Page 29 of Capo
Ten
Chloe
I scramble to cover up again, shaking from the fear and humiliation of the meeting with the mob boss. He’s the Devil himself. Why the hell did I decide it was a good idea to come here? I cry helplessly, feeling dirty for being so quick to obey, for spreading my legs, for calling him… sir. Nausea rises in me every time I relive it. Every time his words flicker through my mind, his threat to have me raped, something inside me shrinks, pulls back, builds protecting walls. I think of the sky, of the ocean, of having a latte in a cafe downtown, trying to escape in my mind and not dwell on his promise that he’ll keep me locked up forever. He can’t mean that, can he?
I flinch hard when the door unlocks. My instinct is to charge the sliver of an opening, but I quell it when two people enter, the giant blond guard, Ivan, who threw me in here, and an old, balding man who seems to be in his seventies. The guard is carrying a large black bag and I freeze up. They’ll torture me! I don’t know why, but I’m sure they’ll make up a reason. The older man throws a quick glance at Ivan, then he walks up to me and crouches, grimacing as if he’s in pain. I try to shrink back into the wall, but I’m already there and there’s no going anywhere.
“Miss Becker?”
I lick my dry lips and try to wrap the towel tighter. “Yes?”
The man glances behind him and gestures for Ivan to come closer. My eyes dart between the two men, trying to predict what they’ll do.
“I’m Doctor Edwards. I’m here to see to your wounds.” His eyes fall on the cast and then he frowns. “And have that taken care of.”
I stare at him in disbelief as he opens the bag Ivan has put next to him. He digs around in it and then produces a bottle of what looks like water that he hands me. I reach for it and wince as pain stabs my chest.
“What is it?” I ask.
“I was told you needed to eat and drink. I don’t have food, but I brought water. I’m also going to give you something for the pain before I take care of your arm.”
I try to unscrew the lid with one hand with no success. The doctor takes over and then hands me the opened bottle. “Why? I thought… I got the impression… I didn’t think anyone would care how I feel.”
He twitches and glances at Ivan again, who stands like a statue, impassive, seemingly emotionless. The doctor then leans in and says in a low voice, “You’re merchandise. He doesn’t want his goods deformed. I don’t think he would approve of me giving you ketamine, but I can’t work if you’re in too much pain. How old is that fracture?” He throws Ivan a nervous look and my eyes dart to him too. Is he going to intervene? Ivan just gives a half-shrug and looks bored.
“Merchandise?” I whisper. “Is he going to sell me?”
“I’m sorry,” says the doctor as he pulls up liquid into a syringe, taps it and looks me over. “Present me your thigh, please.”
I shake as I pull up the towel. My heart fills with icy, clenching horror and I have a thousand questions.
“What—Ow!” The sharp needle pricks my skin and is pushed deep into the side of my thigh. I tense as he empties the syringe and then the room tilts and a warm feeling spreads through my body, relaxing me. “Whoa.”
“There might be unfortunate side effects,” he mumbles as he starts to cut up my cast. I can’t focus my gaze and the room spins sickeningly, so I close my eyes. I try to make my mouth cooperate. I want to ask. Merchandise? Fright nips at my heart but can’t seem to get a grip as my mind floats away.
“How old is your fracture?” he asks again.
“A week,” I mouth after fighting to find the words, then my mind finally flies free.
When I wake, I’m alone. I have a wool blanket instead of the wet towel. Next to me stands a plate with a sandwich, the bottle of water, and a cut apple that has begun to turn brown. My stomach growls at the sight. I wonder how long I’ve slept and then I jolt, looking around me, the bleakness of my situation hitting my heart like a freight train. My hand shakes as I reach for the water, gulping down half the bottle, then I devour the sandwich in three bites, groaning as it hits my stomach like a slab of concrete. I have no idea what time it is, or even day. I don’t know how many hours it’s been since I ate.
My cast is shiny and new, the arm hanging again in a sling around my neck. I have a fresh, white bandage around my chest, and when I touch my face I feel strips of tape covering the wound in my eyebrow.
He doesn’t want his merchandise deformed.
The sandwich threatens to make its way back up and I fight the nausea, trying to breathe through it. I need the calories or I won’t last long. Maybe I won’t last long anyway? I shudder and wrap the blanket tighter. There are no windows. The light is on, the one too-bright lamp in the middle of the ceiling. I squint against the fluorescent, slightly flickering light. In the absolute silence I can just about make out the low humming noise it makes.
Luciano
I have had Matteo dig a little deeper into Chloe’s background and when he calls me back, I fucking drop my jaw. That doesn’t happen often.
“Hey Uncle Luci,” he says. “Seems this little kitten’s got a really fascinating background. She’s the oldest of four siblings. Her two younger brothers are doing time. One for armed robbery, the other for identity fraud. That first guy is a fucking safecracker. Classic. There’s a sister too, the youngest of them all, but I haven’t been able to find out more about her. I’ll get to that. Dad was a dentist, Mom stayed at home. Their parents got murdered in a robbery and their cute little suburban, middle class life ended. They lived with an aunt and it all went south it seems. Car thefts, pickpocketing, drugs, assault, breaking and entering. All this at a very tender age.”
“Chloe?”
“Turns out your Chloe isn’t Chloe at all. She was called Christine. She never finished college. Her sister went missing, no one knows if there was foul play, her brothers finally got properly booked, and your girl assumed a new identity, forged everything, moved across the country—”
“Where is she from?”