A Touch Of Sin #1

{kiss the bride}

|Kairaluchukwu|

I ACHE TO scream, roll in the mud, do anything but take his hand except I don't. Like the sacrificial lamb, I obey him and press my sweaty palm in his. His fingers curl around mine, the rings on them, cold and dominating.

His other arm wraps around my waist, tugging me close as he lowers his head and whispers, "Remember, cara mia, let our little secret be just that. A little secret."

At first, I don't react but when he tightens his grip, I jerk out a tense nod, sending him a glare. But his warning is already rolling down my spine, my hair standing on end. I cannot tell anyone what I know or they might end up having their fingers sliced or worse.

"Good." De Santis smiles in satisfaction and leads me out of the car. I scoot away slightly when his palm leaves mine to fish out the sunglasses inside his inner pocket. He wears them on, those dreamy eyes now mercifully hidden.

Turning to Aldo, who is also donned in similar sunglasses, he barks out rapid orders in Italian, whilst gesturing to the surroundings, "Fai la guardia intorno alla casa, ma solo quando entro! Dove sono i tuoi uomini?"

Aldo nods and brings out his gun, responding, "Capito capo. Stanno arrivando."

Instantly, another jeep stops by the sidewalk and while I don't see anyone come out immediately, I suspect that it's more guys associated with De Santis.

"Shall we?" His tone is sarcastic as he reaches for my hand once more. Without waiting for my reply, he leads me through the long driveway, like this is his property, not minding the fact that I have lived in this house for more than six years.

I falsified the truth when I said my parents owned half of New York. That was a bare faced lie to threaten my kidnappers. First of all, it was one parent, my mother, a restaurateur. Second of all, our house was just a wide, yellow-painted one-storey. But it was still a home, our home.

We pass my mother's red Toyota and the flower garden situated on both sides of the gravel driveway. For years, mother has nurtured and cared for her flowers. The result is a full bloom of sweet-smelling azaleas and buttercups, their yellow, pink, purple and red petals adding a beautiful touch to the tranquil scenery.

Once we set our feet on the welcome mat, De Santis lifts his controlling touch away from mine. Stealthy, I brush my tingling palm over the fabric of my jeans, dread filling every fiber of my being as I stare at the double brown door. He has claimed not to hurt my mother but I don't trust him.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Go on and ring the bell." The ice-cold tone of my captor hits me. Flinching, I do as he commands.

Moments later, we hear light footsteps and the door swings open. It is my mother, wearing her favorite red kaftan, long twists falling to her slender shoulders. Her eyes widen in surprise when she sees me standing on her doorstep.