Vengeance (Updating Weekly)

Part 6

I stare up at the ceiling. I haven't had anything to do all afternoon except lay here and think. It's tedious, but I wouldn't be able to do anything else anyway. My mind is spinning with questions. This is all just too weird. How would I be any better at killing Vassiliss than Atticus himself? He must be using e as bait — that's all I can think of that would make sense. I have nothing else to offer. Everything I know about Vassilis that could be of any benefit was already shared in the trial. He must have read the transcripts. I don't know how I can help him. He and Simpson are right, though. If Vassilis has found me once, he'll find me again. I can't spend the rest of my life running, but I don't see how being used as bait to lure him out is any safety. He could already be on his way here for all I know. I honestly don't know who to believe or trust, so I need to prepare for everything.

They stupidly gave me a butterknife at lunch. I've been using it to carve the wood of the coat hanger into a point. It wasn't hard to snap a piece off it, but sharpening it will be slow progress. I just need to have something I can use to defend myself.

A knock on the door snaps me out of my thoughts. I sit up straight.

"Ms Michaelson?" a deep voice asks. "They're ready for you in the dining room."

"What?" I scowl. I didn't know I was going anywhere.

"Your presence has been requested."

Oh, shit. I'm expected to have dinner with these people? They brought my lunch into the room, so I figured that would be the case tonight, too.

"Give me 5 minutes!" I call out. I'm dying to leave the room, not just to give me something to do, but also to help me plot my escape. I need to get an idea of the floor plan.

Besides the pyjamas, the only clothes in the wardrobe are dresses — almost as if they know that's all I usually wear. I wouldn't be surprised if they've been watching me in St Louis all this time, especially if they've been in contact with Simpson. They must've been monitoring me, waiting for the perfect chance to tick me into joining their side. I pick out a plain blue shirt dress. It's something I would usually wear to work, but it's more casual given the rest of my appearance. They've thought of everything here, even pads and tampons, but what they left out was skincare and make-up. I have nothing to cover the acne scars on my forehead or the bags under my eyes, or even make my face seem slightly less round. There's nothing I can use to style my hair with, either. My brown locks just stay limp. I don't look bad, just worn out.

Once I step out of the room, the guards lead me down to the ground floor and into what looks like a cafeteria. It's filled with people, mostly men, talking, laughing and eating. There's a buffet in the centre of the room, decked out with all kinds of foods — vegetables, carbs, and most of all... meat. Every type of meat you could possibly imagine. A woman stands there, making herself a plate. A buffet is perfect. Everyone's eating the same thing. I join in, filling my bowl with pasta. I'm starting. I've barely eaten all day.

"After all the food we brought you today, this is what you decide to eat?" Atticus comes to stand beside me, adding a spoonful of potatoes to his plate.

"Well, I don't want to get poisoned," I respond. I admit, I haven't been consistent in my thinking. It's hard to resist eating when there's constantly food in front of me, but I've definitely restricted myself. Atticus chuckles.

"I told you, we're trying to keep you alive."

I don't respond. I head over to the back of the room, where a small wooden table sits unattended. Atticus takes a seat across from me. He's discarded his suit jacket since this morning.

"I heard you didn't leave your room today," he says.

"I didn't know I could."

"Of course, you can," he swallows his chicken. "How about I give you a tour tomorrow before we get to work?"

"What work?" I question. "I haven't agreed to help you yet."

"But you will. You want him dead just as much as we do."

"But it makes no sense to me. Why would you want him dead — your own father?"

"It's not just me. It's me and my brothers." He has many of them. Vassilis spread his seed all around the world. "We need him dead. He's a threat to us and our way of life."

"How? How are you any different to him? You took over from him the second he went away."

"Why do you think he went away to begin with? You think it was all your doing?" he shakes his head. "You're still the key witness. He wouldn't have been sentenced if it weren't for you, but we made sure it went smoothly."

"No," I shake my head. "That can't be true."

"He got too greedy. He had to be removed. He was running this family into the ground."

No way. His own sons would never kick him out. The Greeks aren't as big on loyalty as the Italians, but they're just as dedicated to family — if not more so. Even if he was removed, why didn't we know about it at the trial? What else am I missing here? What else don't I know?

Atticus stands up from his seat. He's already finished his food, while I've barely started mine.

"Enjoy your dinner," he gives me a final nod before walking off, leaving me alone with a brand new set of questions swarming through my mind.