Page 116 of Forgive Me, Father
She’s stunning.Impossible to miss.And he doesn’t remember her?
Eventually, he brought out the owner.No security cameras.Of course.
“I think we need Paulo on this,” Nico said beside me, already tapping away on his phone.
“Call him.I want footage—street, traffic, anything.And track her goddamn phone.Now.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
THE LITTLE RUNAWAY
I woke with a jolt,disoriented.At first, I thought I was in Alfonso’s dungeon—Heaven knew I’d seen enough of it—but as my vision sharpened, I realized this wasn’t his.
Itfeltlike one, sure, stone walls, damp air, iron restraints—but something was off.Colder.Crueler.
My wrists were shackled, stretched so far above me that pain radiated from my shoulders down my spine.This wasn’t Alfonso’s doing.He never let it getthisfar.
My toes barely grazed the ground, just enough to tease balance, not enough to give relief.I could already feel the ache settling into my joints, the promise of agony that would last for weeks.
I remembered the sharp prick just below my ear, the sting, the wave of dizziness that followed, and then, nothing.
Now my heart thudded faster, panic creeping in.Where the hell am I?
My head was still foggy, like I was underwater.If not for the searing pain in my arms, I might’ve believed I was dreaming.Everything around me felt distant, unreal, blurred at the edges.
I hated this, hated the vulnerability, the confusion.And I was starving.
The pain in my shoulders deepened with every second, like my arms might tear clean from their sockets.The dizziness kept dragging me under, pulling me in and out of consciousness, and each time I surfaced, the room looked a little brighter, like dawn was bleeding in through a crack I couldn’t see.
Somewhere beyond the walls, I heard the city, honking horns, the murmur of traffic.
I wasn’t far from civilization.
“Help me!”I yelled.Even that felt like a battle, forcing sound from my throat.My voice came out strange, warped, like it didn’t belong to me.
Still, I kept screaming.Over and over.I’m here.I need help.
But no one came.Not a single footstep.Not a single voice.
Just my own echo, swallowed by stone.
The door clicked, then creaked open.I screamed again, raw and desperate, praying someone,anyone, might hear me.
But the door shut just as quickly, sealing the sound inside.
Then came the laugh, low, mocking.
A figure stepped closer, just a blur in the dim light.All I could make out was the shock of white hair falling over his forehead, and the sick amusement in his voice.
When he finally stepped into the light, I knew he was a Don, or at least tied to one.
The mark below his eye matched Alfonso’s, the same number inked into his skin like a badge of blood and legacy.
He said something in Italian, voice smooth and deliberate, eyes dragging over me with that same cold calculation I’d seen in men like him before.
As he came closer, the air shifted; he wasn’t just here to look.He leaned down and bit my left breast through my blouse.
The pain seared through my chest, felt as if my flesh was going to rip open.I cried out in pain.
