Ruthless Vow (Vegas Vicious #2)

7. Nicole

7

Nicole

I don’t know how long I wait for Leo’s return. It feels like hours. I sit on the stool, then I stand and stretch as best I can with the length of chain Leo left me. Then I sit on the stool again. I’m thirsty and I need to pee.

Finally, the door opens. Vito, one of Leo’s thugs steps inside.

Unlike Leo and his entire family, and even Luca, who is family-adjacent, Vito isn’t handsome. He has a face like a sledgehammer. A sledgehammer who’s recently sucked on an entire lemon.

“Is Joe with you?” I ask. They’re usually a matched pair. I don’t think I’ve ever seen one without the other.

Without saying a word, Vito unlocks the cuffs. He holds them up for a second, frowning at them, while I rub my newly freed wrists. Then he glances at the cart of torture implements against the far wall.

“Why’d he use these instead of those?” he asks with a jut of his chin toward the unpadded cuffs on the cart.

“Is that rhetorical? Or do you think I have an answer?” I ask.

He glares at me for a long moment then holds a blindfold out toward me.

“Put it on,” he instructs.

“No,” I say simply as I get to my feet.

He folds his arms and waits, blocking the door. I’m not short, and my cardio fitness is damn good from my five-mile runs, but I know I don’t have a chance in a hand-to-hand fight against a mountain of muscle like him.

I’ve known some girls who could flirt or charm their way out of any situation. I’m not one of those girls. And I never wanted to be. But now I see that a skill like that might come in handy.

Hell, maybe I should give it a try. What do I have to lose? Other than my pride.

“If I put this on, do you promise not to let me trip?” I say as smoothly as I can, adding a bashful smile, trying not to gag at how ridiculous I sound.

“Put the fucking blindfold on or you’re not leaving here. Those are the orders.”

Flirtation fail. I’ll take it and learn from it.

“Maybe I’ll stay here.”

“You’re not staying here. Boss’s orders.”

“I’m not leaving here? I’m not staying here? Which is it?” I ask sweetly.

He glares.

“Where are we?” I ask. “Still in Vegas? Outside the city?”

His expression doesn’t budge.

“Put the blindfold on or I’ll leave you here in the pitch dark,” he says.

I’m not afraid of being left in the dark.

My father dealt with punishment harshly. A word of argument after a direct order, anything perceived as sass, got an immediate smack to the face. Never a closed fist, though, always open. Closed fists were body shots only. He was too smart to leave marks that a teacher might notice. I suppose I should be grateful for that much. Physical punishment would be followed by what he called “quiet time.” A span of time spent in a small, locked closet. Dark. No windows. No distractions but my own thoughts.

Maybe that’s all that he knew—how he’d personally been raised. How his father had dealt with perceived disobedience. Maybe not. Or maybe my father was just an asshole.

I had cried a million tears during those countless hours of being alone in the dark. And then I decided to make friends with the dark, to wrap it around me like a comforting blanket. I trained my mind to not focus on the present, but to wander off to interesting places created by my imagination. Fairy tale kingdoms and colorful landscapes full of adventures and treasures.

When Sofia came into the world, I was seven years old. For two years, my mother did her best to protect us from our father’s wrath. She took the brunt of his cruelty herself, which led to her dependence on alcohol—her own way of escaping to beautiful fairy tale kingdoms, I suppose. And then she left us forever. And it was just me and Sofia.

The last thing my mother ever said to me was that I should take care of my sister.

My father’s temper escalated after my mother’s death. He liked to blame me for being a difficult child who drove her to drink. Nothing I said in my defense helped, it only made it worse.

More time spent in dark places to think and dream. But now I had a little sister to protect.

As the years went by, I learned how to navigate my father’s moods, becoming an expert surfer on a variety of challenging waves. I didn’t talk back. I obeyed every command, every order, a dedicated soldier showing up to fight a daily, life-or-death battle.

I survived. My sister grew up without facing the worst of Bruno Moretti’s wrath. I became a perfect daughter. Quiet, obedient, and dependable.

Didn’t matter. My father never had a word of praise for me. He always found some lack to home in on, some failure to call to my attention. I was ugly. Too tall. Too stupid.

Though he still slapped me when the mood took him, there were no more dark rooms once I became a teenager. But I’d never forgotten them. They’d haunted my dreams for years like a familiar ghost.

