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“I didn’t walk in here.”
“Right, right, I did carry you. So light. You should put on some weight. You know some men like their women with a little meat on their bones.”
I roll my eyes. “Fuck you, macchia di merda.”
“In English, you fucking peasant.”
“Who the fuck do you think you are, calling me a peasant? How fucking dare you? You think this is going to end well for you?” I ask him, forgetting that I’m supposed to be worried right now.
Shit, I need to be. I’m worrying for two now, aren’t I?
What if I never get to see this little person growing inside me? Imagine it. Me and Alessandro as parents. What a fucking shit show. Just as easily as I dismiss the idea, fantasies of our children running around a kitchen island being chased by Roman and Courtney put a smile on my face. I have to get out of here.
Regardless of what happens between Alessandro and me, being a mom is a dream I didn’t realize I wanted. Being a mother to his children is something I want even more.
“Listen,” I start. “The Feds probably have my location already and they’re about to rain fire down on you. I’m a very important person to their investigation.”
“Oh? Investigation into who? Your husband?” he asks, playing his fingertips against each other.
“No, stupid. Alessandro’s clean.”
“HA! And I’m the Virgin Mary.”
“I’m turning state’s evidence against my dipshit brother-in-law. He let my sister take the blame for his crime, destroyed our family, and set off the craziest chain of events that have me in this chair right now. He’s going to regret ever crossing paths with me.”
“Bullshit. La Familia doesn’t do rats.”
I shrug. “I’m not a part of La Familia. I'm a bargaining chip my father used to keep Alessandro in line while he figured out what to do about my brother-in-law.”
“That I believe because after what I did to him, a woman like you could never be in love with a monster like that.”
“It can’t be. How? Who are you?”
The gleam in my captor’s eyes is too bright to ignore. Pride in his gaze, and I’m sure if he were wearing suspenders, he’d stretch them out with his thumbs as if his accomplishment is something to admire.
“Have you seen them? The scars?”
“Yes.”
“Well? Describe them to me. Come on, tell me how horrifying they are to look at.”
My eyes well with despair, but I need to feed into this to give Alessandro enough time to find me. “Um, there’s a large scar on his back.”
“How big?”
“About eighteen inches, top to bottom.”
“The color?” he asks excitedly.
“A dark pink, mauve, or a nude lip, I guess. It’s wide at the top, jagged around the edges, and it gets narrower toward the bottom. There are stretchmarks between some areas.”
“Oh, my. Our Alice Andrew has gotten bigger, hasn’t he? He’s much taller and stockier than the last time we crossed paths.”
“How long ago was that?” I ask, wanting to get him talking.
“Aww, you want to hear the story about how we met?”
This guy needs a diagnosis or something. Who is this gleeful about death, maiming, and torture?
