Unforgivable Ties

Chapter 3

Stephanie

T he day of the shooting, I had run home, my errands completely forgotten. I was covered in the mystery man’s blood, and I was terrified someone would see me and ask questions I couldn’t answer.

I had considered going to the cops. But I had gotten a look at some of the man’s tattoos, and he was probably just a thug caught up in some gang related shooting. I didn’t know if it was related to territory, drugs, or reputation, but I didn’t care and the police probably had more important things to do.

So, I stayed silent, and would forever keep the memory locked away. It would hide in the abyss of my heart, longing for more information, but forever staying unanswered.

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 the warehouse 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 had been 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 the car 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.

“Why were you at these docks the day of the shootout?” he asked. His voice was low and hard, like the steel of the container against my back. His eyes held a glare that sent shivers down my spine.

“I told you the day we met,” I said. “I live in this area and if I cut through here, it’s a shortcut.”

“This is a warehouse district, Stephanie. I don’t buy your story—who do you work for?” he pushed me harder against the shipping container.

“There’s a ten unit apartment complex on Morrison Street,” I gasped, struggling to breathe from the weight of him. “How have you not noticed it?”

“Convenient excuse,” he snarled, his eyes narrowing as they bore into me. He wasn’t buying my explanation, I could tell. “An innocent girl like you, strolling through one of the most dangerous places in the city every day?”

“What? It’s not dangerous. This place is totally abandoned!”

His lip curled into a snarl. “Don’t play the fool, Stephanie,” he growled, his voice bouncing off the cold steel of the shipping containers. “This place is filled with danger and criminals.”

“If,” I wheezed, trying to breathe, “I show you my apartment, will you believe me?”

He hesitated, still glaring down at me with suspicion in his eyes. He was weighing my proposal, contemplating if it was worth the risk. Then, as though coming to a decision, he released me abruptly and stepped back, leaving me to stumble slightly against the cold steel of the container.

“If there is no apartment, this ends with a bullet in your skull.”

I picked myself up from the container and followed him to the car. I had a feeling that even when I showed him my apartment, I still might end up shot in the head.

“Nice way to repay someone who saved your life,” I grumbled as he drove us towards my apartment.

He ignored my jab. His eyes never left the road, even when he parked the car in front of the old building that was my apartment complex. The worn brick had years of weathering, the pavement was cracked and the paint peeling, but the age of the building wasn’t horrible.

“I thought this place was condemned,” he said, glancing skeptically at the faded sign hanging on by its last two bolts.

My cheeks turned bright red from the embarrassment, but I managed to mutter a quick reply. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

He simply grunted in response, clearly unconvinced. I led him up the cracked concrete steps and unlocked my apartment with a key that had seen better days.

“Are you satisfied?” I asked, opening the door so he could see my apartment but not letting him in.

“Not yet.” He pushed past me and walked into the kitchen.

“Hey!” I said, following him in. “I didn’t say you could come in!”

“I don’t take orders from you,” he said, picking up a framed photo of my friend and me and looking at it skeptically.

My foot slammed against the ground in frustration towards the man. “Just who are you, anyway? I don’t even know your name!”

“Vincenzo,” he responded, placing the photo down and casually walking towards the living room area.

“That only answers half the question,” I said, following him as he explored my personal space. Vincenzo seemed unfazed by my growing irritation. He was more interested in studying my small, shabby living room filled with second-hand furniture and a cheap television set.

“Does it matter?”

“I saved your life, and you repay me by interrogating me and going through my stuff! The least you can do is tell me who the hell you are,” I shot back, my patience fraying at the edges.

“Someone you had the misfortune of encountering.” Vincenzo left the living room and made his way to my restroom.

I didn’t care that he was giant, muscular, and (presumably) a criminal. I was going to murder this man. The ungrateful bastard had just traipsed about my humble abode as if it were his own while giving me no information about himself.

Vincenzo laughed when he opened my bathroom door. I wasn’t sure what was more unsettling—the fact this man was capable of laughing or that he found something amusing in my tiny, dilapidated bathroom. I followed him, prepared to demand an explanation for his behavior.

“You should put these away when you’re done.” He held my bright pink sex toy in his hand and had a smirk on his face.

My face paled. I had forgotten I washed it and left it out to dry instead of putting it away. Which normally wouldn’t have mattered, because I wouldn’t have company over. I just didn’t expect a six and a half foot criminal to barge into my house on a Wednesday.

“Give me that!” I attempted to grab it from his hand, but his towering height made it impossible for me to reach.

“Little small, don’t you think?” Vincenzo said, eyeing it.

Small? That thing was like, seven inches and super thick. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” I snapped, my cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“Smaller than me, at least,” he shrugged and handed the toy back to me.

Stunned, I snatched it from his grasp, but not before a blush had crawled its way from my neck to the tips of my ears. I was mortified, and a bit intrigued by his implication.

“Will you please leave now?” I asked exasperatedly.

“For now,” he said. “But I’ll be back.”

“What? No! That’s the end of this; you can go back to living whatever nefarious lifestyle you lead and I’ll go back to my normal one!”

“Unfortunately, Doc, you owe me. Your ‘normal life’ ain’t going to be so normal anymore.”

“Who owes who now? I saved your life!” I exclaimed, poking him in his muscular chest.

“The right thing to do would have been to shoot you in that warehouse. So, you owe me.” He shoved past me and went back into the living room.

He reached the front door before I could yell at him more and twisted the knob, but paused before heading outside. He turned back towards me, his facial features hardened from years of a life I couldn’t begin to fathom.

“By the way, your apartment has black mold. You should really move out.”

“At least I’d be free of you,” I said, looking him in the eye.

“I’d find you, Doc.” He slammed the door shut so hard he knocked magnets off my fridge.

With a huff of frustration, I snatched the cushion from my couch and let out a loud scream, muffling it against the soft fabric. What had I gotten myself into?