Chiara
There was no way to get out of the room. I’d already thrown myself against every wall and screamed so hard that my throat was dry and scratchy. The fight had left me, and now I was separated from everyone. I could still see the figures of my parents on the ground, covered in blood. That small glimpse from beneath the blanket had broken my heart. I didn’t even have time to grieve—I had to fight just to survive.
And the goddamn silence that followed only made it worse. I’d never been placed in solitary, so I was growing restless. Every thought that appeared in my mind had me anxious about what would become of me. Would Romeo enter my room and rape me? Were they saving me for their goons to beat and torture and molest? There were any numbers of options, and each and every one of them made me recoil and return to the bed after pacing about the room like a trapped animal.
Then there were the thoughts about Alessandra, who was likely even more scared than I was, kept appearing in my mind. I couldn’t stop thinking of her, or the thought that she could be dead, too. Why would they do such a thing? I had never spent time away from her, and knowing that she could have been harmed drove me insane.
We were similar in looks, but we were incredibly different in every other way. She had anxiety that affected her everyday life, all because of what we’d grown up dealing with. Living in a family that dealt with criminal activities was enough to cause anyone to look over their shoulder every day, in fear of being followed. But we’d always had a veil of safety.
Until that moment.
I glanced at the gray walls around me and sat back against the cot, unsure of what to do with myself. There were times when I thought I could hear crying coming from down the hall, but just as quickly as it arrived, it was soon gone. It was the only hope I had that Alessandra was still alive, that she was just down the hall, and if I were to somehow escape, I could save her and bring her with me.
The light kept flickering above me and there was a drip coming from somewhere in the cell. I’d already checked the bathroom, but was unable to find the reason for it. It was a sound that had become jarring. It was also the only sound that I’d been forced to listen to for however long I’d been confined for. I hated it, and it made me want to bash my head against the concrete walls.
There was no sense of time in that four-walled room, which made it near-impossible to form an escape plan. There were no windows. There was just a door, directly across from the hard cot that I’d used for sleeping. There was a bathroom with a shower and a toilet, and even that didn’t have a vent or a window. I couldn’t tell if it was night or day.
The only telltale sign of a routine were the men that brought me breakfast and dinner.
I didn’t recognize a single one of them. I could only assume that they were all grunts, working for the Cavetti’s. They’d also helped with the downfall of my family and the destruction of our lives. I wanted to kill them all myself in retribution, but I knew I’d never have the opportunity. I just needed to figure out a way to get out.
I wished that they’d chosen someone else to bring my food. I would have rathered Natalia Cavetti. I didn’t want to see any more men. It had been the work of the men in our lives that had caused this problem. It had been the men in the Cavetti family that had held the guns that shot my parents dead. I was tired of them all.
The goons who brought me my food never spoke. They simply threw the trays through a slit in the door and left me to eat in silence. I was glad they didn’t enter the room. We really had nothing to talk about, so it wasn’t as though I was dying to have a conversation.
I did want to find out news about my brothers and sisters, as I grew more apprehensive about what had become of them with each moment that passed. There were times when I had gone up to the door and held my ear against its cold steel surface, but none of them were around. There was only one man allowed in the hallway at a time, and they always just left food under the door and left.
I laid my head back on the cot, staring at the ceiling. I wondered what Alessandra was thinking of. I’d always heard jokes about twins and telepathy, and I couldn’t help but wish that we had that. If it was the case, I’d know if she was okay, and I wouldn’t be feeling sick to my stomach with worry. I could picture them hurting her in the same ways I’d envisioned them doing to myself.
There was no doubt that there were times when I knew she was hurt, or when she was about to cry. It was an instinctual feeling that would buzz through me as though it was a sixth sense. Still, in that moment, there was no way of knowing. I’d luckily suffered little since it all started. I was fed up to three meals a day and was given a change of clothes for bed and for the daytime. I’d heard worse stories about kidnappings. Even the transportation hadn’t been too bad—I wasn’t beaten up, or drugged.
It was the little things I knew I had to be grateful for.
There was a now-familiar knock at the door and I sat up, waiting for the person to open the slit in the door. If they knocked twice, it meant that it was time to eat. I’d tried to escape on the first day when the grunt had opened the door, but the man had been too strong and simply flung me to the ground. I’d received a cold slap to the face—that was my reminder that they didn’t suffer any fools, or foolhardy whims, like trying to escape.
I held my breath as the door began to open. I wondered which one it would be today. It seemed to alternate between a broody bald guy and a man with a gray and black beard, whose hair was always too oily, even by Italian standards.
All breath seemed to escape when I saw who walked through the door. That handsome, yet cold face, and massive body that towered over me as he entered. Why the fuck washethe one giving me dinner? I pushed myself back onto the cot, trying to become as small as possible. I knew now that I had to fear the Cavetti’s. They had, after all, taken everything from me. I had no idea what they were going to take next.
Embarrassment swept across my face as the tears formed in my eyes at the thought of seeing the bodies of my parents on the ground. I knew who it was that had grabbed me, as I’d seen his face that night when he threw me in the trunk. I could still see Marcello’s cold stare as he forced me down in the blanket, making sure I couldn’t fight my way out of the vehicle. Now, there he was, bringing me dinner.
The smell of the steak emanated in the room as he placed the plate onto the ground between us. His distant gaze stared at me, unfazed by the tears streaming down my face. To my relief, he turned back towards the door and left, slamming it shut. Still, he was watching me through the small slit in the door. He’d pulled it open, and was staring at me through it. Most of the men would just slip the food under the door and walk away after I ate. He’d entered the room, making me believe that he wanted me to know that it was him delivering my dinner.
“Eat.”
I heard his voice, and I realized then that it was the first time I’d ever heard him say something. His voice was gruff and deeper than I expected. I may have heard his voice the night that they’d kidnapped me, but that night was just one blur of a memory, which was dwarfed by the sight of my parents’ dead bodies.
I glared at him through the slit, and could see that only his eyes were illuminated by the light in the hallway. I didn’t want to push my luck. I had no idea what he would do if I didn’t do what he said. For all I knew, he would force me to eat it in unimaginable ways. I’d heard the stories of the Cavetti’s, and I knew better than to push them too far.
I glanced down at the plate and saw that there was no cutlery. “I have nothing to eat with.”
I thought I could see a smirk across his face, although there was no telling through the small slit in the door. I didn’t like where it was going. There was a glint in his eyes, as though he had something planned. What it was, I wasn’t sure.
“Eat it with your fingers, and put them in your mouth.”
I furrowed my brow. “I’m not doing that. Can I have a fork and knife, please?”
He wanted to make a fool of me. It was hard enough being trapped in a room without anyone to speak to, but the first words uttered to me in days were to tell me to eat my food like an animal. I couldn’t allow myself to be subjugated to such a low level.
