Claudio: A Dark Mafia Hate Story (Chicago Crime Family Book 2) Page 7

  Finally Claudio comes in to the living room. He’s wearing a suit and a scowl. “I made an appointment for you at the salon this afternoon. This...” he waves his hand in my direction. “This isn’t going to work.”

  I’m stung to the core. He doesn’t like the way I look? “Seriously. Why did you marry me?”

  Bored expression. Flat voice. “You had so much potential.”

  I scowl at him, and fold my arms across my chest.

  He shrugs impatiently. “Our women reflect our success. There’s a certain look that’s expected. Hair, nails, makeup, clothing. You’re going to put on a nice dress and get your hair and nails done today, and once a week you’ll be taken to the salon so you can maintain that look.”

  “I’ll be taken?” I say in dismay. The trapped feeling squeezes tightly in my chest. “I mean, I’m a big girl. I can find my way on my own.”

  “No,” he says curtly.

  I go and change into a white and red floral chiffon dress with a high-low hem, and matching red pumps. This is the kind of dress I used to drool over in magazines. Claudio’s taste is impeccable, at least. I’d enjoy my new wardrobe a lot more if I didn’t have an ache in my heart, a sore butt, and an ever-present sense of panic clawing at me.

  When I come out, Carmelo is standing there in the living room, chatting with Claudio.

  “I’ve got some work to do,” Claudio says. “Carmelo will be your driver. Do not give him a hard time.” He uses that voice again, the one that promises terrifying punishment if I disobey.

  “What kind of work?”

  He arches an eyebrow. “Do you really want to know?”

  From the way he says it, I’m already sure of the answer. I suspect it involves somebody dying at his hands. “Nope. Not in the slightest.”

  I am ushered into the front seat of a Range Rover, and Carmelo drives me across town. When we idle at stoplights, my fingers play across the door handle. There’s lots of traffic. If I got out and ran, what could he do about it?

  “I wouldn’t,” Carmelo says coldly, and I drop my hands to my lap and pray that he won’t call up Claudio and tell on me. I didn’t actually try anything, so maybe I’ll get lucky. I don’t fancy being thrown over Claudio’s lap again.

  The salon is in trendy Wicker Park. The door is locked, but they buzz us in. What kind of salon has the door locked during business hours?

  A mob salon, that’s what kind. And we seem to have the whole place to ourselves.

  My stylist, who has a name tag that says “Maria”, leads me over to a chair in the back. She’s gorgeous, with sleek caramel hair twisted in an updo, and perfect little French nails. Like something you’d see in a magazine.

  When I sit down, she scrunches up her tiny nose as she looks me up and down in dismay.

  “These nails? That hair?” Her voice is a high nasal whine. “She looks like crap. This is going to take all day,” she complains to Carmelo.

  Hello? I’m sitting right here.

  “That’s what we’re fucking paying you for.”

  “You could be a little nicer to me.” She arches her back to give him a shot of cleavage, and bats heavily mascara’d eyes.

  His lip curls in contempt. “Sweetheart, you’re nothing but last week’s pass-around. And you weren’t that good. Do as you’re told and I won’t break your fingers. How’s that for nice?”

  I shudder. Figures that Claudio’s friends are as psycho as he is.

  She shoots him a look of rage and hurt. “No problem,” she says tightly.

  A heavy-set woman in a black nylon dress comes over to do my nails. I get a full set, and a pedicure. She paints them a pale, glossy pink.

  Maria shampoos my hair in scalding water, and bangs my head on the basin.

  “Can you please be a little gentler?” I ask. She ignores me, and towels my head off so roughly that I snatch the towel from her hands and finish for her.

  Next she snips away at my hair, trimming off split ends, shaping and slicing. Then she pastes evil smelling stuff onto some foil packets, and starts folding them onto my hair.

  “What is this?” I demand.

  She slaps her hands down on the counter, glaring at me. “Keep complaining, you’ll end up bald.”

  I snort in contempt. “I’m sure Claudio would appreciate you sending me home with no hair. And I wouldn’t always be bald, but you’ll always be a bitch. Now, let’s try again. I’m sick of you treating me like dirt. I asked you a simple question, and I’d appreciate an answer.”

