Sunlight washed over the putting green, cloaking my vision in a harsh golden hue. I blinked against the glare, my heart light for just a moment as I watched the ball disappear into the hole with a satisfying clink.
"I did it! I did it!" I couldn't hold back the elation. It was a small win, a brief escape from the chilling reality of my life.
Vincent crouched beside me, his smile failing to reach his eyes, dark and empty. With a deliberate movement, he pressed his lips to my cheek. "Che carina," he murmured, the soft Italian words a stark contrast to the rigid grip of his hands.
The warmth drained from my face as I remembered the weight of the chain, the smoky scent of his cigar, and the strange mix of dread and resentment that clung to my skin like a second layer.
The game ended predictably. Vincent first, Joey a close second, and me trailing far behind, my mind more on survival than play.
As we left the vibrant chaos of the mini-golf course behind, the batting cages caught my eye-a chance for release. I reached out, my fingers curling around the fabric of Vincent's suit jacket.
"Can I try?" My voice came out smaller than I intended.
Vincent's lips curled upward, his height looming as he bent toward me. "Sure, but it has a price-kisses for your family," he insisted, amusement sharp in his tone.
Hesitation cinched my chest, but fear urged me on, and I quickly pressed my lips to each of their cheeks, the acts leaving a sour taste in my throat.
"Grazie, Samantha," Vincent drawled as we moved towards the batting cages.
I focused on the comforting weight of the bat in my hands, the worn leather of the grip molding to my fingers like an old friend. Softball had always been my escape, a world where the only thing that mattered was the satisfying crack of the bat connecting with the ball.
As I stepped into the cage, memories flooded back-the cheers of my teammates, the thrill of a game-winning hit, the camaraderie that came with being part of a team. It was a stark contrast to the isolation and fear that now dominated my life.
I took a deep breath, trying to center myself as the pitching machine whirred to life. The first ball whizzed by, and I swung, the bat cutting through empty air. I could feel Vincent's eyes on me, appraising, judging.
"You've done this before," he remarked, his tone a mix of surprise and approval.
I nodded, not trusting my voice. Softball had been my life since I was old enough to hold a bat. It was the one thing that made me feel strong, capable, in control.
The next pitch came, and this time, I connected, the ball soaring into the back of the cage with a satisfying thud. A small smile tugged at my lips, a flicker of the old me resurfacing.
"Impressive," Vincent murmured, his gaze intense. "You're full of surprises, aren't you, Samantha?"
I shrugged, trying to ignore the way his words made my skin crawl. "I've had a lot of practice."
I step into the batting cage, gripping the bat tightly. The weight of the helmet on my head feels comforting, like a shield against the world. I take a deep breath and focus on the pitching machine, watching as it spits out the first ball.
Crack! The bat connects with a satisfying sound, sending the ball flying. I can't help but grin as I watch it soar, a small victory in the midst of the chaos that has become my life.
"Wow, Sammi, that was amazing!" Joey exclaims from outside the cage, his eyes wide with admiration.
I glance over at Vincent, who is watching me with an intense gaze. His eyes flicker with something I can't quite read, but it sends a shiver down my spine.
As I prepare for the next pitch, I hear a voice from the cage beside me. "Hey there, beautiful. Nice swing."
I turn to see a teenage boy, probably around my age, smiling at me. I feel my cheeks flush, a strange warmth spreading through my chest. It's been so long since someone has looked at me with genuine kindness.
"Thanks," I manage to say, returning his smile.
We chat for a few moments between swings, talking about our favorite teams and players. For a brief moment, I almost forget about the two men watching me from outside the cage.
But then I hear Vincent's voice, low and dangerous. "Samantha, come here."
I freeze, my heart hammering in my chest. I know that tone all too well. Slowly, I set down the bat and make my way out of the cage, keeping my eyes on the ground.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Vincent growls, grabbing my arm roughly. His grip is tight, his fingers digging into my skin.
"I-I was just talking to him," I stammer, trying to pull away. "It was nothing, I swear."
Vincent's eyes narrow, and I can see the fury burning behind them. "Nothing? You're my wife, Samantha. Mine. No one else gets to talk to you like that."
He turns to the teenage boy, who is now watching us with a mix of confusion and fear. "You. Come here."
The boy hesitates, glancing at me with wide eyes. "I-I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean any disrespect."
But Vincent is already moving, his fist connecting with the boy's face with a sickening crunch. I scream, trying to pull him back, but he shoves me away.
"Take him," Vincent orders his men, who have materialized out of nowhere. They grab the boy, dragging him away as he struggles and cries out.
I collapse to the ground, tears streaming down my face. "Please, Vincent, don't hurt him. He didn't do anything wrong."
Vincent crouches down beside me, his hand cupping my cheek. "Shh, my little angel. Don't cry. I'm just protecting what's mine."
He presses a kiss to my forehead, his lips cold against my skin. "No one will ever take you away from me, Samantha. You belong to me, forever and always."
I close my eyes, feeling the weight of his words settle over me like a suffoc
