3. Sergio

“Come here.”

She hugs her arms, but moves toward me.

“Here.” I hold one of the glasses out to her. She eyes it but doesn’t reach out for it. “It’ll calm you down.” 

“What is it?” she asks.

“Whiskey.”

She takes it, drinks the smallest sip. Flinches when she swallows.

After draining mine, I pour a second glass and reach to turn on the lamp beside me. I sit back folding one ankle over my knee and stretching an arm over the back of the couch to get a good look at her. She was wearing makeup at some point but her earlier tears have smeared mascara across her cheek. Her eyes, a pretty almond-shape, are so dark, they’re almost black. Her skin has a pale olive tone and she keeps biting her lower lip so it’s bleeding a little. I can’t tell how long her hair is. She’s bound the dark mass into a messy bun.

“What did those men do?” she asks, surprising me.

I smile. “Don’t worry about that.” She’s standing awkwardly and I’m thinking. “Do you know who I am?” I know she would have heard my name more than once.

She lowers her lashes and I wonder if she’s contemplating lying, but then she nods once.

“Who?”

“Mafia.”

“My name.”

“Sergio Benedetti.”

“Do you know my family?”

“Not really. I’ve heard the name, that’s all.”

“Drink your drink.”

She takes another sip. “I have class tomorrow,” she says.

I nod. Sip. Consider.

“What are you going to do?” she asks finally.

“I’m not going to do anything. You are. Get undressed.”

“What?” She begins to tremble, shrinks into herself as she hugs her arms tighter to her.

“Get undressed, Natalie.”

“Why?” her voice is a squeak.

“Insurance.”

“Why?” she repeats, taking a step backward.

“Because I need to make sure when I take you home later, that you’re not going to tell any of your friends what you saw or heard.” I wait. Watch her process. “It’s the only way to keep you safe,” I add on, not really sure why.

“Safe? How will that keep me safe?”

“Trust me—”

“And safe from who? You?” Her eyebrows knit together. “You said you wouldn’t hurt me.”

“I said I wouldn’t hurt you unless you made me.” 

“I already told you I won’t say anything. I promise.”

She wipes fresh tears from her eyes. I finish my drink, set my glass down and get to my feet. She takes a step away from me when I come around the coffee table.

“Remember what you agreed to outside.” I reach her, take hold of her arms, rub them. “Just relax, no reason to get so upset.”

“No reason? This isn’t—”

“Now, what’s going to happen next is you’re going to do as I say and take off your clothes and I’m going to take some pictures.”

“Pictures?” She’s panicking. “Why?”

“You repeat yourself a lot, you know that?” I pause but I’m not expecting an answer. “Like I said, insurance. You talk and the photos get sent to your parents, your friends, are posted along the walls at school, etc…”

“Etcetera?”

“Trust me, this is the easiest way for me to do this.”

“What’s the alternative?” she asks as she pushes out of my grasp.

“The alternative would be…painful.”

She swallows. She’s wringing her hands. “I think I’m going to be sick.”  

“You’ll be fine. It’s just a few pictures.”

She shakes her head, rubs her face. “No.”

I point to the bathroom, and when she walks out of the room, I resume my seat on the couch. She doesn’t come back for a full ten minutes, but when she does, her fear seems to have lessened, or at least it’s well hidden behind eyes of fire. 

She’s pissed. 

“You want dirty pictures?” she asks, spitting the words.

I casually shrug one shoulder. It’s sort of funny to see her like this. I wonder about the pep talk she must have given herself to get so worked up because she’s so mad she’s practically shaking. “You think you’re going to blackmail me?” She takes a step forward, then back again. “Huh? Pervert?” 

She’s bouncing from one leg to the other like a boxer. I chuckle at the image but it only makes her angrier. She finally stands still, fists her hands at her sides, her face going bright red.

“Well you can try and make me.”

I lean deeper into my seat, consider her, wonder if she’s realized how much more interesting she’s just made this. Taking my time, I unbutton the cuffs of my shirt, roll the sleeves up to my elbow before I reply. “You sure about that, sweetheart?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Are you?”

She spins to run from the room, but I catch her easily, my hand wrapping around her arm to halt her. I pull her into my chest, tilt my head to the side. “I was thinking I’d get a slow strip tease, but this will be much more fun.”

“Let me go!”

I lean in close, inhale the scent of her. Smell the fear creeping back up to the surface. Make a point of doing so. “Just remember, you chose this. It could have gone easier.”

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