Cruel Summer

Vito’s head whips in my direction and my heart rate speeds up. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t need to. I shake my head, pleading with him.

He looks away from me, defeat dropping his shoulders. Finally, he looks back at me. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he assures me, “at least not physically.”

I think I can take more physical than emotional abuse right now, but from the way that Vito is looking at me, I’ll get both if I continue to back away from him.

So instead, I stop moving, dread filling me.

“I have to do this,” he says and now it feels like he’s the one pleading with me.

I want to understand even though I don’t, so I allow myself one deep breath before I move in his direction.

He opens the door all the way, muttering, “Watch your step,” as my foot touches the first step.

I follow him downward, only a glimmer of light allowing me to walk down the stairs without falling. His steps are soft as we touch down on the floor and I follow his silhouette until he stops moving.

The light flickers on.

And I almost throw up.

There’s a man hanging from the ceiling in the middle of the room, the same cuffs Giovanni had once used on me locked around his wrists and ankles. He’s completely naked, but with the way blood is covering him, he may as well be dressed. His hand is hanging down, his inky hair hanging into his face.

Vito turns, watching me as I take in the man.

I don’t know if it’s too soon for the Xanax to work or if even drugs can’t handle this scene, but it feels as if I’m going to faint. My head swims and my legs are shaky, heat moving over my skin.

My eyes meet Vito’s but that mask has slid back into place, reminding me of the man I first met months ago, the one who was more closed off. The one who made my heart race even then with something as simple as helping me slide my heels on.

As I look at him now, my heart is racing for a completely different reason.

He walks over to the man, grabbing him by his hair and pulling his head back. The man lets out a soft groan, the only thing that lets me know he’s still alive.

Vito never takes his gaze off of me. “Winter, this is my cousin, Luigi. He’s the reason we were shot at yesterday.” His voice is flat, emotionless. “He leaked our location to Sheffield in exchange for money. He deceived the family.” He doesn’t blink as his eyes meet mine. “Do you understand?”

The picture Diamond gave me flashes through my mind.

The coroner’s report.

The day I asked Amarie to help me kill Giovanni Costa.

I understand. I understand perfectly well.”

I nod my head.

And I know before he pulls the knife out why he said this would hurt me emotionally.

When he draws the knife across his cousin’s throat, blood pooling from the wound, it isn’t just my emotions that hurt, but every single thing.