“Would you prefer a bullet through your skull, ragazza?”
She crawled to the bed, digging her hands into the duvet to pull herself up. When she sat up, she gave me a look that was as exhausted as it was resentful. “‘Ragazza’?” she repeated.
“It means girl.”
“I know what it means, you animal!” She hissed.Little, feisty thing. “I'm almost thirty, so don’t call me that.”
My eyes widened and I had to use every ounce of willpower to keep my jaw from dropping.
I reached for the switch on the wall to my left and turned on the light to get a better view, surprising myself again. Even as miserable as she looked at the moment, no one would have guessed she was over twenty-three. She was small in stature and size, with a face of delicate, feminine features. Her lips were neither thick nor thin, they were beautifully shaped, even…inviting. The same could be said about her eyes, those sparkling peridots that made her look like a curious little ferret. Nothing pointed to her real age, nothing. Not that a woman in her thirties or forties looked old, far from it. However, they certainly didn't look like that.
I wrinkled my nose.
Usually, I wouldn’t pay attention to the appearance of those I intended to eliminate, but it was depressing to see such a woman with such a petite figure at that age. Small breasts, small buttocks, skinny thighs, a frame so fragile it looked like glass.
Bones for the vultures.
Still, I couldn't help imagining what it would be like to have those legs over my shoulders...
I cleared my throat, shaking off the absurd idea.
“I recommend you choose another way to address me.” I simply warned her.
“What are you going to do with me? Why haven't you killed me yet?”
Laughing, I scratched the light stubble covering my jawline. “’Yet’is the correct word, Signorina Parker.” I said, placing a hand on the doorknob. “At the moment, let’s say your death is inconvenient.”
“My family will ask questions,” she fired back. “My best friend will look for me. Her name is Olivia Goodwin, I believe you've heard it before.”
I allowed myself a long smile, taking a step back, longing to get out of there and jump into the shower. But the truth was that this implicit threat amused me.“The District Attorney,” I recalled. I’d seen them that afternoon, walking into the movie theater with the kind of intimacy you see in an old lesbian couple. “Don't worry, Signorina Parker. Tomorrow you'll call your famiglia and your friend, and you’ll make sure they don’t come looking for you.Capisci?”
“No matter what I say, if I disappear, they won’t believe it.”
“That's why you're going to be creative. Otherwise, your dear friend Olivia will meet the same fate as her predecessor. Believe me, my secret talent is making a murder look like an accident.” She stared at me, wide eyes, parted lips, terror written on every line of her face. “Buonanotte, Signorina Parker.”
Chapter 19
Daisy Peonia Mary Parker
July, 2025
Silver River, South Mississippi, USA
Iheard him lock the door from the outside.
I didn't bother to confirm what my head already knew, nor did I even try to come up with an escape plan. My brain was a jumble of images and thoughts trying to process what just happened.
Struggling as I got up from the bed, I looked around. The room reminded me of the one I once had at my mother's house. It was colorless, everything was in multiple shades of beige, and the furniture was basic: a bed and a wardrobe. There was another door, though, and I wished with all my might it led to a bathroom.
I staggered over to it and almost let out a satisfied moan the instant I turned on the light and found a shower to my left.Without thinking, assessing the situation, or even questioning whether it was a good idea, I stripped off my clothes and dragged myself into the shower, turning on the taps with hands that refused to stop shaking.
The water ran cold at first, but it didn't affect me. My body was beyond my control. It was reduced to a confused mind trapped inside a shaking shell that refused to follow orders. When the water warmed up, I couldn't tell if it was too hot. I looked for some kind of body wash and found a bar of soap that seemed to have never been used, and scrubbed the vomit from my skin and hair with it.
Being locked in that trunk, too cramped to move, slowly suffocating, was worse than any gun pointed to my head. When my stomach turned, I inhaled some of the vomit and had to twist and fight for air. I was sure I would’ve died if the man had taken a little longer to open the trunk.
Stepping out of the shower, I stopped in front of the small mirror above the sink. Not even the tan could hide how red my skin was, yet there was still no feeling in my body. I stared at my own reflection, not recognizing myself. I’d almost been killed, the mother of the man I had loved was murdered, and I’d been kidnapped, but I felt nothing. Despite everything, there was nothing in me but one thought that managed to rise above the turmoil in my mind.
Lester wanted me to live.