“Don’t you get it?” I slam my fist against the table, hammering the sick, twisted mindset of Vinny into my bones. “Don’t you realize by now? You were never in control, not really. You were just part of...” I snicker and have to clutch at my stomach with one hand just to find the breath to speak. “You were just part of mypunishment.”
The first gamewe ever played was hide-and-seek. He started it, sneaking up behind me on my way home from school and yanking my notebook right from my hands. I gave chase with all the gusto of an energetic eight-year-old already hardened from a few months of starting school in America, where the kids snickered and the teachers cordoned me off into my own section of the class.Integration,they called it.
I was angry when I finally caught up to the grinning boy with brown eyes. “Vai te foder,” I told him, using the same words my father would shout at the vendors in the market who dared to overcharge him. Part of the fun came from the childish knowledge that he, like the other American children, couldn’t understand me.
But he laughed. “Say it in English,” he challenged, holding my notebook high above his head, where no amount of jumping would ever allow me to reach.
I licked my lips, already well aware of what the words translated to in English. “G-go...go fuck yourself.”
He chuckled again and nodded. Sunlight glanced off his chestnut-brown hair and reflected in his eyes. “It sounds stronger in English,” he said. “And I’ve done you a favor.” He shook my notebook once.
I flexed my fingers, eager to run them over the glossy image of a unicorn on the front, speckled with glitter. At that moment, it was my most prized possession, and as if knowing that, the boy waited nearly five extra minutes before finally lowering it within my reach.
“You should thank me,” he said.
At the time, I was able to pick out only pieces of what he’d said, still learning English, but I used the strange syllables and strangled vowels almost as a guide to drive my suddenly fervent desire to learn the language of my new country. Eventually, I was able to decipher every word, and I tucked them away within myself like a hard-fought trophy.
“I’ve given you back your purpose,” he told me. “Just minutes ago, you were pouting and defeated because those kids made fun of you and made you feel bad. I made you remember why you went there in the first place.”
“Your name?” I demanded afterward, clutching my notebook to my chest.
“Vincent,” he said, “but you can call me Vinny. Okay?”
I nodded, only catching the gist of the request. Pride blossomed in my chest and seared through my skin. An older boy was willing to let me call him something that I suspected only a few people were allowed to.
“My name is Danny,” I said, testing out one of the few English phrases I had known before immigrating.
The boy frowned. “Danny? That’s a man’s name.”
I flinched, stung by his rejection of my own precious nickname. “Daniela,” I clarified, trying again, but he didn’t seem tolike a name that even my American teachers told me was “beautiful,” using the opportunity to teach me a new word.
“You deserve a prettier name.”
“Pretty?” I perked up at the mention of another word I knew.Bonita.“Like...Lyndsay?” I wrinkled my nose, mentioning the name of one of the girls who tormented me.
The boy nodded. “Yeah. Lynn. That’s cute. Can I call you that?”
I glanced down at my navy jumper, feeling my cheeks flush. An older boy thought I wascute. He wanted to give me a pretty name to match what he saw on the outside.
“O-okay,” I told him, tasting yet another new word on my tongue. “Lynn.”
It’s funny how hindsight can taint the most treasured memories with the harsh truth of knowledge gained since then. Fifteen years ago, I was nothing more than a stupid child falling beneath the subtle manipulation of a boy who—even I could admit—wasn’t entirely evil then. In one instant, I gave up my name, with little idea that I would eventually be forced to give up so much more.
It’s a pain that cuts deep—and never truly stops cutting.
“Look at me.” The voice slices through the memories and drags me back to the present. Lucifer’s eyes pin me in place, keeping me here when all I want to do is just surrender already. Vinny already won. “Look at me.” He waits until my eyes focus on his lips before speaking again. “What do you mean?”
He isn’t skeptical like the red-haired man. Lucifer is worried. He doesn’t underestimate the cunning of another devil.
I shake my head. “It was too easy.” Maybe, underneath the pain and the torture, I’d known all along. These men plucked me from Vinny’s car, on the way to meet him. Of all places. Or all times. I was dressed “pretty,” anxious by his days of silence.
Nothing good ever followed when Vinny had the chance to brood. Just like when he’d goaded me into chasing him all thoseyears ago, Vincent Stacatto did nothing without motive—only, this time, I was the unicorn notebook dangled for his benefit.
“He let you take me,” I say, smiling while the devious nature of his own sick plan unfurls inside my head.
I dared to hesitate when accepting his ring, and like a true teacher, Vinny aimed to show me the folly of my decision. He let me be taken by men who hated him. He wanted me to be used and abused. He wanted me to remember mypurpose. It seemed too twisted, even for a madman.
But hell, he’d planned similar lessons before.
