“We’re in a fucking temple of fat and sugar,” I say. “So we’re gonna break open the liquor cabinet, do some baking, and eat and drink until it doesn’t hurt anymore.”
Ricky nods slowly. “And after that?”
I walk over to the locked cabinet, pull out the bourbon, and pour two glasses. I down mine in a single gulp. “That’s going to be a long fucking time coming. But, after that,” I say, “we’re going to kill Victor Moretti.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Bianca
I stir to life as if waking from the dead, and immediately wish I hadn't. My skull feels like it's been split open, hemorrhaged, and crudely stitched back together with barbed wire. I’m on the floor of a dark, windowless room, where the air reeks of bleach and cheap perfume, or maybe they’ve become one and the same. My wrists burn where they're tied behind my back, rope biting into skin and refusing to let go. Panic worms into me, growing larger and more monstrous. I wrench my eyes open and see Vanessa across the room. She’s tied up too, sprawled onto one side with her hands bound tight like mine. Her hair is a mess; her lip is bleeding; her eyes are wide and wild, darting about and landing on me like she’s scared I might be just another part of the nightmare. I want to weep just looking at her.
When I try to move, agony streaks up my spine, and I gasp as it hits. My ribs are on fire, my jaw a throbbing mass of hurt. I let out a moan, somewhere between a sob and surrender, but as it leaves me, I hear another sound, something insidious and familiar.
His voice.
Victor's voice.
“Well, well,” he drawls, smooth as poison. “Look who’s finally decided to rejoin us.”
He’s leaning against the wall like it belongs to him, like he owns the entire room, the entire night, the entire world along with it. Two of his thugs stand next to him, oversized shadows with fists for features. One taps a nightstick against his palm, a cruel sort of anticipation in each smack, while the other chews gum like he’s bored stiff, waiting for something violent to happen just to break the monotony.
“What the fuck do you want?” I spit at him, my voice raw and angry and straining to hold together. “If you think I’m gonna let you use my charity to launder more of your dirty money, you’re dumber than you look.”
I see his cold, sharklike grin in the dim light, stretching as if nothing pleases him more than seeing me like this, helpless but still fighting him.
“Oh, Bianca,” he says, with a chuckle that turns my stomach. “You always did think small. I’m afraid we’re way past that now.”
His words are ice in my veins. The chill races through me, leaving a trail of dread. I square my shoulders and try to mask the quake in my voice with defiance. “If you hurt us, I swear to God, the police will come down on you so fast your greasy little empire will collapse. People know I’m gone. People will come looking.”
He strolls toward me, all slow swagger and menace, and I see Vanessa flinch as he passes her.
“No one’s coming, sister,” he says. “Not tonight. Not for you. And especially not for her.” He jerks a thumb at Vanessa, lazy satisfaction in every move, like he’s letting me know just how generous he’s being by telling me the obvious. His eyes have a pitiless gleam that I remember too well from growing up around him, that sharp look that says he’s already decided your fate, and it's a terrible one. I know what happens if I give in to him. I know how he operates, like a vulture picking apart everything that makes you feel human, taking and taking until there’s nothing left but the bones. I have to push back, push with everything I have, because if I don’t, he’ll take all of it instead of just what he originally wanted.
“Stop fucking around. What do you want, Victor?” I ask, the words a painful rasp from my aching throat, but steady enough to hit him straight in the eye.
He feels close now, too close, leaning over me with breath that reeks of cigarettes and contempt.
“I want everything,” he says in a low snarl, like it’s a secret he’s been saving just for me. “All the money raised tonight. The whole pot. But that’s just the appetizer.”
I try to stay calm. I try not to flinch. I don’t succeed.
Victor steps back and spreads his arms wide, like he’s a preacher and the world is his congregation. “I want your girls. All of them. The ones hiding out at Safe House; the ex-strippers; the runaways; the junkies. I want them working for me.”
Vanessa jerks in her seat, fury and fear warring in her eyes. She finds her voice and throws it at him like a knife. “Go to hell, you bastard!”
Victor smirks, making a show of enjoying it all, the control, the cruelty. “No, no, no, sweetheart. I won’t be going to hell. But you will. In fact, you’re here already. Just wait until you see what we’ve got in store for you.”
My mouth dries out. My blood pounds in my ears.
“You’re insane,” I whisper. “You’re fucking insane.”
He shrugs. “Maybe. But I’m also a businessman. And I’m going to make this more… interesting. Because the best negotiations are the ones with a deadline.” He turns to one of his men, who pulls out a small black case. Inside: a syringe. My throat tightens.
“No,” I breathe. “Don’t you fucking dare.”
Victor tilts the syringe between his fingers, like it’s nothing more than a small decision he’s about to make.
“She’s a known user, isn’t she?” he says with an air of contempt that makes me shiver. “In recovery, sure, but they never really lose the taste.” Before I can even scream, he plunges the needle into Vanessa’s arm, quick and vicious. Her scream fills the room, wild and terrified, an animal sound that cuts me raw. “She’s small,” he continues, stepping back with a cruel detachment, the kind that chills to the bone. “And this is a big dose. Lethal, probably. Fast, too. She’ll be convulsing in under five minutes. Dead in ten. Unless…” He lets the word hang in the air, savoring the torture in its emptiness. Then he smiles, a vicious curl that reeks of triumph. “You agree to my terms. You give me what I want, and I’ll have one of my men give her Narcan. It’s the only thing that can save her.” It’s too much. Too fucking much.
