Hope Bonnarro

Every inch of my body hurts. I ran knowing it would be dangerous and that they might kill me if they caught me again. But it was that or die without fighting, and I will never surrender to any enemy. I hope the couple who gave me the phone managed to escape without being harmed.

I didn’t expect it would be Michael Bianchi who came to rescue me. I haven’t seen him since my fifteenth birthday party when we danced together, and he managed to calm the storm clouding my mind. After the party ended, I was once again reminded that marriage was forbidden to me, but not even my father’s warning could silence the good feeling that dance with Michael left. It became my safe refuge in memories over the years.

In the world I live in, girls are promised for marriage before the age of 18. I’m 20, with many proposals refused—some of which I’m incredibly grateful my father turned down, especially from the disgusting old men trying to climb ranks through a good marriage.

I’m not naive. I know my descendants will inherit a large portion of the family’s territory, which would give my husband a huge advantage—especially if he were the Boss. Still, I can’t imagine why Michael’s squad would rescue me. I know Black is part of it, so maybe that’s why, but from what I’ve overheard while hiding, they don’t usually accept rescue missions—only destruction ones.

There are only three rules I must follow to ensure my family stays safe:

Hope Bonnarro must not marry;

She must not love; and

She must not be seen or draw attention.

And because I’ve followed these rules faithfully, I can’t imagine what my father could offer Michael in return that would benefit him—aside from a marriage proposal, which is out of the question. For years, I’ve followed these rules in exchange for limited freedom. I learned how to defend myself, use a gun, and most importantly, I was allowed to attend college and study whatever I wanted—an opportunity granted to very few women in our world.

Given my family’s power, it would be natural for my hand to be given to Michael—the man who is soon to become our Boss. That night, Michael held my waist, and I was intoxicated by his strong, spicy scent and the warmth radiating from his body, by his deep voice whispering that I should relax and stop stepping on his feet.

He looked into my eyes and didn’t treat me like a child or some girl being paraded around like a piece of meat to choose a future husband. Michael Bianchi barely said ten words to me. He held my waist respectfully, and his eyes never left mine.

It wasn’t supposed to be a special moment, just another dance like the others I had that night. But it was imprinted on me, planting a small seed of comfort. All these years I’ve known my destiny and the rules I had to follow as the daughter of Bartolomeu Bonnarro. But nothing could silence the voice inside me begging to be comforted again, to shatter the glass dome around me.

This is not Hope Bonnarro’s destiny. I don’t get to dream of what I’ll never have. I must accept the life I lead and be happy without further ambition. I didn’t expect that on my way back from college, the convoy protecting me would be attacked, my brother severely injured, and I’d be kidnapped and stabbed after throwing myself into the arms of the man I was supposed to avoid.

I don’t know what’s going through Michael’s mind or what his ambitions are. But he has no idea he’s holding a ticking time bomb—and if my secret is exposed, my family will be destroyed, along with anyone who gets involved with us.

Michael Bianchi doesn’t seem affected by age. He must be about 34 now, and he’s even more handsome. His eyes are like transparent diamonds, locked on me with a tense jaw as he places me inside a car, pressing his jacket against my back. He pulls the seatbelt across me, and his mouth ends up inches from mine. I inhale sharply, absorbing the scent of gunpowder, blood, and the warm, spicy, woodsy aroma I remembered.

My muscles tense instinctively, and I regret the movement when I feel the wound in my back tear open, pain shooting through my lower spine. I close my eyes, resting my head on his shoulder, gripping his arm tightly, seeking relief from my torment in his warm scent.

"Don’t move." He presses my shoulder against the seat, and I scream in pain. "Keep the jacket pressed to the wound."

"It hurts so much," I groan, digging my nails into his shirt. "Make it stop," I beg as tears stream down my face.

"I know." I feel his fingers on my face and crack my eyes open, staring at his face close to mine.

"Hang in there, Hope," his deep voice whispers against my face.

"What?"

"Sleep a little." He steps out and shuts the car door.

It’s been two days since I last slept, and I’ve been moved from place to place, beaten like a dog. Being in Michael Bianchi’s presence is all it takes to overload my senses—my mind goes blank, and while the men enter the car and talk to me, my head tilts and I black out.

I wake up with a jolt, pain shooting through the middle of my spine. I lean forward, and a hand presses against my wound. I groan and am pulled against a strong chest.

"Easy, Hope." I recognize Daniel Griffin’s deep voice.

Whenever my brother met with his friends at our house, I used to hide in the secret passages, listening to what they were planning. It was my only connection to the outside world. If anyone found out, I’d get a beating and be grounded.

