Page 5 of Unforgivable Ties

I sighed and looked out the trolley window. I was heading home from another long day at college, and my ride home always felt endless. It was moments like these when I cursed my odd apartment, but it was way too expensive to live in the city.

At last, the trolley came to a halt at my designated stop and I quickly got off. This stop saw little traffic; it was located in thewarehouse district, so typically only workers would enter or exit the trolleys at this location.

Everyone except me, I supposed. I walked down the sidewalks overgrown with weeds, passing buildings that whirred with machinery. I could hear it at all hours of the day from my apartment, but with the price I paid for rent, I couldn’t complain. Over time, the sound had become almost comforting.

I smiled as I waved to Alfonso and Giuseppe. They were two older men who were always hanging around in front of the old, rusty warehouse a couple of blocks down from my building. They were as much a part of this district as the buildings themselves, always there, always smoking cigars and solving world problems in their thick Italian accents.

“Buonasera!” I said, approaching the two men. They taught me a new word in Italian each day—I was eager to learn today’s word.

“Buonasera, bella signora!” Alfonso greeted with his usual grin, his teeth yellowed from years of cigar smoking.

“Got a word for you today,” Giuseppe said, taking a puff from his cigar. He leaned in towards me, his eyes bright with amusement. “Nouvo. It means new.”

“Nouvo,” I said, testing the new syllables on my tongue.

I was going to ask their inspiration for their word of the day, but a sleek, black car parked across the street. Upon seeing it, the two men backed away from me and to their post at the door.

“Continue home, bella signora,” Alfonso said quietly.

My face turned ashen as I recognized the figure stepping out of the vehicle. It was the mystery man from the day of the shooting, and he did not look happy. From across the street, I could see the anger in his dark eyes, and there was a terrifying aura that emitted from him.

I wanted to keep walking. I didn’t realize how scary this man was, and suddenly, I didn’t need any of the questions that hadbeen plaguing me answered. But fear kept me rooted to the ground.

“Hello, Stephanie,” he said, stopping dangerously close to me and crossing his arms. I hadn’t realized just how big he was when I was sitting next to him on the floor. Now, with him inches away from me, it was obvious he was six and a half feet tall.

“H-hello,” I said, taking a step back and almost tripping in the process.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his eyes not leaving mine. It felt like his eyes were drilling into my soul, trying to uncover secrets I didn’t even know I had.

“Home! Going home. So, if you’ll excuse me,” I hastily turned to start walking back to my apartment, but he grabbed me by the top handle of my backpack.

“Let me take you.”

“No, I think I’ll be fine, thanks,” I said, trying to shake him off.

“I wasn’t asking, Stephanie,” he said, his voice a threatening whisper. I looked back at Alfonso and Giuseppe, but the men were looking the other way, leaving me alone to face this intimidating man.

His grip on my backpack tightened, and he pulled me back, causing me to stumble into his chest. He didn’t flinch, and I could feel the hardness of his muscles through his shirt.

“Let’s go,” he said, glaring down at me.

Normally, I would have fought. I would have screamed and argued and caused a scene. But something about this mystery man paralyzed me and didn’t make me think rationally.

He led me to his car by my backpack handle, like a person with their dog on a leash, and all but shoved me into the passenger seat. Once I was inside, he slammed the door shut with such force that the car seemed to shake. He rounded the front of thecar and swung himself into the driver’s seat, switching on the engine with a roar that masked my trembling breaths.

“My apartment is down the street,” I said meekly, although I had a strong feeling he wasn’t taking me home.

“We’re going to take a detour,” he said, his dark eyes fixed on the road ahead. His lips were set in a firm line, and there was a steely determination in his gaze that told me arguing was pointless.

“Detour?” I echoed shakily. “To where?”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” was his cryptic response. He shifted gears smoothly, the car responding with a powerful surge that sent us racing down the deserted street.

He pulled into the docks, and my stomach churned with nausea. He had told me not to come here anymore, because it was dangerous, but now he was taking me here. What was he going to do to me?

I fought back tears as he drove us through a maze of shipping containers until we reached the exact place where we first met. He put the car in park, exited and came around to my side, opening the door with a swift pull.

He pulled me out of the car and shoved me against a shipping container. His body was dangerously close to mine and I could feel the heat radiating off of him. His hands were on either side of me, palm flat against the chilly surface of the container, trapping me effectively.