Being Leo’s prisoner is much more nostalgic than I would have guessed. A chance to return to my fantasies, even if I’d never been and never would be a princess waiting for rescue from a handsome and brave prince.

“And there’s no toilet in here,” Vito says.

An important point. While I’m not afraid of being left in the dark, my bladder is about to explode. Under the circumstances, a toilet is an acceptable bribe.

“Fine.” I put on the blindfold.

The cloth is thick. I try to position it to allow some light to leak through, but Vito steps behind me and finishes tying the knot, much tighter than I would have.

I’m plunged into darkness. Vertigo swirls through me, maybe because of the lack of visual reference points, or maybe because I’m still experiencing the after-effects of the knock-out drug. Either way, I’m left disoriented, swaying on my feet.

“Don’t fall,” Vito says coldly as he takes my arm to steady me.

I’ve never had an in-depth conversation with him. In fact, these are the most words I’ve ever heard him speak. But up until this moment, we’ve been on a politely-nod-at-each-other-in-greeting basis whenever we ran into each other over the past couple of years.

Vito’s tone is currently less than polite. If it were menacing, that would make sense. But he sounds more sulky and put-out than threatening.

“You’re angry with me,” I say.

“No shit.”

“Why?” I ask.

“Why? You mean other than the fact that you betrayed us?” He sounds incredulous.

“There’s another reason?” I ask.

“Yeah. Because you drugged my ass on the boat. I puked for a whole day after I woke up.”

Bianca wanted to let the mercenaries run rampant and slaughter everyone on the yacht that weekend. Had I agreed to that, none of this would be happening. I would be free. Bianca would be pleased with me. And Sofia would be…

I don’t know. Safe? I can only hope that wherever she is, she’s safe. Knowing that much for sure would give me so much peace, I might be able to sleep through a whole night without waking up in a cold sweat. But Bianca has doled out information about Sofia like a toddler sharing candy—grudgingly and only after you beg for it.

Vito might not see what I did on the yacht as a kindness since he doesn’t know what the alternative was, and I totally get that. If I were Vito, I’d hate me too.

“You won’t believe me, but I did that to actually save your ass.” It had been a choice between drugged or dead. I’d had to use all my wiles to convince my aunt that drugged was better, that wiping out anyone other than Leo at that moment would actually work against our goals. And I’d had to do that convincing through the intermediary that she allowed me to talk to rather than directly.

“You did it to save my ass. Sure. Whatever you say.” He pauses. “I used to think you were nice.”

Me too, I think. But that was a long, long time ago.

He leads me out of the room. We wander for a while. Turn right. Turn left. Go up stairs. Go down stairs. I can’t be certain, but I think we actually end up on the same floor we started on, that he’s been leading me around just to confuse me. I stumble on my feet a couple times, and only Vito’s iron grip on my upper arm keeps me upright.

When we stop, I hear the sound of beeps. An electronic door lock. Then the sound of a door opening. A less than gentle shove.

“When will Leo be—?” I begin.

The sound of the door closing is my only reply. I reach for the blindfold and pull it from my eyes. Vito’s gone. I turn to see I’m in a room, which looks like an inexpensive hotel room. Beige walls. Beige floor. Beige ceiling. Not even a slight color variation to break up the monotony. Double bed, an armchair, a chest of drawers. A small bathroom with a shower, no tub.

But I know immediately it’s not a hotel room. This is a holding room for prisoners.

Just like in the room where I was kept handcuffed, there are no windows here.

No TV. No reading material—no books or magazines or even a city guide.

No mirror in the bathroom. Makes sense. A shattered piece of mirror could make an excellent weapon.

I turn a full circle.

There is no way out. And even if I could find a way out, I’ve exhausted all my ideas. I’ve failed at every attempt to reach my aunt. I have no idea how to find Bianca. How to find Sofia.

Desperation crashes through me in a sudden surge.

I sink down on the edge of the bed.

“Think, Nicole, think,” I whisper to myself.

I don’t know what game Leo is playing, what outcome he intends with his mind tricks…

Does he think I’ll reach for the hope he’ll let me live?

I’ve learned the hard way that hope is like the dessert menu at a lousy restaurant—alluring, but ultimately painfully disappointing.

Leo’s going to kill me for what I did. To believe there’s any other outcome to this would be delusional.

I’m going to die, and Sofia is going to be on her own. That is, if she’s even still alive.