Repaying the Mafia’s Dept

Emelia

I knew I was going to feel like shit from the minute the sun came up.

I’m on the floor again. This time, I’m right by the window. In the gap where it meets the door to the ensuite bathroom.

I’ve been trying to distract myself with the scenery before me, the waves clashing against the shoreline of the golden beach. The scene has been my one companion. Either stare at it or go insane.

Stare at it or allow myself to slip away into misery at how fucked up this all is.

There’s no clock in here, but I can tell it must be late morning.

The flight I would have been on to Florence has long left without me.

It’s funny. When I imagined myself going, I could see myself at the Academia, but I couldn’t see myself getting on the plane. It wasn’t part of the vision. It was missing. Maybe it’s foolish to think of things like that, but it happened, right?

I never got on the plane. I’m here, and as the realization that that plane took off this morning without me onboard hit, I truly accepted that this nightmare was going to be my new hell.

I keep going over everything in my mind and wondering if Dad never saw something like this coming. How could he owe so much money? What the hell happened? How did it happen?

Then there was last night. I couldn’t be more embarrassed at the way I behaved while Massimo touched me. I came. I came on his fingers, and I found my self savoring his tongue licking my clit. Although I did nothing with him, I felt like a slut. I couldn’t even deny that I enjoyed it. The evidence was there in my moans, and the devil lapped up my flow and my dignity.

Shit. It’s all fucking shit. And what will happen later?

He promised next time.

I glance at the little tray of food that sat there on the table when I woke up. I assumed he brought it in. I haven’t touched it. I don’t want anything. I can’t eat until I come up with a sound plan of how I’m going to leave this place. The beach is close, but I won’t be able to get to it from here. There’s a window, but surprise, surprise… it’s locked, and there’s nothing heavy enough in here that I can use to smash it. Besides, smashing it would alert people. I don’t want that.Material © NôvelDrama.Org.

I’d rather not escape by sea either because I can’t swim very well. When I was ten, a boy from my elementary school drowned. I’ve been wary of the water since.

But… I’ll swim if that’s the way out. Judging from the lack of people on the beach, and the perfect weather, I’d say the beach I’m looking at is private. I think it belongs to the house. There is a lot of land around, like where I live with Dad. So, I’m guessing there will be guards too.

I won’t know my surroundings properly until Massimo decides to show me around. If he does. I don’t know if he intends to keep me locked up in here, or what the hell it is he’s going to do with me.

The key rattles in the door. My heart squeezes. Unlike last night, I stand up, rising to my feet, and get ready for him.

When the door opens, the tension in my shoulders leaves when I see a guard and two maids in uniform. One is carrying a bag from Neiman Marcus, and the other a tray of sandwiches.

They’re both Italian. One looks to be a little older than me, while the other looks like she might be in her mid- to late fifties. They enter the room, but the guard stays outside. A safety measure to make sure if I try to run away, he’ll stop me. God, this is a nightmare.

“Good morning, signora,” the younger one says with a smile. “I’m Candace, and this is Pricilla.” She points to the older lady.

“Buongiorno,” Priscilla says, speaking with a hint of an accent.

“Hi,” I answer, deciding they seem harmless. At least I hope so.

Candace looks at the untouched food.

“You weren’t hungry?” she asks.

“No,” I lie. I’m starving, but I think I might vomit and never stop if I eat anything. “You brought the food for me?”

She nods. “Yes. You should try and eat something.”

I don’t answer. They both seem like nice people, so I don’t want to offend either of them.

“Won’t you try these?” Priscilla asks. I shake my head.

“I don’t want anything,” I answer.

They glance at each other. I wonder what Massimo told them. How I got here and everything. Did he tell them the truth? That he practically bought me? Or is it more fitting to describe it as being kidnapped and held captive against my will. I imagine being in a court room scenario and the judge laying down the different sentences. I’m pretty certain any court of law would agree to all the above. I never agreed to any of this. All someone would need to do is open a door, and I’d run far, far away, never to return.

“I got you some… um, clothes. Mr. D’Agostino wanted you to have these until your things arrive,” Candace says, holding out the bag to me. Her smile fades when I don’t take it.

