Angel's Mafia (gxg) ✓

XI | House of Sorrows

I WAKE UP ALONE.

And this is much worse than I expected.

Instead of a cage, I'm in a bedroom.

Instead of damp, dark, dirty concrete, I have plush blankets and ornate gilded walls.

Instead of a prisoner, mumbling evilly to himself, I have a single security camera, its shiny glass blinking red.

Maybe I need to revise my opinion of a prison. Although this is beautiful, luxurious, I know what I am. Trapped.

I sit up out of bed. Something calls to me, a memory. What was I thinking before?

My phone. I struggle to contain my excitement. But as I look down at my clothes, realization is sharp in my chest.

Someone dressed me.

In a soft shirt and shorts. I check beneath the waistband. My underwear is still the same, but the thought of one of those crude, rough men slipping off my clothes, touching my bare stomach, my bare legs . . .

I shudder. I move to slip out of bed, but the motion sends me staggering.

My eyes dart to the security camera. I'm making a fool out of myself.

I need to seem tough, unafraid. I can't let think I'm weak, that I won't fight.

But my head is pounding, and my phone is gone. I have no chance of contacting Vittoria. I'm left to the mercy of what I'm certain is the Mafia. The only question is―which one?

Vittoria said there were three families. The Genoveses, the Abruzzis, and the Falcones.

The Abruzzis and the Genoveses might be bad, but I remember the gunshots in the restaurant. Vittoria said those were the work of the Falcones, which means they won't hesitate to kill. Even innocents.

I'm definitely not innocent.

A weapon. What I need is a weapon. As I search through the room, I notice the windows: there are no bars. I lightly tap against the window, testing it. Then, harder. Nothing happens―not even a sound. These must be bulletproof. Fireproof.

I try not to let out a frustrated scream. Even the bed is bolted to the ground, and it's the only furniture in the room. There are no chairs, no wardrobes. The bathroom doesn't even have a mirror.

The lightbulbs are made of the same glass as the window. Useless.

As I tap the frame of the bed, wondering if I can somehow muster brute strength and rip the post off the floor―I definitely can't―the door opens.

There is a passcode next to it.

Dominic enters the room. His face is cold, stony. I wonder, briefly, what I ever did to him to give this hatred of me.

Then I remember something.

The Angel is waiting for her.

The Angel. The last Falcone. The most dangerous Falcone.

If he wants something with me, I'm in trouble.

"Why?" I whisper. I coax tears to my eyes, splotchiness to my cheeks.

Dominic only seems to harden against this display of sensitivity. I notice, then, that he's brought food. Some kind of pasta with meat sauce.