Vendetta (Blood for Blood #1)(80)

“Please!” I screamed.

He kept twisting his fingers through my hair, yanking so hard it felt like he was trying to rip my scalp off.

“You have until midnight to come alone and unarmed to the abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Old Hegewisch, where we will talk about the terms of your business activity and the girl’s release.”

So they were misleading him twofold: once about his own fate and once about mine. “You lying *s,” I spat.

Calvino flung his hand across my face. The blow stung the tears out of my eyes. Bucking wildly, I hit him in the shoulder; he recoiled and cursed under his breath. Seizing the moment his distraction allowed me, I rolled off the couch and struggled to my feet, hopping toward the door.

Calvino lurched forward and grabbed my shoulders, pulling me back to him and that godforsaken couch. I covered my face with my bound hands as he loomed over me, breathing raggedly through his nose. He bent down until I could feel his breath across my hair, ruffling it away from my forehead as he forced my hands from my face.

He slammed the heel of his hand against my nose, and my upper teeth imprinted on the inside of my lips. The taste of salt and rust oozed away from my gums, mixing with the stream of blood coming from my nose. I wheezed as it trickled out over my lips and down my chin.

“Stop,” I begged. I started to claw up over the couch, but Calvino yanked me back again. My head landed against his chest with a thud and he held it there.

“If you don’t show up, Jack,” he resumed his psycho video voice-over, “we’ll kill her. And then we will come for you with every man we have until you are hanging from the ceiling of your restaurant.” He pushed me away and I fell back against the couch, aching and trembling.

C.J. scurried up until there was less than a foot between the lens and me, and I could make out every pus-filled zit on his greasy face.

“You see what you make me do, Gracewell?” Calvino paused as if he was expecting Jack to respond. My crying filled the silence. I hadn’t even realized I was sobbing until I heard myself. He gestured to C.J. to turn it off.

“Nailed it!” his son chimed. “It’s good.” Like he had just gotten an A on a test instead of a video documenting the abuse of a defenseless seventeen-year-old girl.

I spat a pool of blood onto Calvino’s silk shirt. “You’re a monster!”

He raised his hand at me and I flinched away from it. “Watch your tongue,” he cautioned. “Or I’ll take it from your mouth.” Then he stood up and laid a heavy hand on his son’s shoulder. “Show the video to Felice and send it through. He’ll be leaving soon to set up for Gracewell’s arrival. I’ll follow later with the girl.”

“Can I go, too?” C.J. asked excitedly.

“Next time.”

Nice to know this kind of thing was a regular occurrence in the Falcone family.

The boy disappeared, leaving me alone with my torturer. I fell back into a seated position and pulled my limbs into my body.

“Nothing’s broken,” Calvino informed me in a way that implied I was being overdramatic. He sauntered back to the chair and relaxed into it with a deep sigh.

I wanted to shout profanities at him, but my energy was dying with each breath. I knew I had to escape, if not for me, then for my mother, and my best friend, and my father. And even Jack. Deep down I was still hoping for something that would explain this, something that would make it less horrific than it seemed.

Calvino was watching me, his gaze unblinking. I flicked my attention around the room. I could jump through the window, but I would probably break my leg on landing. And then there were all those bees to think about. Even if I could somehow get the ties off, I’d have to run through the fields at the back or take a chance going through the front of the house. I didn’t know how many people were here or how big the place was. The door was behind me. If I was lucky, maybe Calvino would get bored and fall asleep. It was dark out now.

My thoughts were still whirling when he stood again. He rerolled his sleeves.

“What are you doing?” I tried to hop off the couch, but the binds on my legs tripped me.

“I wasn’t finished,” Calvino replied as I landed against the floor and tried to slither away from him, using my butt and my legs like a caterpillar. “I just needed a rest.”

He rounded on me. I scooted furiously until my head banged against one of the walls. He brought his foot back like he was going to kick a ball, but I rolled over at the last second.

I pulled myself across the floor with my hands. He kicked me again, and this time it landed on my right side. I heard a faint crack as the wind left my lungs. Twinkling stars began to cloud my vision as I clawed at the rough wooden floors. There was a labored grunt from somewhere above and I crumpled as another blow hurtled into me.

Waves of nausea rocked back and forth inside me. I pulled my knees into my chest and cradled myself into a fetal position as shrieks of uncontrollable pain ripped through my body. Calvino began circling my frame. This time, instead of kicking me, he flipped me over with his shoe so that I landed under the force of my own body. He started to press against my back with his heel.

“Stop,” I wheezed. I tried to claw across the wood, but he stamped down harder, and then I heard the flick of his switchblade from somewhere above me.

“Please,” I panted, but to whom, I didn’t know. I was on my own, and I had to do something before it was too late.