“Yes, I know,” she says, mulishly.
My patience is slipping, but I recall Caterina’s advice. “Matilde… If you don’t want to answer, I won’t force you to, but did something happen when you were here before?”
“You said I don’t have to answer.”
“I said that. I’d like to know anyway.”
Hanging her head, she twists her fingers together. Something sparkly catches my eye, the bracelet I gave her. I wasn’t sure if she’dwear it. I’m fucking ecstatic that she is. Rising from my chair, I stride around the desk and take a seat beside her. The tantalizing scent of peaches fills my nostrils, but I focus on the question. This requires delicacy, never my strong suit. How do I pry answers out of this girl without upsetting her? Why do those answers mean so much to me?
Carefully, I move my hand toward her wrist, lightly touching the bracelet and nothing more. Her cheeks redden, but she doesn’t shrink away. “I admire you.” Her head pops up, suspicion dancing in her hypnotic eyes. “I mean your bravery. It was brave coming to this country alone. There are opportunities, but it can be dangerous, especially for a young girl like you.”
“I know,” she whispers, her eyes dropping once more.
There’s another call from Antonio. What’s his deal? I quickly decline it again, turning back to her. “Why did you leave Chicago for Vegas? Did something bad happen to you in my city?” I ask, sudden dread hollowing out my stomach.
“I was…It happened so fast. I don’t like to speak of it.”
She switched to Italian, so I do as well.“Someone hurt you? Who? Please, tell me.”
"You will think I was stupid."
"Never. Matilde…"
“I trusted a stranger, but she must have been working with those men.”
“Trusted who? What men? What did they do?”She flinches at my brusque tone. Fucking idiot, she won’t open up like that.“Mi dispiace, tesoro.What men? Who? Did they…”
All the shit I’ve seen and done, and I can’t voice what I fear. I can’t bear thinking of any harm befalling this girl.
“Men in a van. They took me. In the middle of the day. From the sidewalk. They wanted to sell me.”
“Trafficanti?”She nods, and my entire world tilts in a sickening way. Sex traffickers in my city? Sex traffickers within a thousand miles of my Matilde?
I sit mutely, my initial shock quickly consumed by building rage, but Matilde’s fear and pain pour from her now like a torrent. They took her. They touched her. They held her captive. They tried to sell her to the highest bidder. Were they working with the Bratva? Who else would dare?
She rocks back and forth, trying to soothe herself as she speaks. My cruel heart fucking breaks, witnessing her pain and misplaced shame. "You didn't do anything wrong, Matilde. It was those men who were wrong."
"The doctor… I can still remember…"
When she trails off, too overcome to continue, I wrap my arm around her shoulders. The world shifts in a new direction when she leans into me, seeking comfort. Her sweet fragrance, her soft hair and all my unholy cravings are at war with this discovered truth. A twisted sense of purpose fills me. And an unquenchable thirst for revenge. She was right. It never ends.
“I know this is hard to talk about, but I want you to tell me every detail you can about your abduction.”
“I can’t!”
“You can. You are so brave, Matilde. Can you try for me?”
Her fragile yes breaks me all over again, but the way she lifts her chin reminds me how strong her spirit remains.
Speaking in Italian, she spares no horrible detail - from the prostitute with purple hair named Violet to the nightclub in Las Vegas where Alessio and Caterina rescued her from her highest bidder. Her agony over the fate of the other captive girls fuels my wrath.
Alessio disposed of the buyer and the captor who drove her to Vegas, but there are obviously others running the ring. How many, I do not know. But I’ll find out. I will find these men, whoever they are, every last one of them, and I will make them wish they had never been born.
But there are other questions. “Why were you outside The Gentleman’s Post? It’s no place for a girl like you.”
“I… I was lost, sir.”
In a large, unknown city, it’s possible the answer is that simple. Before I can question her further or beg her to stop calling me ‘sir,’ Barzetti is calling again.
