CHAPTER ONE
Daniela
We usedto play tic-tac-toe as children, in the dirt with sticks. Now, our game consists of the lives of the two bloodied men standing naked on the ornate rug before us. One can barely see on account of both of his eyes being swollen shut, so he frantically eyes the wall a few inches away from Vinny, while the other stares at the floor, muttering prayers under his breath.
Eeny, meeny, miney, mo,Vinny calls it.
Dressed to kill in a tailored suit, Vinny takes his sweet time observing them both while caressing the pistol he’s holding in one hand. “Eeny, meeny, miney, motherfucker,” he murmurs in a guttural tone. “Which one should I kill first?” He inclines his head in my direction, ever the gentleman. “Lynn?”
I swallow hard and tug on the sleeve of my sweater. Two hours ago, it was a neatly hemmed number in soft pink. Now, it’s bloodstained, the ends of the sleeve ragged and torn.
“Really, Vinny. You don’t have to—” I break off and try again. No one tells Vinny what to do—ever. Not even me. “I’m fine. Really.”
It would take more than this to ruin my night. This beautiful, perfect night, which should have ended with a nice bubble bath. Not here in Vinny’s office, with the scent of blood in the air and the inevitable promise of death tainting the atmosphere.
I glance down at my throbbing hands, surprised by the numerous scratches that mar them. They contradict my lie, and I curl them up into fists, even though I know that it’s already too late.I’m fine.
Regardless, Vinny doesn’t even look in my direction. His thumb greedily traces the trigger of his gun, eager to let a bullet fly.
He’s in a mood. Something must have happened even before he caught wind of my little adventure tonight. My heart picks up speed, my spine tensing.
“Really,” I croak out against his back. “I’m fine—”
“Sit down, Daniela.”
I flinch. My full name is a dangerous sound coming out of his mouth.Lynnis his puppy, his favorite toy. Daniela is just a little girl in danger of disobeying her master.
My jaw snaps shut, and I stagger a few steps past him to collapse onto one of the plush armchairs that is positioned to face his desk. His office is one of the few places I hate most in the world. What, in a normal setting, would be designated for stuffy business meetings takes on a broader purpose in Vinny’s hands. It’s his arena. His showroom. My cage.
I warily scan the oak-paneled walls. They’re polished to shine and reflect the rest of the room back to me: hardwood floors and exactly two windows, each one framed by black curtains. There is another leather armchair across from mine, flanked by Vinny’s massive desk, which takes up the center of the room. Vinny’s reflection is like a dark smudge over the scenery, while the two men before him flicker the way a candle flame does when it’s in danger of going out.
“Let’s play a game,” Vinny declares in a voice that makes me shiver.
I know that tone all too well. Bile creeps up the back of my throat, and oddly enough, the thought of ruining my sweater with puke is even worse than what’s already staining it now.
“Tell me again what happened—from the beginning,” Vinny says. “The bastard who tells the least amount of lies wins.”
There’s this painful moment of silence. The men share a look that resembles the wary expressions of two animals shoved into a cage and forced to fight to the death. Which one is the lion, which one the gazelle?
The one with the busted jaw speaks up first, or at least he tries to. “We were just screwing around. We didn’t—”
“First lie,” Vinny interjects.
I can’t breathe. My throat contracts in an attempt to choke down air, but the action doesn’t relieve the pressure building in my chest. Lying was another one of our childhood games. It wasn’t played quite as often as tic-tac-toe or red rover, but often enough to recognize the way Vinny crouches forward, bracing both hands against his desk. He’s got that cold, dark gleam in his eye. The same one that made him seem so powerful, even as a child. His parents may have been immigrants. His family may have been dirt poor. He may have had a slight limp on his left side and a lisp that affected his speech.
None of that mattered when you met his gaze head on. His eyes held a darkness that swallowed you whole. And the worst part? A part of youwantedto be swallowed. You were stupid enough to be comforted by the shadows.
“That was the first lie,” he repeats. His fingers dance on the surface of the gun until they find the safety. He noisily flips it off so that they hear the clip engage. “Let’s make things interesting. Next one to lie gets a bullet through his eye.”
The two men don’t look at each other this time. They shift on their feet. The one with the busted jaw glances at me as if hewants me to say something. They were just playing around, after all. When they cornered me in an alley and tried to rip my shirt off, it was all just fun and games.
I should be thankful for what will come next. There’s a cut on my chin and blood dribbling down onto my scalloped collar. I can taste dirt and grit from when they tried to hold me facedown and pull my pants off.
I shouldwantVinny to blow their brains out all over his priceless, antique rug. Maybe, a few years ago, I wouldn’t have cared—back when I’d been younger and stupid enough to mistake his aggression for love or kindness.
But, now, I know the truth. Men like the two sniffling before me are nothing more than predators. They hunt and stalk and gleefully devour their prey in the shadows—but not all predators deserve to be torn apart by the Big Bad Wolf.
“Any takers?” Vinny gives them another five minutes to decide.
