Sempre (Forever Series #1)(148)

“Me? But I’m just . . . I’m no one.”

“Oh, you are definitely someone,” he insisted. “You are my golden ticket. If I kidnapped the DeMarco boy, the Italians would come with guns blazing, but you are trickier. Salvatore will be happy to have you gone, the complication removed, but the others will not give up. There is nothing I enjoy more than seeing them fight. And when the DeMarco boy demands action, someone will spill the truth about who you are, thinking it will make Salvatore want to help.”

Ivan laughed long and hard, as if that were the funniest thing he had ever heard.

“Who am I?” She immediately regretted the question, but it was too late to take it back.

“I have been trying to tell you. You are the buried treasure, the one Salvatore thought would never be found, but I have dug you up.” He reached out, his calloused finger drawing an X on her forehead. “When the dust settles and they have killed one another, everything will be mine for the taking . . . including you.”

He stood and turned to the blond-haired woman. “Get her some water and something to eat, Natalia. Let her rest. You and your brother are on watch tonight.”

* * *

Haven sat as still as possible, her eyes vigilantly darting around the room as everyone filtered out, leaving her and Nunzio alone. He strolled to her and knelt down, placing his hand on her knee.

She fought back a shudder as his hand roamed up her leg and came to rest on her thigh. He squeezed tightly, his fingers digging into her flesh, and she cringed as he pulled himself up. Leaning over, he paused with his mouth next to her ear. “Miss me?”

A chill shot down her spine when his tongue swirled around her earlobe. Panicking, she shoved him. He stumbled a few steps, and before he could react, she pulled her leg up and slammed it into his crotch. He hunched over as she jumped up, her vision blurring from the sudden movement. She sprinted for the metal door across the room, but barely made it halfway there when he grabbed her from behind.

“I like it when you fight,” Nunzio said breathlessly. She cried for help as he dragged her across the room, grabbing a roll of duct tape from the card table.

She shook her head at the sight of it. “No!”

He smirked. “Yes.”

She tried to move past him, shoving him again, but he grabbed her wrist and yanked her back. Pain ripped up her shoulder with such intensity that everything went black. He threw her on the mattress and straddled her.

Her brittle fingernails caught on his skin as she grasped at his face, pulling his bandage off and ripping the stitches underneath. Blood gushed from the wound, running down her arm.

Raising his fist, Nunzio slammed it into her face. Stars danced before her eyes. He tore off a piece of duct tape to cover her mouth. After muffling her cries, he jerked her onto her stomach. Pain radiated through her body as he forced her arms behind her, binding her hands and ankles together. He wiped his cheek, bringing his hand up to eye the blood, before storming outside.

Natalia returned with a bag of food and sat down on the mattress beside her. She unbound her and gently pulled the duct tape from Haven’s mouth, feeding her until Haven turned away. Sickness churned in her stomach as Natalia patted her head. “You should not anger him. It isn’t smart.”

Eventually, Haven passed out from exhaustion, only to awaken later to Ivan kneeling in front of her. “I thought you were going to play nice, Principessa.”

“I, uh, he was going to—”

“I do not need excuses,” he said. “I need cooperation.”

Before she could speak again, he jabbed her with a needle. “It will be easier this way.”

* * *

The holding cells at Cook County Jail are overcrowded bullpens of chain-link fence, the sour, putrid smell inside strong enough to singe nose hair. Carmine sat in the corner of one with his head down, surrounded by dozens of murderers, druggies, and thieves. People bickered, scuffles breaking out between rival detainees. On edge, he tried to maintain his strength, but he was dangerously close to cracking.

It was after nightfall when they booked him into the system. He was taken to a small room where he sat across from a lady who asked a lot of questions he had no desire to answer. He humored her with the basics, like his name and date of birth, but when she asked how he felt or if he was suicidal, he remained silent.

The love of his life was missing and his ability to help was gone. Instead of being out there, searching, he was trapped in a room with this nosy bitch asking him if he felt angry. Of course he was angry. Wasn’t he supposed to be?

They gave up and ordered him out, writing an identification number on his arm in permanent marker before fingerprinting him and taking mug shots. He stared at the number the whole time, feeling sick at the sight of it. They had stripped him of his name. He was now number 2006-0903201.

An intake officer photographed Carmine’s tattoos as he continued to glare at the number. “Are you affiliated with any gangs?”

“No.”

“Are you sure? LCN counts as a gang.”

“LCN?”

“You know, the Mafia?”

Carmine cut his eyes to him. “There is no Mafia.”

The officer wrote something in his file before sending Carmine to be strip searched. By the time he put on that orange jumpsuit for protective custody, he felt like he had been thoroughly f**ked.

They took him to division nine, placing him in a small cell on the top tier. It was closed in and suffocating, no bars or windows to the outside. The green paint on the thick metal door flaked, words scratched into it. He had nothing but a light and a threadbare blanket, the mattress no thicker than egg crate foam.