4: Escaped

[Enora]

The laughter from the foyer was poison to my ears.

Papa had told me he’d signed me off like property, but not who my soon-to-be husband was.

I glanced at the ice bucket arranged with unopened whiskey, swallowing my saliva to keep from grabbing a bottle and gulping it down. I was curious—desperate—to meet my new owner.

Knowing Papa, I’d be surprised if my groom was a prospect, but the deep, old voice from the foyer suggested otherwise.

A whirlwind swept my thoughts to Nikolai. Not that I liked him—he was forty-two, almost twice my age. Yet, with dark gelled hair and toned muscles beneath his suit, he didn’t look his age.

My God, what was I thinking?

The voices drew closer, spiders creeping up my spine. My jaw dropped as Mario Luigi, Papa’s underboss, entered.

Older than Papa by six years, he even had a son ten years my senior. Maybe I’d marry the son, not him.

“Enora,” Papa called.

Mario kissed my hand disgustingly. “You’re just as beautiful as always,” he said, eyes on my cleavage.

“You’re to marry Mario in a month, ragazzina,” Papa said, his smile beaming.

My stomach churned as Mario added, “Your home will be with me.”

I moved back until my back hit the gold drape covering the white concrete walls of the old Patrizio manor. “I won’t marry him.” The protest was out before I could stop it.

“Yes, you will, Enora,” Papa said firmly. “Now enough with the drama, let’s eat.”

“I will not marry him!” I shrieked, louder and more violent. My eyes stung, blood raced to my head, and I wanted to scream. “I will not marry this old fuck, Papa!”

Mario’s eyes widened at the same time as Papa’s. Women had many rules in this suffocating organization, the summary being: thou shall not do anything unladylike.

By men’s standards, this meant women were robots and baby-popping machines. Their shock was justified; it had likely been centuries since a woman cursed.

“Did you hear me, Papa?” My voice cracked. “Kill me, do whatever you must, but do not force me into marriage with a man almost three times my age.” I waited, expecting a response, but silence filled the dining room as two pairs of stunned and furious eyes glued themselves to me.

Mario recovered from his shock. “You need to be taught some manners, bitch.” He raised his hand to slap me but stopped when Papa called his name.

“She is not yours yet, Mario,” Papa said with a tone calmer than the ocean. “I will handle my daughter myself.” Was he coming to my defense? Wrong. I’d have preferred starvation, but his silence signaled a storm brewing.

Papa walked out without a glance. I sank onto a dining chair, hoping Mario wouldn’t hear my pounding heart as my brain scrambled through a million thoughts of what Papa would do.

The door creaked open. Enzo and a few men entered. Enzo held a whip that looked like it had just come from a stable.

Fear gripped me. My palms grew sweaty, my legs weak, my feet sore. “Papa—”

Enzo and two men bent me over the dining table, steadying me as Papa used the whip on my back.

One, two, three, four… fifty. I didn’t remember much after.

My back throbbed, my tears threatened to fall, and whatever love I had left for the man who was supposed to be my father vanished.

I bit back the pain and glared through misty eyes, meeting only darkness and anger. No remorse.

Papa believed Nikolai was his greatest enemy, but it wasn’t—it was remorse.

I glanced at Mario. His perverted amusement showed in his yellow-toothed grin. His wild laughter rang in my ears as I turned and limped upstairs.

In my room, darkness enveloped everything, except for a sliver of moonlight cutting through the window like a silver blade.

I didn’t want any light; it was easier to stay in the shadows, consumed by the same thoughts I’d had for twenty-one years, drowning in the familiar feelings of nights like this.

Panic.

I need to escape.

Sweat suddenly started dripping down my forehead, chills crept up my spine and my heart started to drum, pounding as if it needed the nearest exit from my chest, the same way I needed to exit this world—this house.

I need to escape. I clutched my throat as my room suddenly felt too tight, leaving me breathless. I need to escape, that was all I could think.

My panic attacks were always bad, but why the hell was I knotting my bed cover around my window?

Why the hell was I climbing down from my room?

Where was I going?

I kept walking down the dark deserted road, barefooted, with pain shooting all over my back, breathless, and with tears clouding my sight.

Fuck.

I reached the busy roads, and then I saw the glittering pink and blue signboard that said, “Lantsov Night Club.”

Why the fuck was I here?

Why did I keep walking till I entered the crowd that smelt like sweat and alcohol?

Blue.

Blue eyes stared at me from the crowd.

Those blue eyes belonged to my enemy, Nikolai Lantsov.