skin bleeds, and I cry.
Big, ugly tears fall down my face as I bite down on the gag. Despite the pain, I pull again and again.
It doesn’t work.
“What’s all the noise in here?” a man yells as he bangs on the door.
A heavy lock clicks, and the sound of a steel door scraping against the floor echoes as light from the other room pushes into this concrete dungeon.
I protect my eyes with my partially closed lids and turn my head to the side. I have a headache.
The man is older, about my father’s age, with a black shirt and black dress pants on. He’s smartly dressed, but he looks like he’s been walking around this dust-covered whatever it is for a while.
Two thug-like men follow in behind him. One has a long leather jacket—way too hot for this time of year. The other just reminds me of the man who threatened me in the back seat of my car. I can’t be certain if it’s him, but odds are, I’m right. The reminiscent feel of the steel gun on my skin that day has me arching back. If I could run, I would.
“Amelia Sorrentino,” the older man says as one of the thugs brings a chair in for him.
The man takes a seat, crosses his legs, and takes a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket.
“Who are you?” I ask him even though I’m gagged.
He holds a matchbook up to his cigarette. He pauses before he strikes the match.
“Blaggo, remove the gag. This is no way to treat a lady,” he orders his thug.
This close, I can confirm he is indeed the man who threatened me in my car. I look away as he pulls the gag down my chin.
“My apologies,” the man says as Blaggo goes back to his post by the door. “We haven’t been formally introduced. I’m Carlo Lugazzi, a good friend of your father’s.”
“You’re no friend. I know who you really are.”
He lifts a thick, dark brow. “Oh, really? Do tell.”
“You’re the man who’s angry with Frank Evangelista and my father for reneging on a drug deal gone bad. They didn’t want any part in it and you’re sore.”
“Sore?” He laughs, empathically. “Four hundred millions dollars don’t leave you sore. It makes you fucking angry enough to kill.”
“You tried to use me for your own gain. You shot up Villa Russo, harmed my uncle Vic. You sent Rocco to intimidate me. You had me stalked and followed, and you had my father shot. You’re a career criminal,” I spit.
He seems happy with my assessment because he’s laughing. It’s a menacing laugh, and it booms off the brick walls. When the laughter subsides, he strikes the match and lights his cigarette.
“I was told you were a wallflower. I didn’t know you were feisty. Here’s where you’re all wrong. Frank and your father didn’t pull out of the deal because there are altruistic. The Sicilian Mafia is undercutting the Calabrians. There’s a war in the mother country and we all got invited to the party. Your father is going to move product for Sicily now. Or did you not believe he had it in him?”
I look away from him, not wanting to hear any of this, but he leans in further. “I’ll tell you what, Amelia. I have one match left in this pack. If it lights, I’ll spare your sister. If it fails, she’s dead.”
He flicks the match before I even have a chance to tell him what a sick fuck he is. I hold my breath, for fear the slightest breeze will put it out, and I watch as it lights. My eyes follow the antagonizing, slow trip from the matchbook to the end of his cigarette. He puffs, forcing smoke out the end, and I’ve never been happier to be trapped in a windowless room with a smoker.
Carlo Lugazzi exhales and looks at the match as he shakes it out. “You’re lucky because I’m pissed and desperate for some retaliation.”
“You’d kill my sister over a bad deal?”
“No,” he says. “That was just a bluff. I’d never kill your sister. She’s a cute girl. Your father, on the other hand, will be slit like a fucking fish.”
“You can’t!” I cry.
He laughs. “I will. After I get rid of you for fucking up tonight’s assignment.” The calm and steady demeanor has morphed into something sinister. He rises and slaps my face so hard that the entire side of my face stings, and I think a tooth was