Francesca
Iwake from a restless sleep, nightmares of being slapped around as I toss and turn in a bed with no sheets. As I come to, my first thought is, I should have just gone for his heart with the knife.
My eyes open and I’m staring at four walls of rough rocks. I try to focus through the foggy hangover from the drug they used to knock me out.
I’m dying to move my arms and legs. They know how skilled I am so it’s unlikely I’ll be untied and allowed the use of any extremities while in captivity. There is a first time for everything, or so the saying goes.
Pain shoots up from my right leg and I stifle a wince by biting my lip. How long have I been out? Long enough for my legs to cramp and, in my experience, that takes hours. What the hell did Dante hit me with?
I remember a prick, a short buzz and then nothing. I need water. My mouth is parched, like someone who has smoked too much pot.
My jaw isn't broken but bruised for sure. Unfortunately, I know the difference. I didn’t expect him to hit me so hard. Damn, not a bad wallop.
I broke my own rule of engagement by underestimating my opponent. This attack, fueled by emotion and not strategic thinking, may be my undoing. If I can just get free, I can fix the situation and save myself in the process.
Peeking through my eyelashes, I glance around the room. It’s dark but I can make out a small sink and a toilette that still has a pull chain. This must be a wine cellar the family has used over the years to torture and even kill their enemies.
I’m lying on some sort of mattress that is so thin I feel the slats under it and my back hurts. But what hurts more are my arms from being strapped to the bedpost in such an unnatural position. The pain is blinding. I focus on my breathing to remain calm but my efforts to keep the pain levels tolerable aren’t going to work.
Damn!They fucking drugged me. Now I really want to kill Sal.
I need to make use of my time and observe my captors. There are two in the room. As my head is becoming clearer, one is larger and older with a neatly trimmed salt and pepper goatee.
By larger I mean stacked, with muscles, he probably eats a dozen eggs for breakfast and works out non-stop. He’s ruggedly handsome but I instinctively know that he’s all business and will never cut me any slack.
Fuck, an enforcer.With the posture of a commanding officer in an elite force he stands with his legs apart to keep himself from being knocked over. His training has made the way he carries himself second nature giving him an aura of confidence and strength. Make no mistake about it, he’s a worthy opponent.
Damn, damn, double damn!
I can’t look down to my legs but assume they retrieved the knife I had strapped to my thigh since I don’t feel it against my skin. Of course, they would search me. One doesn’t go up against the likes of them without retribution.
“She’s awake,” Sal announces as he approaches the bed in the four long easy strides.
I fully open my eyes, and the game of possum is over.
“My arms are killing me, release me,” I demand.
“You don’t call the shots,” the man with the goatee speaks, moving closer and crossing his meaty arms across his broad chest. “Who do you work for?” he inquires.
“No one.”
“You have a name?” Sal asks, and I find it hard to resist telling him.
I’ve been known to be manipulative, and I’ve been appeased most of my life, but this man . . . definitely a worthy opponent.
“Fine, we have a way of dealing with uncooperative prisoners.” Without untying me, he takes my hand and puts my palm on a glass surface to get a print.
The machine searches until it gets a result and lets out a beep.
“Francesca Conti,” he volunteers, and suddenly, he’s not perplexed.
“Ha, you are here to avenge Conti’s death?” the goatee man says.
“Something like that,” I concede.
“Well, Dante is the head of the family and there is no proof our family was involved in that,” Sal suggests while licking his lips in thought as he sits on a chair that is too close for comfort. “Why go after me?” he asks, as calmly as a man propositioning a woman over a cup of espresso.
“I want Dante to be miserable, knowing he is the reason I killed you. Family is important to him, and it is the most destructive form of revenge, short of killing him.” I want to make it clear that I still intend to finish what I started.