Chapter5
1105 Words
ROSA
The city felt colder tonight, or maybe it was just me.
“We have a donor, Rosa.”
Dr. Giorgio's words echoed like a broken record in my head.
“But a private client is contesting for it and has offered to pay triple. If you can't meet up with the hospital’s initial deadline…. We may have no other choice.”
I didn't ask who the other person was. What would be the point of that? Whoever they were, they had money and I didn't. Mammà’s life was slowly slipping away and now, even hope had a price tag. I clenched my fingers tighter around the plastic bag of groceries I bought for dinner earlier.
The streets were quieter than usual. My shoes tapped against the cracked pavement as I hurried home, streetlights flickering above me like a pair of blinking eyes. I hadn't seen Enrique in two days. Not since those men barged into the house.
Maybe he ran as usual. Or maybe he was finally dead?
But just thinking about my stepfather being killed and being happy about it has me making the sign of the cross.
Forgive me for my impure thoughts, Father.
Then, without meaning to, my thoughts drifted to Dante, the way he had showed up at the house that night, the way he’d looked at me when he found me on the floor. He hadn't spoken much, but something in his eyes should… concern? Care?
Don't be stupid, I scolded myself, shaking the thought loose. Whatever his reasons, he was still a dangerous man. One that I should avoid at all cost. I hadn't seen him since the incident either, and I was grateful for that.
As I turned the corner, I noticed the black SUV trailing behind me. It had been for a while, but I hadn't made anything of it.
I paused to cross the road, pretending not to notice. It slowed, then turned when I turned. My breath quickened.
I turned down the quieter, darker street, thinking I could lose them. But the moment I looked over my shoulder again—
Strong hands yanked me up.
The force is so strong that I'm momentarily suspended midair, before a bulky man says with an Italian accent, “We’ve got her boss.”
I don’t stop to think what he meant. My goal right now is to survive.
“Help!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. “Help—” the man pressed a cloth over my mouth, cutting off any sound I could make.
I kicked, scratched, bit— but I might as well be a mouse fighting a cat. The man didn't budge or flinch at my attacks.
I gasp as I’m harshly shoved inside the backseat of the SUV. The scent of leather and masculine cologne fills my nostrils and the sounds of my own breaths sound almost terrifying as fear seeps into every part of my bones.
With trembling hands, I attempted to open the door before the men who took me had the chance to get into the driver's seat and take me to God knows where.
But they didn't climb into the car, instead, they stood in front of the car with their backs turned to me.
Thank you, Lord
I tugged at the handle of the door, but it wouldn’t budge. Jamming my foot against it, I push and pull until heat rises to my cheeks and beads of sweat form at my temples. I clicked the button to lower the glass, but it was also locked.
“Father,” I breathe, my voice cracking as panic tightens its hold. I’ve been a good girl, I’ve never dated, and I’ve kept myself pure for marriage. Please get me out of this mess. I don’t want to die."
I pound on the door, my shoulders heaving as I fought to breathe.
“It’s useless, save your efforts, Bambolina.” I flinch, my movement coming to a halt. In my adrenaline-induced phase, I failed to realize that I wasn’t alone. Still gripping the door’s handle, I turned slowly to the source of the voice, praying that what I had just heard was my paranoia playing a cruel trick on me.
My lips part as I'm met by those stormy gray eyes, the same ones that had barged into my house two days ago, and my breath caught as the fear intensified.
I resumed pushing and pulling the door handle, desperation taking over me this time.
Why won’t this man leave me alone? Why?! Maybe he wanted to kill me for seeing him kill that man the other day.
I tried all I could, but the door wouldn’t budge. When all the pushing and pulling brings me no result, my arms lie limb beside me.
“Are you done?” He asks in that calm, almost serene tone that always made him sound like royalty.
I keep my eyes fixed on the headrest in front of me, averting his gaze. Instead, I lunged to the front seat. Maybe I can open the door and go out the window from there.
But strong arms grip me by the waist and yank me down with effortless ease. He shifts me fully onto his lap, so I’m straddling him. I expect him to let me go now that he has me on him, but he doesn't. Instead, his grip on me tightens. His hands clamp the nape of my neck, firm but not cruel.
Being this close to him, I can smell every bit of him, with every drag of air I'm forced to inhale his scent. He smelled like leather and sandalwood. Power and danger. He speaks against my ear, his voice dropping an octave.
“I said it’s useless,” he says. "Fight me, and you’ll only get hurt. I’ve been far too patient with you. Try that s**t again, and I won’t hesitate to throw you back to the wolves.”
His lips grazed the shell of my ears and I froze.
“I’m giving you an easy way out,” he whispers. “So be grateful, thank your lucky stars and take it without asking any f*****g questions.”
I blinked rapidly, swallowing hard.
“What… What do you want from me?” I finally managed to say, my voice barely above a whisper.
He doesn’t hesitate.
“I have an offer for you, Bambolina.”
My throat tightens at the nickname. I hate it.
“What offer?”
He leans in again, his lips grazing the shell of my ear as he murmurs. “Be my wife.”
- Writer