  Sullenly, she explains what she’s doing. Apparently my hair needs highlights and lowlights. I’m in the chair for an hour before she washes my hair again, just as roughly as before, and then blow-dries it and uses a curling iron to make big beachy waves. I have to admit, it looks spectacular.

  She brings over a rectangular gold eyeshadow kit and some blush, and spends a few minutes painting my face. “This makeup’s for you to take home. Make sure you use it.” I shove it in my purse.

  Carmelo’s still there, sitting in a chair across the room, talking on his phone, looking bored.

  “Last thing. Claudio says he wants your pussy waxed,” she says in a bored tone.

  “My...seriously?” I do not want this evil wench anywhere near my nether regions.

  “Yep. Says he practically had to hack through your bush with a chainsaw,” she sneers.

  I’m absolutely stricken. She sees it, and smiles. Bitch.

  She turns to Carmelo, with a pouty look. “This’ll take about half an hour,” she calls out to him. “Could you at least grab me a sandwich from next door?”

  He stands up. “Fine. I could use a break.”

  “Not afraid I’ll run for it?” I ask him in a snarky voice.

  “Please do. Sometimes Claudio lets me watch when he hurts people who’ve pissed him off.” Half of his face smiles. “Good times.” He leaves with a jaunty wave.

  I let Maria guide me to a small room in the back. There’s a raised bed in the middle of the room, and robes hanging on the wall. On a table, I see a pot of what looks like melted wax. The pot is plugged into the wall, and the air is perfumed with a honey smell. “Strip,” she snaps.

  If Claudio hadn’t ordered me to come here, I wouldn’t even think about it. Reluctantly, I peel off my clothing and hang it up on a peg on the wall, and put on one of the robes.

  I lie down on the bed, and spread my legs, blushing. This is utterly mortifying.

  The first strip of wax makes me clench my teeth. The second strip makes me scream in pain. After she does the third, I feel as if the left side of my pussy is on fire. “No way!” I cry out, sitting up. “I’m not doing it. I’ll shave when I get home.”

  She grabs my ankle, and before I can pull away, she’s cuffed it to the table. This table comes with freaking cuffs. I take a swing at her, and she dodges me, grabbing me by the wrist.

  The door to the room flies open, and I shriek and close my legs. Two men bustle in; I’ve never seen them before. They look like mafia, though. Young, muscular, wearing leather jackets and jeans. Low level soldatos.

  “Grigirio, baby! Here she is. She won’t let me finish,” Maria whines.

  “Help me strap her down,” Grigorio says to his friend.

  Chapter Nine

  Heather

  I scream at the top of my lungs as they pin me down and Maria finishes cuffing me. My legs are splayed open, my hands trapped by my side.

  Grigorio grabs me by the throat and squeezes. “Shut up or I’ll choke you out, bitch.” I fall silent, rigid with panic and rage. There’s no point in screaming anyway, I realize. Who would hear me?

  Maria quickly returns to her wax-work torture, and I bite back a scream. Tears of pain run down the sides of my face. It feels like she’s ripping my skin right off. My pussy is on fire.

  Grigorio rests his hand on my throat and stares down at me, examining me clinically. "She’s a good choice. Kostya will like her. Maybe he'll even give me a turn."

  What the hell i
s he talking about? Who is Kostya? Why has Claudio done this to me?

  Maria finishes quickly, and Grigorio walks down to stand between my legs. I shudder, hating how exposed I am. “What a nice snatch,” he croons. “Wonder what it tastes like.”

  He runs his hands up my thigh and spreads my lips open, and I cry out in revulsion. I desperately twist my hips away, which makes him laugh. Then he pokes a finger inside of me. I strangle on a scream. Maria’s watching the whole time, a little smile puckering her lips, her bright eyes glowing with spite.

  Claudio, why? Is it my fault? What did I do to make him throw me away like trash?

  “Cut it out!” The other guy snaps. “She’s supposed to be a gift. She’s not for you.”

  A gift?

  Grigorio reluctantly pulls his hands away. Then he unstraps me and orders me to get dressed. I hurry to obey, scrambling off the table and pulling my dress back on.

