Chapter 5 Surrender

• SEVYN
• Vincent Marchetti was in my bathroom, taking a shower with the door wide open, washing the blood of his body. What are the chances he’d slaughtered a chicken for dinner and gotten it all over his hands and clothes?
• Zero.
• Still, a girl can only hope.
• The sound of the rhythmic flow of water usually soothed me. Not this time. This time it made my blood run cold. The apartment was eerily quiet, and my fear ballooned in that terrible silence. I’d never feared for my life before. Never thought I’d be facing death. Counting down the seconds until I took my last breath. Guess, there was a first time for everything.
• I’d remained glued to the spot at my dresser, too afraid to move. Now would be a good time to get dressed, all the same, what was the point? Did it matter what I wore when he ended my life?
• On auto-pilot, I rummaged through my drawers and found some underwear and cotton pajamas. If my body was found floating down the river, at least it would be clothed. I just hoped he didn’t-wouldn’t violate me before mutilating it. He was a don and obviously had a harem of women at his beck and call. He wouldn’t want me, would he??
• Vincent’s shower seemed to drag on for hours. Or was it just me? He hummed some heavy rock song by Metallica and I wandered around the room aimlessly.
• My body was trembling. The toxins of terror seared through my veins. The silence and waiting around were driving me crazy.
• I bolted down the stairs and lunged for the front door. The corridor was empty. Without a single soul in sight.
• It was a trap. It had to be.
• Should I call the police? Run? How far would I go before he caught up with me again? Would he wipe out my whole family to teach me a lesson? I had to stay. For the sake of my mother and sister.
• No running then.
• An hour and then two passed and I was still standing at my living room window. There was no sign of Vincent. Where was he? What was he doing? Was he waiting for me to sleep so he could finish me off in my sleep?
• How could I sleep when my life was threatened?
• Huddling on the window-seat, I stared out the horizon, waiting for dawn. The stars scattered in the midnight sky blinked at me, tauntingly. I felt like they were telling me,
• ‘You’re going to die tonight. You’re going to die tonight…’
• And yet I waited. Waiting for him to come and find me. Waiting for death.
• When I woke up the next morning, I was in my bed.
• Alive.
• Vincent wasn’t in the bathroom and his clothes were gone. It was like last night never happened. Had I dreamt about it? Imagined it? No, it was real. He was here, telling me I was a foolish thief who would be begging for death by the time he was done with me.
• I tiptoed down the stairs and found him in the kitchen, making breakfast. He had made himself at home, using my stainless steel appliances connecting his phone to my Bluetooth speaker, and playing Kings Of Leon like he did so every other day. Something told me this guy didn’t like silence.
• This morning his dark hair was neatly sleeked back and his body was sheathed in another fresh designer suit like he was ready for a day to dominate the business world.
• “Eat,” he ordered, sliding the plate in front of the marble veined counter when I sat on the stool. “You’ll need your strength.”
• “To die?” I croaked, keeping my hands tucked between my thighs. “Isn’t that pointless?”
• “If I wanted to kill you,” he leaned on the counter and narrowed his eyes. “You’d be long dead.”
• “I’m not hungry.” I eyed the delicious ham and cheese omelet, the dominant smell of green peppers wafting to my nose. “Thanks all the same.”
• “Suit yourself,” he shrugged and walked to an espresso machine I hadn’t seen before. “Coffee?”
• “No,” I squeaked, trying to keep my hands and voice from trembling. “Why am I still alive?”
• “I need my money, puppetta?” He filled up his cup and the scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the air. “All of it.”
• “I don’t have it.” After paying my mother’s bills and my sister’s tuition, I transferred the balance to my mother’s account as a safety precaution.
• “She doesn’t have it,” he said, pinching his bottom lip between his tattoed fingers and placing his cup on the counter. O.D.I.O. the Italian word for hate, was tattooed on his right fingers, in gothic lettering. A single letter on each finger with a tattoo of Zeur on the back of his hand, disappearing into the cuff of his shirt. “Lei non ce l’ha,” he repeated in his mother tongue. “Va bene. Va bene.”
• “What are you going to do to me?” I was still alive. He obviously had big plans for me.
• “It depends.”
• “On what?”
• ”Can you get my money back, Sette?” He pressed his lips into a thin line, bunching his eyebrows. “All of it??”
• “I…don’t know.” How could someone so beautiful be capable of causing hurt and pain to others? Looks really could be deceiving. “I don’t think so.”
• “Then you’ve given me an open check.
• “To do what?”
• “Whatever I want with you.”
• “Can I-will you at least give me a chance to explain why I took it?” I tried to appeal to his humanity but knew it was futile. Vincent’s monikers were as dark as his soul. He was known as Malvagio, (Merciless) or Snaturato (Heartless)
• “Will it bring the money back?”
• “No, but”-
• “Then what’s the point?”
• “My mother is sick.”
• “And my mother is dead.”
• “My father-in-law took your money and ran,” I fumbled through the explanation. “Maybe we can-”
• “We?”
• “I don’t know what to say.”
• “Can you pay me back?” he asked, direct and to the point.
• Lincoln’s father had disappeared with it. There was no way we could recover it. “No.”
• “Then all you have to offer me is your total surrender.” “So far you’ve done a terrible job. You’re going to have to work on that.”
• “You want me to be your slave?” I’d rather die. Or kill myself as he’d predicted yesterday.
• His eyes narrowed into dark slits. “You’ll be whatever I tell you.”
• “I’m not going to sleep with you.” There was nothing I could do or say to change my fate. No need to be nice and polite. “You’re going to kill me anyway so-”
• “You’d need to earn the honor of sleeping with me, cuore mia.” Earn the honor? I almost snorted. Well, the guy was really full of himself wasn’t he? “Death is too good for the likes of you, Sette.” He said I own you. I decide whether you live or die. Your sole purpose in life will be to please me, puppetta. To please me. To do what I say and when I say. You are to obey expediently with no questions or arguments.”
• “No.”
• “For someone with family, you’ve got a lot of lip.”
• My sweaty fingers clasped the counter. His mind games had me constantly on the edge. “Are you threatening my family?”
• “I don’t know.” He shrugged and sucked in his lips.
• “Am I, Sette?” He turned and stepped to the sink to wash his cup. The guy was a neatness freak.
• “Do you feel, Vincent?” “Do you bleed like the rest of us mere mortals?’
• He walked back, fished a chopping knife out of the organizer, and sliced across his palm. “Well, look at that” The corner of his lip tipped up and he held his hand over my food, letting the bright red drops drip all over the omelet. “It's red too. Not black. Shocker.” He went back to the sink and ran water over his hand.
• “Please don’t hurt them?” I pleaded, willing to do anything to keep them from his wrath.
• “I’ll think about it,” he said, striding to the door.
• “Your young sister is a pretty little thing. She could give you a run for my money,” he stopped at the doorway and winked. “Buona giornata, ladra.”