a meeting with fear

FRANCESCA

“HE’S INSIDE?” I ask, my confusion clear.

The bodyguard gives me an annoyed look. I can tell I’m getting under his skin. Men here have no patience for women they find irritating, and they’ll resort to anything to keep them in line, even if it means using the bed and the disgusting practice of non-consensual bondage.

I have a strong urge to castrate these men.

“Of course, Doll.” I tense up when he uses my alias, but then I remember he doesn’t know my real name. In the Giordano Mafia, names are usually kept secret.

But then again, he could’ve just called me Mrs. Giordano. It has a nice ring to it—Francesca Antonio Giordano.

“Okay. Wait outside,” I tell him before knocking. Silence. Not a sound. Maybe the door is soundproof.

I wait for a moment, wondering if I should knock again. Just as I’m about to turn away, a hand pushes the door open.

I gasp as his arm deliberately brushes against my shoulder blade and exposed neck. “Just go inside, Doll.” His words don’t comfort me this time. Instead, they feel seductive and creepy. I don’t like it one bit.

I shake my head instantly. I know better. I’d rather face a beating from the man himself than trust anyone other than my husband.

What’s the worst my husband could do, send me to the hospital? Been there, done that. I’d rather take his brutal hits than be raped. No one should ever have to choose between the two.

“No, move away please,” I demand, feeling weak without Silvio or my husband.

“Can’t do that,” he says as he forces me inside, his hand covering my mouth.

The room is like a dungeon, filled with boxes that have small holes in them. It’s empty except for the boxes and a single desk and chair.

The walls are brown with dirt and the floor is concrete, just like the walls and ceiling. I’ve never been to this part of the mansion, which is why I find it strange that my husband and Father have allowed me here.

The basement has always been off-limits for us women.

Through my tear-filled eyes, I can see small figures inside the boxes. They’re watching me, I can tell. But they’re all silent, paralyzed by fear.

I try to scream for help but it’s useless. They can’t help me and even if they could, they wouldn’t because of who I am.

My abuser is taller than six feet and as muscular as a buffalo. He’s an ugly bald guy with piercings and tattoos all over. Not my type at all, and even if he was, he has no right to touch me like this.

“You were being too disobedient, right? You gotta learn a lesson, ~puttana~.” He throws me toward the dusty desk that’s bare. It looks more like a school desk. My only hope right now is my husband.

But what if my husband is the one who asked him to do this?

I haven’t known Antonio for long and I don’t trust him either. He could be the one behind this. Father did it with Mother many times.

It was one of his favorite games—to make her trust him and then watch as she broke with great passion. But I have a feeling that this isn’t my husband’s doing.

“Move,” I squeak, moving behind the small oak desk. The dim lights make the place feel scary and daunting. I can’t even escape. He’s standing in front of the door.

The man chuckles bitterly. “Oh, I can give you a much better time than him, ~puttana~. Either way, no one is coming down here to this whorehouse.” He starts unbuttoning his shirt.

“I’ve waited so long for you. Fucking your mother wasn’t enough. She reminded me of you but she wasn’t you. Now that you’ve lost your purity to the boss, I’m sure he won’t mind sharing.”

I scream because the man himself answers my silent question—did the Don send him to punish me? My husband doesn’t know about this.

The man chuckles bitterly. “The room’s soundproof, sweetheart, but you’d look better screaming under me. Oh, the things I’ll do to you.”

I’m truly terrified at this moment. I’ve been groped, catcalled, and even stalked before, but no one ever dared to have their way with me.

Everyone knows who I “belong” to, and they don’t want to ruin Father’s chance of securing a permanent position as a high-ranked mafioso.

“The Don will kill you,” I snarl, even though I know that I might be making empty threats.

“Okay, I’m done waiting. Come here, ~puttana~!” I cringe. He sounds so desperate.

I look for a way out of the large room. On one side of the room, there are cages stacked in the corner with live humans in them.

They’re watching us with fear—so much fear that none dare to utter even a word. How terrified did Father make them?

I don’t even see him move in front of me. The bald man smiles sickly, showing me a golden tooth before raising his hand and bringing it down on me.

