Chapter 10: The Meeting
I was in Vincent's clutches, a damsel not in distress but in undeniable terror. The dimly lit room of the day prior was a haven compared to the chilling expanse I now found myself in. The cavernous hall stretched before me, teeming with the underbelly of society, one to two hundred men with sinister gazes burrowing into me. Vincent, an imposing colossus among them, was like a king in his court, with the dragon - Antonio - at his side, barely bridling his impatience.
"Non vuoi assistere, cara?" Vincent drawled, his Italian laced with a poison I'd come to recognize. "But you must see... how I handle things."
I recoiled from his touch, the very essence of me repelling the notion of being part of this darkness. "Please... Don't make me," I quivered, but defiance in this world is met with cruelty.
With a hand as swift as it was strong, Vincent's palm struck, the sound echoing like a gunshot, marking me with the crimson bloom of his ire. The sting pulled a cry from my lips, and tears formed a betrayal of my fear.
He scooped me up then, carrying me to the cluster of testosterone and tobacco. My shaking form was pressed against his as he took control, his strength undeniable as his arms became a prison from which I couldn't escape. He placed me not beside but upon his lap, his legs a throne that I never wished to ascend.
Antonio, a bulwark of undying loyalty, hovered close, a silent sentinel. I became a shivering marionette, my hands playing over Vincent's - those meaty appendages that could crush and caress with the same ease. They were a stark contrast to my frailty.
Suddenly, Vincent's rage found new prey - some unfortunate souls who had incurred his wrath. "Imbecilli!" His roar thundered through the space, resounding off the high ceilings. "Hai fallito me!"
Without so much as a flinch, he drew his gun. The shot reverberated, hot metal met flesh, and bodies slumped. My scream tore from me, raw and aching, as I fell into the abyss of my own horror.
Tears cascaded, torrents upon my cheeks, but Vincent, oh, he found this exquisite. His face leaned close, his breath warm against my ear as he cooed softly, "Shh, piccolina, non piangere..."
He kissed my tears, the gall of him! My reality warped into his delusional fantasies. "Tutto bene..." he whispered, though everything was decidedly not fine at all.
In my desperation, I looked for comfort from anywhere, anyone. My sense of self-preservation faltered, and in a moment of sheer vulnerability, I pressed against his chest, my arms wrapping around him. I hated myself for it, loathed the way I sought solace in the architect of my dread.
Vincent, that monster of a man, was elated. A victory for him as he mistook my survival instincts for affection, a belief that wormed its way into his deranged heart. "Vedi? Stai iniziando ad amarmi," he murmured, holding me tighter to him.
I wanted to scream, I have no idea what he's saying as I don't speak italian. I open my mouth, but I remained silent-another piece of myself eroded for the sake of enduring another day.
Vincent reveled in the illusion of our embrace, oblivious or uncaring of the true horror that played behind my compliant eyes. As the meeting goes on my face is buried into Vincent's suit zoning out of the meeting I had become a specter of myself, acting not out of desire but out of a primal need to survive in the dragon's lair, praying for a future beyond these walls where his shadow no longer loomed over me. My heart raced - a captive bird within its ribcage.
In the end, as he held me, the villain in his own twisted fairytale, I knew this: my story was not finished, and one way or another, I would write the remaining chapters myself.
