Page 134 of Capuleto

During that exercise, I broke an arm and dislocated an ankle. I was thirteen again, having gone out a window just like now, and my only escape route was a rickety drainpipe with rusty screws. I fell from the second floor onto some bushes when some of them came loose under my weight. If it hadn't been for those bushes, it would have been much worse.

I limped back to my father, who congratulated me for doing it in three and a half minutes.

I sat in the window, and there it was, the dreaded drainpipe.

"Come on," Yuri urged insistently.

"The last time I fell off one, remember?"

"You were thirteen, and it was a ruined building."

"Tell that to my fears."

Yuri grabbed my injured arm and twisted it behind my back.

"Either you go down, or I throw you and leave. I won't have a second-in-command who backs down at the first sign of trouble." His hot breath hit my ear. "Prove you deserve to carry our last name, or I'll take you out. You know I won't hesitate, and I hate cowards. Choose." Yuri wasn't lying; he was willing to sacrifice me.

"You want to kill me?!"

"No, but if I have no other choice, I will."

"Police, open the door!" someone shouted from the other side. He looked at me warningly.

"If they open it, I'll kill her!" my brother roared, knowing that protocol would prevent the police from doing anything if the kidnapper had a weapon and a hostage. Yuri locked eyes with mine. "Nikita, do it now!"

I had no choice if I wanted a chance to get out alive. I placed one foot, then the other. I pressed myself against the building wall. With my weak and trembling body, I took two steps to get to the drainpipe.

The wind whipped my hair. I felt dizzy. I couldn't afford to retch; it could destabilize me. I clung to the pipe with what little strength I had left.

The memories, my precarious health, and my bare feet didn't help. I was hurting myself.

"Hurry up!" Yuri urged from the window. "I'm sure they're calling for backup, and for now, the alley is clear."

He was right. There were no patrol cars waiting for me below, just an open dumpster whose smell churned my stomach. I had heard pregnant women were very sensitive to odors. Could that be my case?

"Hold on, Nikita," I told myself.

I slowly descended a section, hooking my toes on the small protrusions I found on the building's facing.

I couldn't fail, I had to make it. Even sick, my determination was firm.

I tried to secure each step. My arm hurt. I was scraping the soles of my feet, enduring the cramps that stiffened my muscles and threatened to stop supporting me at any moment. Yuri couldn't come down until I did. The thick pipe wouldn't hold both our weights.

My brother shouted again for me to hurry up. His face was a constant threat of what would happen if I didn't.

When did he go from being my brother to my enemy?

The pain devoured me inside. I thought about Romeo, about the possibility of having his child in my belly.

Was I really pregnant? Surely, if I hadn't been, my husband would have shot as soon as he opened the door; he held back because I was carrying his baby, not because he wanted to save me or had forgiven me. Thinking about it was a slap in the face. What would I be to him if I survived? A womb with legs? And then what? Would he kill me?

The emotions were unbearable; I wanted to cry, to curl up and beg for the world to stop so I could get off life. I had messed up so badly that it was very difficult for R, his family, and the 'Ndrangheta to forgive me. And if I let myself fall? What if I ended it all?

I abruptly ended my suicidal thoughts. What was happening to me? I fought to the end with tooth and nail, I didn't give up, and I never apologized! Or, at least, I hadn't until three days ago.

Since R entered my life, he had toppled every one of my principles.

My eyes burned. A sharp pain settled in my chest, nothing to do with my poor health. It was the result of the anger and insecurity that had taken root in my heart. And to think that when my parents conceived me, they forgot to give me one.