  I’m terrified, and my heart is tearing itself in two. Claudio’s giving me away to someone. I wish he at least could have been honest about it. And what was with the fake marriage? He went through all that to mess with my head?

  Grigorio and his friend push me out the back door into a garage, where a van is waiting for us. I’m forced in the back, and his friend climbs in with me, while Grigorio climbs in the driver’s seat.

  We drive in silence for what feels like an eternity. I want to ask questions, but the hard look on the face of the guy next to me tells me it’s pointless.

  If I’m being given as a gift to someone, that means I’ll be a sex slave. I’ll be raped. I’ll never see my family again. My poor father; I’m all he has left. It takes everything I have not to cry; I don’t want to give them the satisfaction. And I’m sure I’ll be weeping soon enough.

  Finally we park and I hear the grinding sound of a garage door closing.

  My heart is in my throat as the van door opens. Grigorio has a very nasty grin on his face as he hauls me out. Whatever is about to happen to me is very bad.

  I just can’t believe this is happening. I never expected this from Claudio. I knew he’d hurt me, punish me. Maybe even kill me. But I never thought he’d discard me.

  I’m taken up a stairwell and into a room that looks like some kind of fancy private men’s club. There’s a bar at one end, billiard tables, leather couches and chairs scattered around the room, and the smell of expensive cigars. On the wall are paintings of Russian landmarks; the gorgeous onion domes of St. Basil’s Cathedral, the Red Square, the Winter Palace in St. Petersburg.

  Kostya is a Russian name. Claudio’s giving me to the Russians. I’ve heard terrifying rumors about them snatching up girls and selling them. Those girls are used and abused, forced to service a dozen clients a day, and when they’re worn out...they vanish. I was told to never, ever work for the Russians.

  I just want to see Claudio one last time – so I can launch myself at him and claw his face off. I want to scream “Why?” I want to see him bleed for what he’s doing to me.

  Across the room, I spot Claudio’s boss Diego with a bunch of his soldatos. There’s a cluster of men facing them, and one of them towers over the rest. He’s freakishly tall and brutally handsome. Somehow, I just know that he’s Kostya.

  Grigorio’s hand is squeezing my upper arm in a painfully tight grip as he marches me over towards them. The other men are speaking to each other in Russian, nudging each other, as they check me out.

  Suddenly, the door bangs open.

  Claudio rushes in to the room, hurrying over to us – and shoots Grigorio a murderous glare. Grigorio steps away from me, looking confused. “What?” he says to Claudio, in a tone that’s both defensive and worried.

  Claudio is holding a cardboard box, and he shoves it at Diego, who takes it, looking at him narrow-eyed. Diego does not look happy.

  “Here’s the gift for Kostya,” Claudio says to Diego. “And I see you've met my wife." He grabs my hand, holding it up to display my ring.

  I see the look of surprise on Kostya's face. Grigorio gulps and shuffles away quickly, trying to hide behind Diego’s men. Diego shoots Claudio a glance that only lasts a micro-second but promises trouble.

  I dare to let myself feel a little bit of hope.

  Kostya's men are jostling, speaking amongst themselves. There's tension in the air.

  Diego holds the box out to Kostya. “Please. Allow me to give you our welcome to town present,” he says.

  "You open it," Kostya says in a thickly accented voice. It’s a deliberate insult. He's saying that he doesn't trust them. Like the box might be booby-trapped or something.

  Diego shrugs and opens the box, and holds it out to Kostya again.

  Kostya looks down, and his expression changes. He lifts out the contents and holds it up. It’s a small painting in a wooden frame. The frame is studded with what looks like real jewels. The painting is medieval in style, showing a saint with a gilt halo.

  "My God, it’s gorgeous,” Kostya says reverently. "You did the museum heist? How did you pull that off?" He’s looking at Claudio.

  Claudio just shrugs modestly. "I have my ways. If I want something, I get it.” His gaze wanders to me when he says that and I feel my heart flutter a little. Does he mean me? Did he want me so much that he had to have me?

  But if that’s true, why is he so cruel and cold to me? Then again, he did come here and save me.

