Chapter 5: Susanna

I hug myself as the car bumps roughly and pull to a stop. I toy with the hem of the pyjamas Mr. Zefiro provided me with last night—it is all I had to wear between my display of bravado last night and my pathetic attempt of an escape plan this morning. A door shuts in the distance and I close my eyes, praying to whatever gods exists—not that they’ve ever listened to me anyway.

I stiffen when the lock clicks and the lid is lifted. And so, Mr. Zefiro finds me in the trunk of his car.

Leave? Where was I supposed to go with no money? Or shoes for that matter? Planning to seduce some money and kindness out of him flopped when the man refused to leave his study the entire night. Stealing from him didn’t work either because after hours of sneaking around his house and locating his bedroom, it was locked.

So, in the early hours of the morning while his chauffeur had prepared the car for his use, I knew the best way to leave without asking for the prick’s help was by hitching a ride without his permission. There was no way he would have lent me some money if he couldn’t even spare some blankets for me to sleep with at night. Hence, my decision to get into his d*mn trunk.

And now, his eyes have narrowed into a frosty glare, overcoming the initial flare of surprise. “Get the f*ck out of my trunk right now, Mrs. Hawke. What are you? A child playing hide and seek? What in the world were you thinking following me out here?”

“I—hey!” He hurls both his luggage and me out of his car and flips the lid shut. “Let. Me. Go.” Every word is indented with my pointless struggle and passersby cut us strange looks while he shoves me roughly towards his chauffeur.

“Is this a joke? You told me she was gone.” There’s an underlying current of violence in his touch and his voice carries the same dangerous tone that makes the man back up a step, fiddling with his white suit. I almost feel sorry for him.

He lowers his head and sweat rolls down his cheek. “I—I checked and she—”

“Clearly, you didn’t.” He lets me go so suddenly, you’d think touching me burned him and his lips curl back in a sneer. He starts to speak when his eyes droop to my bare feet. My toes curl and embarrassed, I try to hide them from him by placing the left over the right as I back away.

I want to tell him that it isn’t the chauffeur’s fault, but the words catch in my throat when I realize for the first time that…we’re at an airport? My head whips back to him, hope blooming in my heart. Maybe…just maybe I can really run from Jaxon. Maybe he won’t catch me this time. Maybe I can flee where he’ll never find me; start over somewhere no one knows who I am. Or the monster I have leashed myself to. “You’re leaving? Where?” I can’t hide the hope or excitement in my voice.

Zefiro looks mad, fishing his phone out of his black pants. “No. This is where I draw the line. F*ck*ng no.”

“Take me with you.”

“No.”

“You can drop me—”

“Off under another bridge?” he completes, sarcasm rolling off each word. The wind tugs harshly at the bun his black hair is wrapped into and a few strands come loose, caressing his tanned cheeks. “I never should have helped you.” He presses his phone to his ear and cusses violently in a language that sounds vaguely familiar, before lowering his hand, his glare at me sharper than knives.

This man does nothing to hide the fact that he doesn’t like me. It is why I feel oddly safe around him. All of the men I’ve come in contact with see me as nothing more than a warm body to f*ck. I’ve grown used to the sleazy attention I get, the licking of lips, the meaty hands that smacked my *ss when I was only thirteen, the cries that threatened to surge from my throat when stepmother threw me in a room filled with men to rid me of my virginity. I may only be twenty-one, but I’ve seen plenty in my life.

But what I have yet to see is a man who runs away from me like Zefiro does, like I have a virus that spreads only by looking at me. He cuts the distance is long strides and he’s breathing down on me before I can blink. “Know that the only reason I’m not calling the cops to take you back is because of Jaxon. You have no bloody idea who I am and where we’re headed. If you did, you’d run from here like your life depended on it—because it does.”

My eyes search his for this danger he speaks of, but he looks nothing worse more than a brooding man in his early thirties with anger issues. I’ve had worse. I can live with that. “Hire me as your help. I have no money or family to return to. No credentials. No identity as far as I can recall. You leave me here and Jaxon will find me. He could kill me and no one would notice I was gone. He owns me, much like every furniture in his home, and I am tired of living that way.”

He says nothing for a moment. “You relinquish ownership from one man and hand it to another? One you know absolutely nothing about.”

I lift my chin defiantly. “I know your name. That’s enough.”

Zefiro shakes his head in disbelief. “You clearly have no value for your life.” He seems to stretch bigger, taller, more muscular as he steps so close, I can see those flecks again and the light from the sun catch in his hair and disappear behind his head, casting shadows on every perfectly cut line of his face. “You have no idea what you’re walking into, Susanna.”

It’s the first tine he’s addressed me by my name. It’s liberating. It makes my brain itch to remember the days when I was just Susanna; the days before…My throat closes up and panic rises up my throat as I feel walls that don’t exist closing up on me. It may have been years but the fear never leaves. The nightmares never stop. The terror of knowing that he’ll find me, and if he doesn’t my stepmother will. She’ll take me back there and I’ll die little by little, until there’s nothing else left. And then, she’ll let the wolves have me.

It is with despair that I say, “It can’t be worse than what I’ve been through. So, please, take me with you.”

Often, people say the devil you know rather than the angel you don’t. In my case, that’ll never be true.

My heartbeats collide as I wait for another resounding ‘No’ from him, but all Zefiro says as he closes his eyes and rubs his temple in resignation is, “Cazzo.”

The next few minutes are tense and critical. Zefiro makes calls. He yells angrily at his phone—I think he really dislikes me. It becomes surreal, if you consider how quickly I was ushered onto a private jet, surrounded by a dozen suited bodyguards that seemed to appear the moment we reached the jet. And then, we’re flying to Italy.