Vengeance Unbound

Chapter 3: Trouble

Chioma’s POV

I was still fumbling for the right lie – “Uhh…umm, I was just… I’m your–” – when his hand closed around my throat.

Everything narrowed to the pressure of fingers digging into my skin, the sudden fight for air. My words choked off. I clawed and twisted, tried to pull his hand away, pinched at him, but his grip was iron. “What are yo–” I tried to force out, only a rasp escaping.

“Who sent you? Answer me!” he screamed, each word a punch. His voice shook with fury as he squeezed harder. I tried to speak, tried to gasp but nothing came out except a weak sound trapped in my throat.

A phone buzzed. “A call for you, sir,” one of the men said. He turned his head slightly towards the voice, then looked back at me. He sighed, like I was an inconvenience. With a single motion he dropped me to the floor. I hit the ground hard and coughed, lungs burning.

“I’m your freaking caregiver, you f*****g i***t!” i yelled between coughs, rage pouring out before fear could stop it. He answered the call, one hand over his ear, slipping the other hand into his pocket as he walked away like nothing happened, eyes fixed somewhere I couldn’t see.

I pushed myself up, shaking but angry enough to stand tall. “Listen to me,” I stepped forward. “Who the hell do you think you are? First y'all killed my dad, assaulted me and brought me to this shitty place you call a home and made me some stupid caregiver. I won’t stand here and let you hurt me. Not ever.” I yelled angrily.

He didn't even look at me, still on the phone.

“Trying to ignore me huh?”

I shoved him, once, twice, my hands trembling, “I'm talking to you” . He tugged the phone from his ear, glared. Before I could push again, he grabbed my arm roughly and handed me off with a cold command. “Take her away,” he said to one of the men, already talking into the phone again as he walked back into his room.

One of the men grabbed my shoulder. “You have to go, ma’am. That’s enough.”

“Don’t touch me.” I wrenched free and stepped back. “Imbeciles,” I muttered, storming toward my room, every step heavy with anger.

**********

Evening came and with it dinner time, the hour Mr. Vinco expected his food. I hadn’t prepared anything. I was still raw from the encounter – exhausted, furious, and stubborn. I had already eaten earlier and curled up in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering how my life had twisted into this nightmare.

Then something started. I barely noticed the noises from downstairs at first. Then it got loud and sharp.

“What now?”

Annoyed, I dragged myself out of bed and opened my door. The hallway was empty, but shouting echoed from below.

“What do you mean you don't know” a voice yelled.

I leaned over the railing and saw Vinco standing in the living room, yelling at Ms Roberta.

“Of course” I sighed. I had better places to be than in their drama, but curiosity is a dangerous thing.

“Chioma!” Roberta called. “Chioma!!”

“What?” I replied, tired and irritated. I padded down the stairs at a lazy pace, annoyed more than afraid.

“What's wrong now?” I sighed

Roberta folded her arms. “What took you so long?” she asked. “What’s Mr. Antonov having for dinner?”

“I don’t know,” I said, feigning ignorance. “Who is he anyway? Never met him”.

“Chioma!” Roberta barked. “You were given instructions. Why didn’t you follow them? It is your job!”

I glanced at the dining table. There he was: Vinco, sitting with an expression that was both fierce and oddly calm, a toothpick dangling from his mouth. He watched me with the detachment of a predator. “So… it’s you,” he said, flicking the toothpick with his tongue.

I rolled my eyes. “Go on. What are you waiting for?” Roberta demanded, poking me toward the kitchen. She looked me up and down and sneered. “And what are you wearing?”

“A nightgown,” I said. “Duh.”

“Go change,” she ordered.

“Why?” I laughed, incredulous. “It’s late. It’s a night gown.” I was comfortable and not in the mood to perform for anyone. Roberta’s face tightened; anger showed in the set of her jaw.

“That’s enough,” Vinco said suddenly. “Now go make my food. Por favor.”

I muttered under my breath and went to the kitchen.

I filled a pot with water, turned on the stove and placed it on the bonnet. Rubbing my head, my mind refused to remember the fancy names.

“What was it again?” I muttered. “That stupid goddamn menu…”

“Pasta,” a voice behind me answered. I turned and froze.

Vinco stood in the doorway, shirtless, in a grey sweatpants at his hips, muscles tense, a dragon tattoo on his chest visible under the kitchen light. He leaned casually against the frame, watching, arms crossed, watching me. “Pasta,” he repeated.

“Wh-what?” I blinked, stammered, swallowed. “Is it pasta you want?”

He stepped closer. “ Don't move”. I warned,

“Don’t come any closer,” I snapped instead, grabbing a fruit knife because my hands were shaky and it felt like the only thing with which I could defend myself. I brandished it, swinging it back and forth in the air.

He kept approaching. My pulse thudded in my ears. I squeezed my eyes shut and swung the knife wildly in panic.

“Stay back!”...

A sharp cry burst from behind me.

“Argh!!”

I opened my eyes to find the knife clattering to the floor and Vinco holding his arm. Blood gushed out, My stomach dropped.

“Oh my God! Oh my God!” I gasped.

I fumbled for the first-aid kit and began to press a cloth to the wound, hands trembling. “What were you thinking?” I hissed.

“What were *you* thinking?” he shot back, pushing my hands away.

“Stay still, let me finish before it gets infected”.

“I came for water and you attacked me”

He shoved the cloth away, dipped a towel into water, and wrapped his arm himself. “Nonsense,” he grunted, and stalked out.

“Fine! Leave!, this is nothing compared to what y'all did to me,” I muttered, folding my arms. I slammed dishes together in anger, rinsing plates with more force than necessary. I prepared the pasta clumsily, sweat and fury a messy seasoning.

*******

When the dish was ready, I slammed the plate down in front of him.

“Eat it”, he stared at it.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“Food,.. eat it or don’t,” I said, tired.

“Sit,” he ordered. “Why,.. I'm exhausted, already had-”... “I said Sit” he snapped.

I sat at the other end of the table, arms crossed, still furious.

He slid the plate toward me. “Taste it,” he said.

“What, think it's poisoned,?– look if I'm gonna kill you, it's never gon’ be like this”.

I ate a forkful. It was fine – my first attempt at spaghetti bolognese and I’d nailed it, if I said so myself.

He tried it. “Not bad,” he muttered. He looked up, swallowing. “You’re my caregiver now.”

“Obviously,” I shrugged.

“At least you’re better than the last ones. Don’t screw this up,” he warned.

“Let me guess, because you haven't smashed me yet?” I shot back.

He ignored that, then added, almost casually, “Tomorrow I’ll show you a place. Be ready at nine.”

“For what?”.

“You'll see” he said as he stood up and walked away.

My heart raced. *A place.* A lead. Opportunity. “Finally,” I thought. I straightened my shoulders and nodded to myself.

“No slacking, Chioma,” I told my reflection on the darkened window, feeling a small spark of purpose flare inside me.