I loved hearing the stories about their missions and know more about those men than they can imagine. In the end, I always imagined being part of the action they described—examining the bodies of the fallen, unraveling the mysteries surrounding biological death.

I always ran away when they started talking about sex. It was disgusting listening to my brother brag. I used to feel a nauseating chill hearing Michael talk about how warm and tight a pussy was. If they ever suspected I knew this about the four of them—Black, Michael, Daniel, Kai—I’d be locked away in a convent.

I have a sliver of freedom—contained and controlled so I don’t cause trouble. It’s hard to suppress the rebelliousness in me that craves more than I’m allowed to have.

"It still hurts." I bite my lip, trying to stifle another groan.

"We’ll reach a safe place soon." I recognize Kai’s amused voice. No matter what he says or how, I always think Kai’s mocking.

From their voices, I gather Daniel is the one holding me, Kai is next to him, and Michael, silent, must be in the front seat. I tilt my head slightly and catch him watching me. When he realizes I noticed, Michael stiffens and turns forward.

"Where are we going?" I ask. "Do you have any news about my brother?"

"Black was taken to the famiglia’s hospital. He’ll be okay," Daniel replies.

"What did they do to you?" Michael asks, turning his face sideways.

"They beat me, didn’t feed me, and locked me in trunks more times than I can remember." I hug myself, recalling the panic of being trapped.

"He said you tried to escape. Is it true?"

"Sort of." I lower my head, expecting the scolding.

"Tell us what happened," Daniel asks. He strokes my arm, and I let my head fall against his shoulder, my strength fading again.

"Drink this." Michael’s large hand appears in my field of vision, holding a water bottle. His fingers tremble as I take it. The cap is already off, and I drink until the bottle’s empty.

"Thank you." I hand it back to him.

"Now talk."

"When we arrived at that house, he left me tied up in a room. I could hear those men abusing the woman and torturing her husband." I press my ears, trying to block the screams in my mind. "I was afraid they’d do the same to me. The window hadn’t been shut, and I noticed a vine-covered ladder next to the balcony."

"How did you get free?" Michael asks, skeptical.

I glance sideways, unsure whether to confess about the blade in my bra. Only now do I realize I lost it after pulling it out. I’ll need a new one.

"My bras have hidden blades in the lining. I used one to cut the ropes on my wrists and ankles and escaped through the balcony. I think I hurt my ankle when I landed. I’m not sure exactly how I got hurt. I climbed walls, ran a lot, and took a couple’s phone. Are they okay?"

"We haven’t heard of any deaths in the area," Michael says. I feel relieved.

"Weren’t you afraid of what would happen if they caught you?" Kai asks.

"No." I look at the man with dark brown eyes and black hair. "If I were smarter than them, I could escape no problem. Then I’d just contact my father to come get me."

"You’re brave, Hope." Michael looks at me with sorrow. "But you’re going to end up dead if you keep this up."

"I’m going to die anyway, someday." I shrug and wince at the pain in my back. "Doesn’t matter if it’s soon or later."

"Keep going," Daniel urges.

"Well, when I realized they had found me, I ran. I threw the phone with the call still going so they couldn’t hang up and my dad could find me. They hit the back of my head and I passed out. When I woke up, I was tied again. That bastard Paul beat me as punishment until I blacked out. When I came to, he was still ranting about the new Boss and the suicide mission he’d been sent on. A few hours later, you arrived."

"They didn’t abuse you?" Daniel, despite his deep voice, tries to sound gentle.

"They couldn’t. While I was in the room, after Paul beat me, I heard one of the soldiers say Samuel ordered them not to touch me."

"Do you know who this man is?" Michael asks, watching my reaction.

"No." Though I overheard Black and my father talking about Samuel meeting with my dad at one of our casinos weeks ago.

"You’re coming to New York with us. It’s not safe to go back to Nevada right now." Michael returns to his position.

"What’s going on?"

I’m afraid for my family—my brother hospitalized, my father fighting a war for our territory. I can’t imagine how my mother must be handling all this. She’s emotionally fragile and can’t take the stress of my father and brother’s missions. She gets sick when they’re gone for days and come back injured.

With me being taken, she’s probably on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

Tears blur my vision, and I sniff, trying to hold them back. I clench my fists, my chest tightening with worry for my family.

"We’re not sure," Daniel replies, and I hear the lie in his voice.

"Can I talk to my father?"

"Later. Sleep now," Michael orders, making the car fall silent.

Worry clouds my mind, running through countless scenarios where the people I love might be hurt or dead. My father always warned me that if I were exposed, it could ruin our family. And now, because of me, my brother is hospitalized, my father ts is battling enemies invading our territory, and my mother might be having a nervous breakdown.

I never should have been born.