32
STEPHANIE
I’m lost deep inside a dream—or a nightmare, more accurately. It’s the same one I’ve been having over and over since Gio came back into my life.
Almost every night, I’ve been forced to relive it—the last time I saw Gio before he was bludgeoned from my memory.
Only, tonight’s a little different.
Because I actuallyknowI’m dreaming, even as it’s happening.
I still get a few breathless moments of romance with Gio—moments I crave now more than ever, even if I know how this story ends—and as he kisses me and whispers sweet nothings, and even in my dreams, this time, it’s laced with a hint of loss because I know he’s really gone.
Then I’m walking away from him, playfully pretending like it doesn’t tear some small part of my soul away every time I go.
I hear Gio’s cry with perfect clarity now as he shouts my name. I can hear every ounce of terror in it that he must have felt—to see what was coming and be too far away to stop it.
Then I’m snatched up by men who grab me with forceful hands. They whisper the same terrifying threats, all in the name of Don Augusta.
I fight with all I have to get free—even if I know my chances are slim.
I feel the sickening crunch of a nose breaking against the back of my head. And when I turn around, I see the black ski mask that covers my kidnapper’s face, the blood staining the already-dark fabric.
Then comes that same blinding flash of pain.
For a moment, everything goes black.
But this time, I don’t wake up from it.
Slowly, my movements sluggish and heavy, I manage to blink, then open my eyes a fraction of an inch.
And in blurry snapshots, I capture some of the world around me. I’m drifting, weightless, too dizzy to make much sense of anything I see.
Then voices start to filter in more clearly.
My captors are still there, but they sound different now—their voices pitched high with panic.
“You hit her too hard!” one of them hisses.
“She’s breathing, right?”
Silence. Then, “No. I don’t think so.”
Something cold seeps into my limbs. My chest feels heavy, like I’m floating just under the surface of water.
“You idiot!” someone snarls. “We were supposed to hold her, scare her—now you’ve gone and killed her!”
I want to scream that I’m still here, but my lips won’t move.
“What do we do?”
There’s a pause, then shuffling—and the sound of a phone ringing as it’s put on speaker.
“She’s dead,” a voice says, lower now, deferential.
Someone sighs heavily on the other end of the line, the sound crackling across the air and filling the van with static. “It truly is a wonder your family hasn’t died off from natural stupidity.”
Ice floods my veins. I would recognize that voice anywhere. Don Augusta, Gio’s father.
