The Blood Debt

Chapter 13

Ayla

The first time Roman takes me out, it's to Gabe Marano's restaurant opening in Nolita. He buys me a dress for the occasion and actually goes to the trouble of having it gift wrapped with a giant red bow.

"Do you like it?" he asks, knowing nothing he buys me is really my style.

Roman's taste in clothing is for the daring. The kind of clothing only women like Dallas can pull off.

It's YSL. A  softly creased gold velvet mini with a plunging neckline that covers what it must but not much more. As with everything Roman buys for me to wear, it reveals half my back. It's held together by the thinnest of straps.

"I thought I'd buy you something special to celebrate our anniversary," he tells me, eyeing me for a reaction.

He's being an ass because he can. He knows too much is riding on this night for me to bite, and this power he wields over me fuels his fascination with me. It's an endless cycle of abuse that chips away at me, reinforcing his hold on me.

"One whole year together. Where did the time go?" he asks with mock reminiscence.

I hate this Roman. The one that's insensitive enough to joke about holding me against my will and callous enough to mark it with a 'gift.'

When he's like this, I shut him down the safest way I know how - I don't engage.

The opening night of Mr. Marano's is an exclusive invitation only event.  I guess as much when I see the dress, but the dress isn't the only give away that my past is about to catch up with me.

"Don't get any ideas about tonight Vengeance," he says forewarning me as I sweep my hair into a sleek bun. I don't need to be told that the tattoo must be visible. I've seen what happens when Roman thinks I'm disregarding his rules.

"I know what you're thinking," he says, watching me from the couch as I put the final touches on my hair. He's ready, looking relaxed and effortlessly chic, wearing a sleek charcoal suit that shows off his impressive build.

"The people from your past that you're likely to see tonight," he says, his eyes lingering on me, "they aren't how you remember them. I want you to know that."

His eyes narrow in on me.

"When circumstances change, people change too. Their loyalties shift.  I don't want you to get too hopeful about tonight," he tells me.

The revelation causes my eyes to wander to him and we come eye to eye for a few seconds through the mirror I'm standing across. He levels me with an appraising glance, his hazel eyes watching me like he's waiting for me to say something, but I don't. I want to laugh at the absurdity of his assumption, but I've waited so long for this day to jeopardise my opportunity. I need to make it out tonight, so I concede. I let him win the battle, if it means I win the war.

Much later when I look back on that day with the benefit of hindsight, I realise why he looked at me the way he did; why he said those things to me. It wasn't because he was gearing himself up for an argument, it was because that would be the last time I'd ever have that kind of hope, that level of naivety. He was watching me because he knew that the world as I knew it was about to come crashing down around me, and that I would never see it the same way again.

When I step out onto the sidewalk, I take a moment to appreciate my first taste of freedom in a year.

I stop on the sidewalk to take in lungfuls of fresh air.

"It's not the Swiss Alps, sweetheart," he snorts. "It's Hell's Kitchen. You know you're breathing in pollution, right?" he tells me as his eyes land on my chest.