muscles beneath the thin material of his shirt. She took his nod as a go-ahead.
“A few days after Dwayne beat me, they found his body in a ditch about eight miles from the house. He was naked, and he’d been tortured. I overheard the cops talking with his parents and they said every bone in his body had been broken. He was only a few months older than Haydon, a big boy, like his father. Very husky and strong. You’ve seen Haydon. When he was a kid, he was very thin. He looked almost frail.”
“He was never charged?”
“No. He never said a word to me. I tried not to be happy Dwayne wasn’t there, but secretly, and I’m ashamed to admit it, I was. I didn’t like the way he died, and the cops were always coming around investigating, but we were afraid to talk to them and they didn’t come near us. At first, the beatings stopped and then one day Becca went after me in the kitchen, throwing dishes at me and saying she wished I was dead the way Dwayne was dead. I think that was the signal to her husband that it was okay to take out their frustration, grief and anger on the two of us.”
She was shaking, remembering those days, going without food, being locked in small, confined spaces. She wasn’t claustrophobic, and neither was Haydon, but it wasn’t pleasant with no bathroom. Haydon made a tiny doorway at the floor on one side and they snuck each other food and water when they could.
Vittorio brought her knuckles to his mouth, pressing a kiss there, all the while his eyes on hers, holding her captive so she felt like she was falling into him. Instantly, she was distracted. Her stomach did a slow roll and a million butterflies took wing. She should have jerked her hand away, no one had ever done such a thing to her before. She couldn’t have moved even if she wanted to, not when he was once again pressing her palm over his heart with his thumb rubbing caresses in a soothing, hypnotizing way, back and forth across the back of her hand. He had a way of compelling her to want to let him do anything to make him happy—and she liked him holding her hand. It made her feel as if they really did belong together and he would keep her safe from any harm.
“Keep going, gattina.”
“One day Owen came home from work pretty drunk, and got into a terrible fight with his wife. I heard Becca screaming, and knew he’d hit her, and when I said I was going to check on her, Haydon wouldn’t let me. We both heard Owen coming down the hall. Haydon opened the window for me, but he got us before we escaped. He beat Haydon so bad. I tried to stop him by hitting him with a chair. It was the only thing I could think to do. He dropped Haydon and started on me.”
“This man deserves a hell all his own,” Vittorio said in that same low tone that felt calm and peaceful. “I’m sorry you had to experience that kind of evil, Grace.”
Something in Vittorio’s eyes told her there was a lot more going on below the surface that she couldn’t see, but he continued to give off that soothing energy she had come to associate with him.
“Owen was a bad man, but not evil. I’ve seen true evil. That’s Haydon. Two weeks later, our foster father came home drunk again and Becca locked him out of the house because when he was drunk, he smacked her around. He’d been getting drunk more and more since Dwayne died. He went out to the garage to sleep in his car. They found him the next morning under the car. He was still alive, but the car had fallen on him, crushing his leg and groin. He’d lain there most of the night suffering.”
“Not an accident?”
She shook her head. “The investigators said someone had put something in his drink at home that night just before he went out to the garage. They found a glass from the kitchen tipped over and there were remnants of a sleeping aid mixed with whiskey in it. Becca took sleeping pills and they thought she’d done it, but when they were talking, I looked at Haydon’s face.” Dread crept down her spine. She would never forget that look as long as she lived. “He