading the last round and slides the magazine into place with a click that makes my whole body tense.
“You done, princess?” he asks, amused.
My stomach turns, but I still don’t let it show. I swallow, then narrow my eyes and press again, shifting tactics like I’ve seen Papi do.
“Who do you work for?” I ask impatiently. “Because you? You’re just a pawn. A flunky. A low-level grunt trying too hard to scare someone way out of your league. So do us both a favor and tell me what your boss wants. Name the price. I’ll have my husband write the check, and we can all move on with our lives.”