I shake my head at her. Fuck pleasantries. Fuck everything. They’re all in on it together. I don’t want anything.

“I don’t want any of it. He’s kidnapped me and brought me here to live with him. I don’t want anything. I don’t need food. I don’t need clothes. Definitely not when I have my own. I have more than my fair share of clothes. I don’t need any new ones.” The words reel off my tongue as I ball my fists at my sides.

They both look like they don’t know what to say to me. I can’t blame them since I wouldn’t know either.

Priscilla’s lips part as if she’s going to say something, but she sighs instead.

“How about we leave them here?” Candace offers, placing the bag down in the corner by the dressing table. “Maybe you’ll change your mind by lunchtime.”

“I don’t want lunch or dinner. I don’t want anything. I just want to go home.” I wince. I look at Priscilla, who seems to offer the most sympathy.

“I’m sorry, dear. We’ve been told to make you comfortable. We can’t do anything else,” she says.

Great. Just great. Perfect.

I bring my hand to my head and will myself not to cry again. No more tears. I can’t cry anymore. I did enough.

“When are my things getting here?” I demand.

“We don’t know,” Candace replies.

“Can I make a call?” I want to call Jacob. Calling the police would be the reasonable thing to do, but in my world, I know not to call cops. If you get out of a situation like mine, you head for the hills and pray the enemy never finds you. “I need to call my friend.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Priscilla replies.

“I can’t use a phone?” I gasp. The agony in my voice is evident.

“We’ll speak to Mr. D’Agostino about that.”

I get that lightheaded sensation again, like I’m going to faint. “Can I go outside? For some fresh air.”

When Candace bites the inside of her lip, I get my answer. “Not yet,” she says.

“Where is Massimo? Where did he go?” My voice sounds withered.

“He’s going to be in business meetings all day.”

“It’s Sunday,” I point out, feeling stupid. Maybe business is code, like it usually is. Maybe it’s code for screwing around. He’s wealthy. Why would he be in meetings all day on a Sunday?

“We’re gonna leave and give you some time. I’ll come back and check on you later,” Candace promises.

The two leave and the door closes. The key rattles. My heart squeezes.

I’m locked in again.

I walk over to the wall and throw a fist into it, hurting my hand. I don’t care. It makes me feel something other than helpless and useless.

I sink back down against the wall, resuming my former stance of pathetic, and stay there.

The hours go by. Candace comes like she promised. She tries each time to speak to me, but I’m a shell. Priscilla comes too. I give her the same treatment. I don’t eat either. I can’t.

Night falls. I close my eyes, falling asleep in my new prison. I remember thinking of living with my father as being kept in a gilded cage.

That was nothing. I had it good back then. I just don’t know why he would take care of me so well and allow this to happen. I blame him, but I know deep down that he was forced. That’s the only explanation. The D’Agostino monsters forced his hand. That’s why he behaved the way he did.

But he sold me.

Wasn’t there another way?

I don’t know what to believe and what to do. It all hurts me deeply, and every time I think of Italy, my heart breaks a little bit more.

I drift and float into a dream, then burning tickles my nose and I stir. Smoke. Tobacco smoke like the type Grandfather used to have. Dad also smokes them when he has company, but my grandfather would always have a cigar.

My eyes flutter open to see the bright sunlight. It’s morning, and a gentle breeze caresses my skin.

Breeze. My eyes snap wide. I twist toward the window but stop mid-movement when I see him.

Massimo is sitting on the window ledge- shirtless, smoking a cigar.

My breath hitches for two reasons. The first is the sight of him without his shirt. The next is fear.

I am afraid of him. I won’t lie to myself or be a hero and believe I can overpower him. I can’t.

He puts the cigar out and stands, giving me a better view of his body. There are tattoos covering the whole left side of his abs and all over his arms. There’s an angel inked on his left pec, and then what looks like Arabic writing all along the right side of his torso and left hip. I don’t know what any of it says, though, and I’m not going to give him the pleasure of staring too long. Not when he looks pissed. I stand up when he moves closer and pray silently my heart doesn’t beat out of my chest. And that I won’t die of fright.