Chapter 3

The cold water blasted my face. The pressure was too strong. I couldn't breathe.

Water filled my nose, my mouth, my lungs. The pain of drowning was worse than any beating. My lungs were on fire. My chest felt like it would explode.

My vision blurred. My mind was slipping into darkness.

Just as I thought I was going to die, she yanked my head back up.

Cough, cough, cough! I gasped, my lungs desperately trying to expel the water. Blood and water streamed from my nose and mouth, dripping onto the gilded sink.

"Feel better? Cleared your head?" Brenda looked down on me, her eyes filled with sadistic pleasure.

I used my arms to push myself up from the sink, shaking all over.

"You. Will. Pay. For. This." I said, each word a rasping promise of death. "I swear, you'll pay a thousand times over."

She froze for a second. Then she laughed, crazier than before.

"Pay? You? A trespassing lunatic?"

She kicked me in the small of my back. I slammed into the wall. Pain shot through me.

"Look what you did!" she shrieked, pointing outside the bathroom. "You soaked my expensive Persian rug! That's a hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar, hand-made silk rug!"

I followed her gaze. The living room rug was soaked through.

"Now you listen," she snarled, digging her nails into my chin. "Strip. Wash your filthy clothes. If they're not spotless by sundown, I'll plaster your naked photos all over the Magnificent Mile. Let the whole city see the trash you really are."

"What?"

"Don't play dumb." Her smile turned twisted. "Or I'll start taking pictures right here and you can see how the homeless live."

"I won't."

"You won't?" Her eyes narrowed. "Then I'll help you."

I backed away. "Don't touch me."

"Too late, little bitch."

She lunged at me like a wild animal, her hands grabbing my soaked white t-shirt.

"No!" I tried to push her off, but she was surprisingly strong.

RRRIP!

With a single, violent rip, my t-shirt tore open. The cold air hit my bare skin, and I instinctively crossed my arms over my chest, covering my black bra.

"That's better," she said, admiring the shredded cloth. "Keep going. The pants, too."

"Never."

I tried to run, but she grabbed my wrist, her nails leaving bloody scratches.

SMACK!

A loud slap hit my face. My head swam from the stinging pain.

SMACK!

Another one, harder. My cheek swelled instantly. Blood trickled from the corner of my mouth.

"Still want to fight?" She grabbed my hair, forcing me to look at her. "I hate a disobedient slut."

She started ripping at my jeans, yanking at the waistband.

"Stop!" I struggled, but my body was too weak.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

Three quick slaps. I almost lost consciousness.

The jeans were torn off me. I collapsed onto the cold tile floor in just my black bra and underwear.

I was a treasure to my family. Protected my whole life.

No one had ever laid a finger on me, let alone seen me like this.

Humiliation. Rage. Fear. It all crashed down on me at once.

"Now that's more like it," Brenda said, looking down at me like a trophy. "Now you know your place, don't you?"

She pulled out her phone and aimed it at me.

"Don't take pictures," I said weakly.

"Why not?" Her laugh was pure evil. "A moment like this? It's begging to be captured."

The flash went off. I flinched, covering my face.

"Don't hide. Let me see that lying face of yours."

She tried to pull my hands away. I fought back with the last of my strength.

"Enough!" a voice screamed from deep inside me.

It was the Moretti rage. The final snap after being pushed too far.

Even trembling, even half-naked, I looked her straight in the eye.

"You are going to regret this."

"Regret it?" She cackled. "A loser who can't even keep her clothes on is threatening me?"

She walked out of the bathroom and locked the door from the outside.

"Get to washing. Remember, if they're not clean by dark, those pictures go on every social media site."

I heard her footsteps fade. Then the sound of a drink being poured. She was back in the living room, drinking whiskey.

I curled up in the corner of the bathroom, hugging my shaking body. The cold, the pain, the shame... I wanted to break.

But I couldn't.

I am Aria Moretti.

I am the daughter of the king of Chicago's underworld.

No one gets to do this to me. No one.

"Hurry up with those clothes!" Brenda yelled from outside. "Don't drag your feet!"

I closed my eyes, forcing myself to be calm.

Dad would come for me. When he realized I was missing, he'd turn all of Chicago upside down to find me.

And then, this crazy woman would learn the meaning of true fear.

Just then, the doorbell rang.

Ding-dong! Ding-dong!

It was urgent. Like someone had been waiting for a long time.

"Dammit, who is it now?" Brenda grumbled, walking to the door.

I heard the door open. Then a new woman's voice.

"Ma'am? I'm with the cleaning service," a new voice said. "For Mr. Moretti? So sorry about the delay, the snow is hell out there."

Brenda froze for an instant.