I know it’ll leave a bruise. My left cheek is burning with pain as he grips my throat and smacks me against the wall. It’s not soft at all, and I didn’t expect it to be.

“Let me go,” I demand. I refuse to beg. Men here want that. They want us to beg, and that gives them great pleasure. I’m not going to give him any pleasure.

He grins sickly. “Beg, and maybe I’ll think about it.”

I hate this man more than anyone in my whole life. As his hand tightens around my throat, I bring my knee up and hit him in the crotch as hard as I can.

He reacts immediately, letting me go in the process and clutching his manhood. He didn’t expect a woman to hit back. I’m lucky, or maybe he’s just too stupid.

The first thing that crosses my mind is to bolt, but I know he’ll be up soon. So, I grab the school chair nearby and whack him over the head. He’s on the floor in an instant, clutching his crotch and groaning.

I hurl the chair at his head again, wincing at the satisfying snap that follows. I hope it’s a serious internal injury, maybe even life-threatening.

I don’t stick around to see if he recovers. I sprint out of the room, my heels clicking against the floor. Why didn’t I just kick them off? It’s not adrenaline driving me, it’s logic.

I need to find my husband, and fast. Before this jerk catches up to me. I can only hope that my kick was strong enough to prevent him from having kids, but I can’t be certain.

Some guys are trained to withstand a hit to their pride.

I have no idea where I’m going. It feels like I’m running in circles.

The basement is massive, dusty, and filled with rooms. Father is a busy and organized man, but he’s also a slob. Unfortunately, there’s nothing I can do about it.

Oddly, there are no bodyguards around. Is that why he brought me here? He must’ve known that no one comes to this part of the basement.

I pass grimy gray walls on my way to the stairs. I need to find my sister, if not my husband. I would’ve ditched my heels if it weren’t for the cold concrete floor crawling with bugs. And I don’t have time to take them off.

“Mrs. Giordano!” someone shouts. Panic floods me. I’m so close to the stairs.

But it’s not the jerk’s voice. It’s different. I spin around but keep moving backward, ready in case this new threat decides to attack.

~Just a few more steps, Franci. You’re almost there.~

The stranger’s eyebrows knit together as he watches me. I continue to back away cautiously. He looks vaguely familiar, but I’m not about to trust anyone again.

I let my guard down once, and even though it wasn’t my fault, I’ll be the one to take the blame. It’s always the woman’s fault. It’s always been that way.

The man is muscular, with black hair and a deep tan. His dark brown eyes are the first thing I notice. With his neatly trimmed beard, he looks intimidating and gothic.

Like Antonio, he has a tattoo peeking out from under his shirt, creeping up his neck.

He studies me, as if he’s debating whether to ask me something. But he seems to decide against it. I’m relieved because I wouldn’t have answered anyway.

“The Don wants to see you,” he says, causing me to scowl. What’s with bodyguards and their repetitive phrases?

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” I challenge, determined to show him that I won’t fall for the same trick twice. I know I’m attractive, and this isn’t unusual, but I hope I’m different.

I’m their Donna. They shouldn’t be able to touch me like that.

He stares at me, and I hate that I can’t read him. Just when I think he’s about to attack and I should make a run for it, he pulls out a gun and offers it to me.

I stare at it, as if I’m seeing things.

I’ve seen guns before, but I’ve never used one. I look at him, confused. Why is he giving it to me? I’m slow to process what’s happening. I’m still trying to make sense of what just happened.

I can handle my husband touching me like that because it’s my duty as a woman to obey him, but I can’t handle a stranger. It goes against everything I believe in and have experienced.

“Here,” the bodyguard says. “If I try anything, kill me. I’m sure the Don would forgive you. I’m Fabio, by the way. The Don’s head bodyguard.”

I watch him, wondering if I’m making the same mistake again. I know I must look a mess, with my tear-streaked face and bruised cheeks. He probably thinks I’m weak.

I make up my mind. If he tries anything, I’ll shoot him and leave the rest to fate. I take the heavy weapon from him and see a small smile of satisfaction on his face.

“Let’s go, boss. I don’t want to be on the receiving end of the Ace’s anger. He called for you ten minutes ago.”