The Woman with the Ring (Costa Family)

But why?

And where was Primo?

“I don’t…” I started, finding my brain moving like molasses. Each word seemed to get stuck before it could make it past my lips.

And, God, my face hurt.

Why did my face hurt?

Both on the inside and the out.

Had someone hit me? Had it knocked a tooth loose?

“Where’s Primo?” I managed to ask, everything within me saying I needed him, that he would explain, that he would make it right, and would take care of me until I felt better.

“Oh, he’ll be here shortly,” Dulles said as he pulled a gun out of his waistband. “And we’ll be ready for him.”

It wasn’t so much the words that got through to me, since my brain was just not processing like I needed it to. It was the look in Dulles’s eyes when he said that. And when I looked over at Dawson, I saw the same dark, ugly look mirrored there.

“Lock him down tight, and make him watch us having fun with you,” Dawson said, smirk full of evil promise.

But even as the words landed, as my sluggish brain registered them, and told me to run, to get away from the danger, I felt my wrist being snagged, and a handcuff tightening around it.

“I bet she’ll scream,” Dulles said, smiling as my stomach flipped over.

No.

This could not be happening.

Dawson and Dulles? They were the bad guys?

Even as my brain tried to reconcile that, little flashes started to come back to me. Not much. Just the sight of Dawson and Dulles in the master bathroom. Then a bottle of bath soap, and then, finally, a needle going into my arm.

They’d drugged and kidnapped me.

And, judging by the pain in my face, hit me too.

Why?

“Why?” I asked as Dawson dragged me over toward a metal support beam, yanking my free arm behind my back, then securing me around it with the cuffs.

“Why?” Dulles scoffed, shaking his head.

“Yes. Why? He’s your brother,” I insisted, anger growing. I liked anger. Anger would get me places that fear wouldn’t. At least I hoped so, anyway.

“What? Just ‘cause his father fucked our mom?” Dawson asked.

“As if she had any choice in the matter,” Dulles added.

I didn’t know much about this story. I knew the twins had a different mom who raised the boys away from Primo’s dad for many years. I also knew she was dead. But that was all I knew. It didn’t exactly seem like a topic anyone wanted to discuss.

“Who do you think killed our mom, huh?” Dawson asked.

“Not Primo,” I said, sure of it. Yes, he was a ruthless bastard, but he had a moral code too.

“Nah, our old man,” Dulles said, shaking his head. “Didn’t like not knowing he had a couple more sons growing up without him. Took it out on our ma, then took us in with the others. Know what that house was like? Hell. Pure fucking hell. Daily beatings and getting screamed at and made to feel like shit.”

“I don’t understand,” I said, shaking my head. “Primo killed your father.” For all those reasons, I was sure. By all accounts, the former boss of the Esposito Family had been an evil monster. No one, not even his own sons—least of all the son who’d killed him—mourned his death.

“Then became just like him,” Dulles said, voice rough.

“No. Not like him.”

“Cold, vicious, evil…” Dulles went on.

It sounded like they were describing themselves at that moment.

“For all his faults, he never drugged a woman and threatened to assault her,” I insisted, proud of how strong my voice sounded, despite the circumstances.

“How the fuck do you know?” Dawson asked, making my stomach clench at the idea of the man I was beginning to think I might actually be falling for hurting another woman. “He put on a nice show with you. Protecting your honor and shit. Stupid fucking bitch forgetting he had you kidnapped and forced into marriage.”

“She’s got some Stockholm type shit,” Dulles agreed, nodding. “Ever since he started fucking her. A little dick makes her lose her fucking mind,” he added, shaking his head. “I wonder if a little more might make her get it back again,” he said, jiggling his belt buckle around in what could only be considered a threat.

No.

Absolutely freaking not.

I was not going to be assaulted by my husband’s mentally unstable half-brothers.

That was not going to be my fate.

I just had to think. I had to be smart. I had to bide my time.

I was sure that Primo would come looking for me.

I just had to keep these guys from touching me until then.

I had to keep them talking, explaining why they were doing what they were doing. People liked to talk about themselves. They seemed no different.

“When?” I asked, having to clear my throat to keep my tone calm. “When did you start hating him so much?” I asked, looking between the two of them.