Page 69 of Capo
Twenty-Two
Chloe
Send me away?
I stand naked right inside the locked door, still damp, little drops from my hair spattering on the floor. My heart slams a dizzying staccato in my chest, and an ache spreads that has nothing to do with the assault. I want his warm skin on me again, the safety in his arms. For a few moments I felt secure in a way I can’t recall ever feeling before in my life, not since I was a little girl anyway, no matter how absurd it is.
Shivers wrack my body, and my mind balances on a knife’s edge between crumbling into a weeping, screaming mess, or pulling myself together. One second I think I can actually choose, and then it’s too late. A single tear slips from my eye and it opens the gates to the dam. I stagger to the huge bed and curl up under the comforter, wrapping it tightly around me and scream into a pillow only pausing to gasp for air.
Initially, the house is loud. Men’s voices. Slamming of doors. Faint sounds of cars. Then it quiets down, and as my stomach begins to churn with hunger, I have soaked both sides of two pillows with my tears. Every time I think I’m about to collect myself, my cruel brain flashes images before me of flesh shot to pieces, drenching me in blood, of memories from when the door was slammed open and the three fucking Russians entered the bedroom. I was reading. I was just reading a book. I had a few moments of peace and quiet, and they ripped me apart when they threw themselves over me like ravaging hyenas, screaming, hooting, tearing the clothes off my body.
I anticipated rape and death. It’s what they told me in their broken English. No one would save me. Everyone was dead and I was next. I couldn’t fathom that the most powerful man in the world was dead. That my beast was dead.
And then he wasn’t.
A part of me wants to think that I’ve never felt such hate before, but it isn’t true. I’ve hated with every fiber of my being. It’s as if hate has a chamber of its own in my heart. The person, whoever they were, who murdered my parents. The man who recruited my baby brothers to hide away guns and drugs, then lured them onto a path of violence and crime. The old man I trusted but who never lived up to his promises, and I don’t think he ever meant to. Christian. Christian Russo who hurt my friend, who broke her bright soul, who beat me so badly that I thought I was going to die.
And then Luciano Salvatore.
I have hated Salvatore more than I thought possible. His brutal touch is burnt into my soul. His beatings, his assaults.
But when I thought he was dead I didn’t rejoice, instead my heart broke.
And then he wasn’t.
He’s no knight in shining armor. He’s the dragon in its den. He’s the terror that lurks in the dark. But he saved me. He cradled me to his chest, broken, bloodied Chloe, holding me tight.
Speaking of Salvatore. Where is he? I have nothing to tell me the time, but the hunger has finally driven me out of my wallowing and back on my feet. There’s a large adjacent bathroom in here as well and I take another shower. I don’t think I can ever feel clean again. I wish someone would just hug me. I need therapy. I need someone to care about me. I cry again, my face turned up in the stream. Lather. Rinse. Repeat. Body and hair. Four times, trying to rid myself of the near-physical memory of their grabby hands, the cock down my throat, I still wish I could scrub myself hard enough to bleed. There are finger-shaped bruises on my breasts and my arms. My upper lip is swollen and has a laceration that I keep prodding with my tongue. I’m sore, but it’s still nothing compared to what could have happened. I’m so fucking thankful I wasn’t raped in its fullest sense.
Thankful to him for coming for me.
I rummage around his drawers and closet and pull on briefs, a pair of black jeans, socks, a wife beater, a T-shirt, and a dark gray shirt. The jeans fall to my feet if I don’t hold them up, but a belt does the trick and I have to fold up the hem so as not to stumble on them. I look like a clown, but at least I’m finally warm and I smell good. I smell of him.
It’s been dark outside for a long while when I finally hear steps in the hallway and a key rattle in the lock. The door swings open. My heart thrashes in fear, in hope, in longing for another human being. Salvatore stands in the doorway and makes no move to enter the room. His gaze travels along my body, making me extremely self-conscious about wearing his clothes.
“How’s Ivan?” I ask as I wrap my arms around my chest, hugging myself.
He pushes a hand through his hair and sighs. “Hanging on by a thread.”
I nod. “Okay.”
“How are you?”
I can’t help that my chin trembles as if I’m a child. “I need someone to hold me,” I whisper.
He’s silent at first and the moment stretches. “Yeah, that’s not gonna be me. You hate me, remember?”
My heart sinks. Right now, I don’t. I want his arms around me so much that my skin aches with emptiness. “I—”
“I’ve arranged for a plane. You’ll be transported to a private airfield and removed from the city.”
“I—What?”
“It’s not safe for you here.”
Hysterical laughter bubbles up in my throat. “Safe? Listen to yourself!”
“These are my final words on the matter. I’d have recommended you bring something along for the flight, but you don’t want to set your foot in the other bedroom, and you’re already dressed. Someone will pick you up. Goodbye, Chloe.” He takes a step back, his eyes look dead, his face shut off, then he closes and locks the door again.