8

Portia.
While I’m here I search through the drawers to see if there’s anything I can use as a weapon, if I need to.
I chuckle to myself at the thought.
If I need to.
I will need to. He’s told me what he plans to do. Is that really the only reason my cousin and I are alive? And is Nathan truly alive? Or did he just say that to appease me? To ensure I wouldn’t fight too hard when he lays his hands on me?
I wish I could trust his words that Nathan was really okay. But you don’t trust a man scarred and blinded by revenge.
You don’t.
No. I can’t think about that. Nathan is alive. I have to believe that.
I return to the bathroom and pull the towel off my head. Rummaging through his drawers, I find a brush. I meet my reflection and peer closer, shifting my gaze to the right to see the bruise high on my cheekbone where the skin is cut.
Probably happened on the floor of the cell. I’m surprised I’m not more badly hurt although my head aches. Setting the brush down, I open the medicine cabinet and locate a bottle of Aspirin. I’m about to swallow some when I notice it’s expired. By about ten years.
I look at the few other containers and notice they’re all old too. Almost like no one has opened this cabinet in a decade. That seems strange. I close the door deciding against the expired aspirin and work the brush through my hair wondering about that oddity but not lingering overly long.
When I’m finished, I squeeze as much moisture as I can out of my hair and braid it. I hate having the length of it wet down my back.
Twisting the braid, I tuck the end into itself to hold it in place and return to the bedroom. I eat the rest of the sandwich as I survey the space.
I wonder if Nathan’s had any food.
He eats like a machine these days. Losing my appetite at the thought, I wipe my hands on the cloth napkin. I pick up the bottle of whiskey, only half-full, and turn it to read the label. A bittersweet memory momentarily overwhelms me. It’s the same brand my father used to drink. I’d forgotten.
Strange how you don’t realize you’ve forgotten something until you’re reminded of it again.
I don’t want to forget my parents. So help me God.
I open the bottle and sniff. For a moment, I’m transported back in time, back to my dad’s study with its cloying cigar smoke and whiskey smell. I hated it back then. Curled my nose up at it. Now I’d give anything to be there again. To smell that smell. To see him laughing at me when I twist my face.
I’ll give anything.
Closing the bottle, I set it aside before starting with the dresser closest to me.
I’m surprised Callahan didn’t place a guard inside the room with me. I know that probably means there isn’t a weapon for me to find.
He’s not afraid of me looking through his things. He must know I will. I guess he’s also not afraid I’ll steal something. Where would I hide it? Especially if he’s thinking he’s getting laid when he gets back from wherever he went.
Did he take my uncle with him, I wonder? And how closely aligned are they? He asked each of my brothers if they knew where Fernando is. He meant my fiance. Fernando Mancini’s father has been in the hospital for the last two weeks. It’s all been hush-hush, but my brothers were anxious to get the marriage sorted before he recovers. If he recovers.
I met Fernando’s father, head of the Mancini Mafia clan, on two occasions. He didn’t seem like a bad guy. But next to Fernando, Satan might seem like pleasant company.
I keep looking through the drawers finding nothing. Just more clothes, briefs and socks like any normal person. He’s not though.
The image of him standing there with his shirt off reappears before my eyes. I couldn’t drag my eyes away. He’s built powerfully and seeing him shirtless was more dangerous than I thought it could be. Dangerous because I wanted to look. Couldn’t drag my gaze from all those scars and tattoos.
I’m not sure which he had more of, actually, but the one thing making me shudder were the few names I recognized inked on his chest. Many I didn’t know but I saw Vincent and Gregory’s names along with Fernando Mancini. Below theirs was Nathan’s name. Some had lines running through them. None I knew.
When I open the next drawer, I see something familiar. My engagement ring. It sits among neat rows of cuff links. There must be two dozen of them. And there, just tossed in, is the obnoxiously big five-carat ring.
I pick it up, looking at it. Not because I want it back but just to see it. To remember when it was forced on my finger. Fernando laughing, a fool, drunk as he fake proposed to me, almost breaking my finger when I spat into his face.
Gregory and Vincent pretending to be as drunk as he was. They laughed but I could see it wasn’t real. They just stood by while I was stripped naked at Fernando’s demand to get a look at the goods.
My brothers had allowed the stripping. The humiliation. But they’d saved me from having to fuck him at least. Probably afraid he wouldn’t buy the cow if he got the milk for free.
I burn with embarrassment at the memory of it. My stomach turns at what my own brothers made me do.
I throw the ring back into the drawer and slam it shut. Callahan can have it and everything it stands for. If it’s Fernando Mancini he wants, I’ll bring him his head on a silver platter if it will free Nathan and me.
But I want something in exchange. I want my uncle’s head on a matching platter. Would he give me that?
Callahan’s reasons are noble even if they endanger the one person I care about. He is avenging his family.
He just has no idea who he’s aligned himself with.