Page 75 of Capo

“Where are all the men?”

“Working.”

“What? Where? Oh wait—”

“Yes. They’re in the business.”

“But you wrote—”

“The people you see around you tonight don’t know the details of my work. And it stays that way. You are under no circumstances allowed to talk about me. I have instructed them to care for you, that you are important to me, and that you’ll be staying a while.”

My mouth goes dry. “Am I?”

“Staying?”

“Important.”

Salvatore doesn’t answer immediately. I hear him breathe. “I take care of my property. Buona notte, Chloe. Behave. I’ll know if you don’t.”

“Salvatore!”

“Yes,” he says, suddenly sounding eternally tired.

“Why did you send me here?”

“I have been attacked. We’re going to war. No one around me is safe. You know this better than most, which I am sorry for. I can’t have any distractions. Having you raped is fucking distracting. Having Ivan in the ICU is fucking distracting.”

“David!” I gasp.

“My son has left the country with his mother and extended family. Thank you for thinking about him. I appreciate that. I’ll send for you when I can. I expect to find you where you were left off. Now, good night.”

He disconnects.

My brothers? I want to scream. What about them? Their time was up today. Did you hurt them? But the line is dead and the number didn’t display. I can’t call back.

Property? A little hope sparked in me when he called, at the mirth in his voice, sounding almost like a man I could like. Now my heart sinks. Property! That’s all I am to him. A piece of meat. I might as well be a comfy couch.

I return to the main room and hand back the phone. The laughs sound hollow, as if I’m in a tin can. It doesn’t matter anymore that I don’t understand the conversation. I wouldn’t have been able to follow it anyway.

That night I dream of violence, of terror, and it’s not Christian anymore, or Salvatore, who hurts me. When I wake, sweaty, my heart nearly beating its way out of my chest, I wish I’d had his strong arms around me again, rocking me safe. I hug a pillow tight and try to sleep, but my brain won’t let the images go. I’m not sad or scared. I don’t feel ashamed. I wish I could have shot my attackers again and again. I’m so grateful for Salvatore’s trust when he handed me the gun. I needed it so badly.