I smile. “It’s pronounced ‘A-dree-ah-know.’”
Pain explodes across my face.
“You worthless whore,” Parker hisses. “You fucked them. You fucked all four of them, didn’t you?”
My lip is split. I touch the tiny part in my skin, feel the blood drip through like oily water. I was struck by the others, but this feels completely different. When they did it, my pulse picked up and resentment and heat fought for space inside me. Looking into Mr. Parker’s eyes, all I feel is dull, quiet disappointment.
“I’m still a virgin,” I tell him.
“You’re a lying little bitch.”
I lick my upper lip. I hate the taste of blood, but I don’t have any Kleenex and I don’t think anyone is going to give me any. “I swear on my Zia Teresa, I’m still a virgin. None of them slept with me. Nobody has.”
Mr. Parker narrows his eyes. “And if I have a doctor examine you? You’d still be intact?”
I’m pretty sure the hymen doesn’t work that way. That if it did cover the hole you wouldn’t be able to have your period. But I’m not going to tell Mr. Parker that.
“Of course, I’m intact,” I say, trying to sound sad but lightly offended. “You can have a doctor examine me. I want you to. I’m still a virgin.”
He sits back in his seat. He still doesn’t believe me.
“They would have filmed it. If they took my virginity, they would have filmed it and showed you.”
Mr. Parker traces his teeth with his tongue. “We never got any recordings of them fucking with you after the first one. I thought you were dead.”
He sounds mildly annoyed, as though he’d lost a wallet. He grips my wrist, crushing it in his fleshy, too-hot hand. “Why didn’t they keep filming you? Why didn’t they force themselves on you?”
I think back to that dinner at Velvet House. The five of us sitting around the polished dining table eating and drinking and laughing. I should have said yes to staying there. If I had, I’d be safe and Zia Teresa would still be alive.
I touch a finger to my shoulder, where my St. Christopher is hiding beneath my dress strap. Zia Teresa is with me now. I carry her in my heart. And she once told me not to blame myself for what other people do, but to focus on my own survival.
Mr. Parker is still watching me, waiting for an answer.
“I think they had feelings for me,” I say quietly. “They didn’t want to force me. They wanted me to choose them.”
He gives a giggling snort. “That’s fucking hilarious.”
His bodyguards grin obligingly.
I bite back my own secret smile. Mr. Parker believes me. He knows I’m still a virgin. He’ll keep me alive just to mock the men who stole me from him. As his limousine whirrs through the city, I repeat their names like a mantra.Elliot Morelli. Domenico Valente. Roberto Bassilotta. Adriano Rossi.
They’re murderers. Dangerous, violent men. And they will come seeking bloody revenge. I just have to survive until they find me.
***
