Chapter 3

"It's two in the morning, and in weather like this, no cab is coming out here. The nearest hotel is miles away. Try not to freeze to death on the side of the road."

The moment the words left his mouth, Vincent seemed struck by his own idea. He pulled out his phone and dialed, tugging once at the knot of his tie while it rang.

"Put the word out. Every hotel in New York that pays us, every one that owes us. Serafina Falcone doesn't get a room. Anywhere."

My heart plummeted.

This was Vincent's obedience test.

He wanted me to understand that he could dictate my life on a whim, the way he moved trucks and men across the boroughs. He was trying to train me into submission, to break me into something compliant and small.

I took a breath and set the cards linked to his accounts on the entryway table. I kept my own debit card.

I stripped off the coat and dropped it into the fire burning in the entry hall.

The flames surged, casting a bright orange glow across Vincent's stunned face. Behind him, one of his soldiers took half a step forward, then thought better of it.

I didn't look back. I walked past the men at the gate and straight into the blizzard.

The wind hit me like a wall. I pushed forward, shaking so hard my teeth rattled, arms wrapped tight around myself. Every step was a fight against the cold that clawed through my clothes and sank into my bones.

At the main road, I managed to flag down a cab. I asked for the address of my calligraphy studio in the Bronx; I could find somewhere to stay nearby.

The studio was closed when I arrived. On a side street off Arthur Avenue, I found a late-night café with its lights still on. The owner brought me tea, and I wrapped my hands around the cup.

My eyelids grew impossibly heavy. I tried to stand, but my legs wouldn't support me. The room blurred.

Through the haze, I felt hands on me. Groping. Tugging.

I forced my eyes open and found myself staring straight into the owner's greasy, bloated face.

The café that had been buzzing with people just moments ago was now completely empty. The metal security shutter had been pulled down to the floor.

The owner leered at me, his grin wet and obscene.

"Hey there, sweetheart. Pretty little thing like you, wandering in alone this late... you homeless or something?"

"Poor baby. Let me take care of you."

The tea. Something was wrong with it.

Terror crashed over me like a wave.

I bit down hard on my tongue. The sharp sting of pain cut through the fog in my head just enough.

I shoved him with everything I had, scrambled toward the restroom in the corner, and threw myself inside. The lock clicked into place under my trembling fingers.

I called 911 and gave the dispatcher the café's address before the signal cut out.

One percent battery.

Then Vincent's name flashed across the screen. Dazed and frightened, I answered.

The sound that came through the speaker was unmistakable. Heavy breathing. The kind soaked in lust.

"Where are the condoms from the bedroom drawer? Gina and I need them."

His tone turned mocking.

"Did you take them to be spiteful? Is that how desperate you are to ruin my night?"

I swallowed back the nausea clawing up my throat and forced the words out.

"Vincent, I'm at a café off Arthur Avenue."

"The owner is trying to assault me. Please, come get me..."

Vincent's voice went taut with alarm. "What? I'm on my way!"

Then, in the very next second, Gina's voice slithered through the line, dripping with saccharine contempt.

"Oh, please. Do you really believe her?"

"I drove past that block just today. There's no café there. You're pulling a sympathy stunt to guilt Mr. Russo into caving first, aren't you?"

"Mr. Russo, if you actually go, you're just rewarding her little tantrum. Next time she'll threaten to leave every time she doesn't get her way. In front of the whole crew. How embarrassing would that be?"

Before I could get a single word out, Vincent's voice exploded through the phone.

"Serafina, you have absolutely no shame! You'd stoop to a lie like this?"

"Don't think I'm going to keep indulging you. You want to come back? Fine. Be kneeling outside my club by morning, where every man who walks in can see you, and admit you were wrong!"

"You wanted to leave. Stop calling me to fix your life."

The line went dead.

A second later, the screen went black. Zero percent.

Something inside me went cold and still, like ash after a fire burns out.

Click.

The bathroom lock gave way.

The owner burst through the door, grabbed a fistful of my hair, and yanked. That same revolting grin split his face.

"Where do you think you're going, you little tramp? This is my place. You think I don't have a key?"

"Trying to call your boyfriend for help? I heard every word. He's busy with some other woman and can't even be bothered with you."