“That’s not happening,” I grumble.
“WHEN we let you out of here,” she repeats, glaring at me, “you work for Vin and Vin only. If you ever do one thing for my father or Aurelio again, either my fiancé or I will make sure you die a slow, painful death.”
He nods at Gi. “When I went to Tommy with information about where you were being held, I made my allegiance clear. Are we even now?”
“Not even close,” I grumble.
The way Antonio is looking at her, he could have little hearts for pupils. I scowl at him, even though I get it. She’s hot when she’s mad. I wouldn’t hate getting shot by Giovanna. I’m almost jealous of him.
Iamjealous of him.
“We’re not there yet,” she tells him then turns to me, her eyes soft. “But we’re getting there.”
33
Giovanna
The field smells like rusty iron and cut grass with a tinge of salty ocean air. I didn’t want to go back to the safe house, so Tommy brought me here. It looks like an uncrowded junkyard: hulking cars half-sunk in weeds, a pool table turned on its side, a piano with yellowed keys sticking out like rotten teeth.
Twilight is quickly turning into darkness, but my throat tightens when I see it. I’d recognize it anywhere.
In the middle of the lot is the bed I spent almost two months tied to. The frame is warped, the mattress stained and ripped. Trembling, Tommy right behind me, I move closer. My stomach twists when I see the blood stains, the torn seams I stared at in a drugged haze for all those weeks.
I turn and vomit until I have nothing left, then stand and wipe my mouth on the hem of my hoodie.
“Okay?” Tommy watches me, his warm hand on the small of my back.
I don’t say anything. No, I’m not okay.
“Why are we here?”
“When you broke up with me, pretty much every time I thought you were gone from my life, I started drinking. Heavily. But when you were kidnapped, I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t afford to waste a minute doing anything but looking for you. And it wasn’t fair to you to escape the pain.”
This man. I reach for his hand, and he takes it in both of his, looking down at it, tracing my fingers.
“I started to come here to…manage my anger. I was so fucked up behind your kidnapping, I couldn’t think straight. And you needed me to have my shit together.”
I glance around. “What do you do here?”
“I break shit.” He points to a shed. “There’s protective gear and anything you could want to tear up everything here. So…” He takes a deep breath and looks at me. “I thought if you wanted to see the videos, you could do that here, away from everything, then…” He gestures toward the junkyard.
My vision blurs and my legs start to shake, my body giving out on me. Instantly, his arms fold around me, solid and warm, and he whispers, “Shh. I’ve got you. Nothing bad’s going to happen, baby. You can walk away now. We can delete the videos. We can destroy the bed without you ever touching it. You don’t have to do this, any of this.”
I nod. “I know.”
He’s looking down at me without expectation, ready to do whatever I want.
Sucking in a breath, I extricate myself from his arms and look at the bed. “That thing gets destroyed now.”
Without a word, he heads to the shed and comes back with his arms full: protective vest, goggles, and hat plus a heavyhammer with an anvil for a head, an iron bat, and an axe with a worn handle.
He picks up the vest and slides it on me, buckling it tightly in place. It’s thick and heavy, and the weight of it makes me feel grounded and safe. The goggles come next, followed by the helmet, snapping in place with a satisfying click. When I pull on gloves, I survey my weapon choices, and pick up the hammer.
He stands a short distance away and lifts his chin. “You go ahead when you’re ready,” he says.
The handle digs into my palm as I swing at the headboard. At first, I aim carefully for the largest joints, the biggest pieces, but soon I am swinging wildly, enjoying the impact when metal meets wood. I keep going, grunting, until I’m sweating inside my protective gear, until my shoulders burn and the wooden bed frame has been reduced to splinters.
Heaving in breaths, I stand back and survey my work. The mattress lies on a pile of broken wood, waiting.
