His smile dissolves into a full-blown grin as he again laughs. This time it's sharp and loud, cutting off my words, as he grips me tighter. "You really think your innocent act is going to work on me?"
"It's not an act."
"Oh, but it is. You married a monster, little girl. Don't act like you don't know what he is, like you don't know what he does. He murders, in cold blood, and he makes it personal. That's why he uses his hands, why he uses a knife… why he suffocates, and strangles…" The man lets go of me and leans back, drawing his fingertips across his neck. "Why he slits throats."
My blood runs cold at those words.
"He likes to be up close," he continues. "He likes for you to look at him, for you to know who is stealing your final breath, like it makes him some sort of God, some angel of death, casting judgment while he stares you right in the face. He doesn't just kill, little girl… he robs you of your dignity, of your strength, of your self-respect. He takes it all as he toys with you. He takes it all for himself. And then he kills you, after you've got nothing left. So don't act like you're innocent, like you're ignorant, because I know who you are. We all know who you are. You were one of the hunted. He was going to do the same thing to you. He wanted you to suffer, too. And you know that… you know it, yet you gave him your heart, you gave him your cunt, and now you have the nerve to act innocent about it, like you've done nothing to get yourself here?"
I look away from him again.
I feel like I'm going to throw up.
"I know he's not a good man," I say quietly, "but he's not a bad one, either."
"Bullshit."
He spits the word at me. Literally. He spits it. I grimace, gagging, feeling the saliva hit my cheek, inhaling that acidic odor that surrounds him for some goddamn reason. It's disgusting.
I can even smell it on me.
He stands back up and stares down at me. I still don't look at him, but I can feel his eyes. I can feel them pecking at me, boring into me, judging me the same way he says Naz does when he takes someone's last breath. And I've seen the look before… seen it on Naz's face, seen the cold, callous cruelty in his eyes. The day in the den, when he choked me on his desk, a day I know he could've easily killed me, a day I realize part of him wanted to. I've met the part of Naz that is a monster, but that isn't all of him, and I refuse to let anybody tell me differently. Maybe it's unhealthy, loving a man like him, staying with someone so dangerous, but I'm not his prey, and he's not my predator, and this man is fucking insane if he thinks he can poison me against him.
"He's different," I say. I'm wasting my breath. I know I am. But I need more time. I need a distraction. I need a way out of this. "You just can't see it."
"Different?" he asks incredulously. "Let me tell you something… there's nothing different about that man. You can capture a lion and teach it to do tricks, but you'll never change the nature of the beast. It'll still rip your fucking head off if you poke it the wrong way."
I start to respond, to refute those words, when a flash of light cuts through the room, illuminating the filthy concrete walls surrounding me for a brief moment before shutting off again. Headlights. My stomach clenches as the man glances toward the nearest window. "Looks like company is here."
Company.
More men.
More guys like him.
"Why are you doing this?" I ask, my voice shaking. "What do you want?"
He glances at me. "What do I want?"
I nod.
"I want your husband dead."
I inhale sharply.
The answer doesn't shock me, but it hurts. It fucking hurts.
"But it doesn't really matter what I want," he continues. "What matters is what the boss wants."
The boss.
Of course he's working for somebody else.
They always are, aren't they?
"So what does your boss want, then, if he doesn't want him dead?"
"Oh, I never said he didn't want him dead, but the boss? He's taking a play out of your husband's handbook. See, me? I'd make it quick and easy. Shoot up your house, kill him without ever getting out of the car. I like a good drive-by. It's timeless. But I guess somewhere along the way, this turned personal, and the boss wants Vitale to get a dose of his own medicine. Steal his pride, his hope, his dignity. Then after he's got nothing left, we take his life. Because without the rest of those things, it's not really worth living, is it?"
He turns to walk away, limping a few steps.
"So that's what Lorenzo wants, huh? To toy with him?"
He pauses, glancing at me, genuine surprise flashing across his expression. "Lorenzo?"
"That's your boss, isn't it? Lorenzo Gambini."
I've caught him off guard. I can see it in his eyes. He stares at me like he isn't sure how to respond. The man obviously likes to talk a lot, but I've rendered him speechless.
"Lorenzo Gambini," he echoes before shrugging and turning to leave again. "Doesn't ring a bell."
I scowl at the door when he opens it and shuffles outside, leaving it open a crack so he can peer back in and keep an eye on me. It's the only way in and out that I can see. To escape, I'd have to go right through them.
I don't know how many of them there are.
I hear a few voices, fragments of a conversation. I can only make out part of what they're talking about, but very little of it makes any sense to me. They talk about trees and Park Enforcement, like any of that is relevant, before someone mentions a crime scene and something sparks inside of me. I look around the room I'm in, feeling like I'm going to be sick.