Alice
He locked me in.
I wasnât sure if I was safeânot with that man, not with any manâbut at least he locked me in, which meant he was keeping others out.
I wondered if that was my only future: being locked in rooms until the men around me decided what to do with my body, with my soul. I was worthless, a bargaining chip hardly worth using.
I was either dead by the Italians.
Or used by my own family.
No matter what, I didnât really have a life, did I?
And as pathetic as it was, I was happier in that prison than I had been in my old room, waiting for the inevitable, waiting for the smell of whiskey as his hands touched me.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
No tears.
Six thirty-two didnât cry.
At that, I almost laughed.
My life had come down to this. A number.
A long ass number.
I walked down the dimly lit hall to the bathroom. I expected it to be the same as the rest of the house and was actually surprised when the entire thing was bathed in white marble.
I quickly turned on the hot water, pulled off my disgusting clothes, and walked into the shower.
The water hit my back so hard that I let out a gasp, and then I looked up and let it consume me as the dirt and blood ran down the drain. The color was so bright against the white, so telling.
I imagined I was washing away his hands too.
My brother.
I imagined him getting tortured, killed. And I wondered why it made me feel nothing but calm. I knew what the mafia did to people.
Most of all, they hated the guy who was killing them all off.
Chase.
He had been married to Mil, our dead boss, the one that truly screwed us over in more ways than one.
We were making money, doing fine, according to my father, but she wanted more, and her pride wouldnât let her take it from her rich husband, so she worked for the Russians. That, I knew.
Who they were.
What they did.
And how she worked for them.
I had no idea.
I just knew that she got in too deep, and that she was killed for it.
I also heard that the scream from her husband pierced the universeâit was so loudâand that the families knew it was a scream for our blood, our heads.
I remember the day because it was the first day I was locked in my room.
Today was the first day in a year and a half that I was given a shower without someone standing by the door, making sure nobody got in and that I didnât escape.
I thought he was protecting me.
I even accepted that it was the only way my father knew how.
And yet he always let my brother in.
I grabbed the only body wash in the shower and started running it all over my body. It smelled like him, the blond fallen angel who wore gloves and was scary attractive.
His flawless complexion alone would make anyone do a double take, but it wasnât just that or the icy blue eyes, or even the thick hair.
It was the way he carried himself, like the world should know who he was and thank him for existing.
I shivered even though the water was hot and rinsed off, taking my time not knowing if I would get the luxury again.
Iâd always loved my hair.
Funny how the things I loved the most about myself were the things my brother had hated.
My lips.
My hair.
He always commented on how both were too pronounced, like I was begging for attention.
Attention he always said he hated to give me.
I shut off the shower and reached for a towel, wrapping it around my naked body, feeling better than I had in years. I was alone. Safe and alone. For now.
I looked around for a bathrobe or something to put on and stared at my dirty clothes.
So I put them in the trash and opened the door, looking both directions like someone was spying on me, before walking down the hall. The room he said I could sleep in was on the right.
I prayed the closet would have clothes.
It didnât.
I couldnât walk around in a towel, and I knew he wasnât the sort of guy, at least from what I could tell, who would be amused by it.
I chewed my lower lip and made my way farther down the hall, stopping at another door and slowly opening it.
It smelled like him.
I walked in.
And gasped.
The room was absolutely phenomenalâit had a flat screen TV in the corner, a huge king-sized bed, a fireplace that nearly took up the whole wall, and an attached bathroom bigger than the one Iâd just used.
Not that I would know.
Right?
Maybe he would have a tank top or something I could put on? Boxers? At this point, a suit would be fine, but it would probably get me killed.
Mind made up, I walked over to the closet door and flicked on the light.
The closet was massiveâalmost as big as the room, and that was saying something.
Suits galore.
Expensive shoes.
Sunglasses had their own space in the middle of the room, where a table stood with a decanter of whiskey and crystal glasses.
A chandelier hung in the middle right above it.
How loaded was this guy?
I didnât see normal clothes, street clothes, jeans, or anything that a normal person who looked my age would wear.
I did a small circle and spotted drawers in the corner. I pulled open the first and found a pair of boxers that felt soft and expensive.
Then I opened the next to see nothing but white and gray T-shirts. I grabbed a gray one and prayed it was the right choice.
It was either this or the towel.
Maybe it was a test.
Maybe the last thing I would do would be putting on these boxers and that T-shirt.
I sighed, dropped the towel, and did just that, and prayed I wasnât wrong.