  Kostya nods appreciatively. "Very nice. This will be a gift to my stepfather. He’s a collector.”

  “I had heard that about him,” Claudio says. “I was told that your family had an art collection that is second to none.” He’s kissing Kostya’s butt, and he’s doing a very good job. The hard look on Diego’s face softens, just a little.

  Kostya is all smiles now, and he claps Diego on the shoulder hard. "And to think, all I got you was a case of my best vodka. Well, let me make it up to you. Would you and your men like to sample some of my finest merchandise before it's used? Fresh shipment. Ready and waiting for you in the back."

  Diego gestures at his men. "Your merchandise has an excellent reputation. If any of my men care to indulge, they are welcome to. I have a pregnant wife at home who keeps me more than satisfied, and therefore, I'll pass."

  Wait, what? What is this merchandise? Would I have been part of the merchandise?

  I flash Claudio a horrified look. I see that several of Kostya's men are watching me, so I quickly look away, sucking in deep, panicked breaths.

  Claudio is angry at me. There’s something so fierce about his rage that it prickles through my skin. He puts his hand on my arm, in a deceptively gentle gesture.

  "I need to get my wife back home," Claudio says.

  "Yes, how odd that she’d be taken to a meeting like this." Kostya's voice has a slight edge to it now. “But thank you again for the painting.”

  One of the men, who’d been standing by Kostya’s side the whole time, lets his eyes rove over me in a way in a way that feels as if he’s stroking me with his thick sausage fingers. He’s got a blocky face and round little eyes and thick lips that he licks as he stares at me. “She’s very pretty,” he purrs, in a voice that raises the hair on the back of my arm.

  “Makar,” Kostya says in a warning tone.

  Claudio lunges forward, his lip curling up in a snarl.

  Carmelo and a man I recognize as Rocco grab Claudio and hold him back. Diego steps forward.

  Makar says in a fake-hurt tone “What? I’m not allowed to compliment a man’s wife?”

  Diego moves uncomfortably close to Makar. Everyone’s watching.

  “I will say this once. Wives are off limits. Your tone and the way that you looked at her were inappropriate, and a deliberate challenge,” Diego says, in a voice loud enough to carry throughout the room. His gaze slides over to Kostya. “When we encounter your wives and daughters and the women in your family, we will treat them with respect. If you can’t do the same for us, this meeting is over and there will be no further need for discussion. And i
t is only because of my great regard for you that I am even giving Makar this courtesy. Any other man would be bleeding on the floor right now.”

  The air crackles with tension, and every man there is bristling and ready to fight. Each group of men is looking to their leaders for a cue as to what will happen next. Finally, Kostya speaks up. “Makar, the man is correct. Apologize to him.”

  “Of course. My apologies.” Makar’s voice is flat and insincere.

  Diego says to Claudio “I’ll talk to you later. Take your wife home.” And suddenly everyone relaxes, and I can breathe again.

  I’m trembling all over as Claudio hurries me out the door, to a car that’s waiting out front. When we’re both in the car, he punches the car door and lets out a bellow of pure animal rage. He starts up the car and screeches out of there so fast I’m thrown against the door.

  "What was that?" I cry out as he tears down the street. “Grigorio said I was a gift for someone! Those men – why was I brought there?”

  "It was a misunderstanding," he grits out. "It will never happen again. That look on your face when the men were talking about Kostya’s merchandise? Don't ever do that again. You don’t look at men like that with judgement in your eyes, if you want to live to see the sunset.”

  Panic bubbles up inside me. "But...they were talking about using merchandise. Were they talking about prostitutes, or about women who’ve been trafficked? Were there female prisoners in the back of the room?" I’m desperate for reassurance. I don’t want to believe that the universe can be this cruel.

  He looks away, and doesn’t answer.

  “Was I going to be trafficked? Because of what my brother did?”

  He just glowers out the window, and I feel sick.

  My God. What kind of people am I trapped with?

  Chapter Ten

  Claudio

  When we get back to the house, I make Heather sit on the couch. She’s trembling all over as if it’s cold, although the thermostat’s set at 70.