Dinner on Friday

28. Carla

I smiled at Eva's way of speaking. She'd spent most of her childhood years in the United States ministering with her parents in impoverished societies, namely hoods, and ghettos, before moving to Haiti where she and I met. Most of her friends from the states were African American, and through those connections, she'd managed to retain a more urban way of speaking.

Before I could tease her, a door hadn't noticed until now, swung open with a loud creak.

Two men dressed in all black strode toward Eva. One held her still while the other released her from her shackles.

"What's going on?" I demanded when they started dragging her out of the room. "Where are you taking her?" The men ignored me, not bothering to stop to look at me. I stood up. "Hey! Stop! Where are you taking her?"

The door slammed shut and I heard Eva screaming my name. "Carla!"

"Eva," I wailed, fearing what was going to happen next. I pulled at my chains, hurting myself in the process. "It's going to be okay. I love you."

My best friend's screams abruptly ended. Two seconds later, the lights went off and the room plunged into darkness.

I wasn't afraid of the dark, but after hours of nothing, I started imagining things in the room with me. All the scary movies I had ever watched were suddenly at the forefront of my thoughts.

Hunger gnawed at me and I continuously swallowed my spit when my mouth dried out in thirst. Tired of standing, I dropped myself to the floor. More time passed. Hours. Still no sign of Eva. That couldn't be good.

My legs cramped up again, pins and needles wreaking havoc on my circulation. Like a cripple, I slowly stood up, kicking my legs out in front of me as I paced the room.

And then I needed to pee.

More walking. Pacing. Leg shaking.

Fuck.

Quickly, I managed to lower my underwear before getting rid of it altogether. I didn't even have a chance to give my mind permission before a long steam of hot piss gushed down my legs.

I watched as the puddle grew larger, cringing as drops of warm pee splattered on my ankles.

The humiliation was real, even when there was no one else in the room with me.

Left alone in the dark, I ruminated on everything that happened after Dante found that first note on our wedding night. I recalled the way we made love, oblivious, lost in my newfound wedded bliss. When he told me about the second note, I was more angry about him not telling me about the first note than about the note itself. I had undermined the seriousness of the notes and everything that followed.

I thought we were invincible, that my husband's reputation as a trained assassin and his familial connection to the mafia would have kept us safe.

I couldn't have been more wrong.

Madeleine had managed to weasel her way through the bubble of protection we had erected around us. The extra security had been for naught. I had given access to the enemy by being too trusting.

A betrayal like no other. Shit hurt.

My heart ached. I curled up in a ball and cried. I cried for my mother and for the relationship we never got to have. I cried tears of regret for running away from my husband, the one person who loved me beyond comprehension.

Whenever life didn't go my way, I tended to lash out verbally, and if that didn't work, I ran.

When I was seven I ran away from home after my father passed away. All this time, I thought my mother had forsaken me, but it was me who left her alone to mourn while I fostered a new relationship with Eva's family.

I played the part of the imposter child so well that Eva's parents eventually stopped asking me to go home.

The door opened, the sound loud in the darkness. Fluorescent light from the hallway spilled into the room. The outline of a figure with broad shoulders and long legs appeared in the doorway.

The figure approached me, his heavy, deliberate footsteps sending shivers down my spine. The dim light from the hallway cast long shadows ahead of the man until he came to a standstill in front of me.

He shoved a blue plastic cup in my face. "Drink this."

I looked up at him but was unable to make out his features. He was dressed in a grey suit. Had thick hair with a beard. Was tall and in shape.

Maintaining eye contact, I cleared my throat. "Um, not happening. You've poisoned me twice now. So thank you, but no thank you."

"Don't argue with me," he said in a low, gruff voice. The rough edges carried a sense of control, a stark reminder of the power he held at that moment. His accent was unmistakably Spanish and slightly familiar.

I grabbed the cup of what appeared to be water and drank. Gosh, I didn't notice how parched I was until now. I drank the entire thing and then sighed.

"Who are you?" I asked as the man continued to stare at me. He had an intense gaze, one that made me want to hide behind my skin.

"I can see why he left us for you."

I frowned. "What?"

"You remind me a lot of my wife before she ended up paralyzed." He took the cup from me and placed it on the credenza across the room. "She was fucking beautiful. Still is, but our enemies snuffed the light out of her."

Bells started ringing in my head. "Wait a second. Are you Dante's uncle?"

A heavy silence settled in the air, stretching into a palpable tension as the question hung, unanswered.

"Oh my god, you are Dante's uncle. You're Mateo's dad, right? And Aunt Elena is your wife." Still no answer. "I'm so sorry for your loss. I met Mateo once and he seemed like such a nice guy."

"He was supposed to be the next Don. He had all the qualities, and nice wasn't one of them. That was just a facade. He had a way with the ladies." I caught a small at the corners of his lips before he turned away.

"Can you tell me why I'm here?" I asked softly.

He scratched his beard. "Our family lost a lot of women to our way of life, both in this generation and the ones before. I think it's God's way of punishing us for selling drugs to his children. It's our curse." He sounded sad, almost brokenhearted. "My wife is still alive and that's only because the enemy didn't get the dosage right when they tried to poison her."

"I'm sorry about what happened to your wife, but what does any of this have to do with me?"

He turned from the credenza toward the door. The bright ass lamp came on in his absence. Immediately, I shut my eyes to avoid the blinding light.

Dante's uncle, whose name I couldn't remember to save my life, strolled back into the room, looking better than Steve Harvey could ever look in a suit. He was handsome in an ugly way. His aura reeked of evil.

"Sweet, girl. Do I have to spell everything out for you?" This time he carried a small vial in his hands. He rolled the transparent glass bottle between his fingers as he spoke, and with every spin, the glass caught the glow of the bright ass lamps, nearly blinding me. "I've told you, the women in our family don't live long, and you're part of our family now."

The truth of what he was saying sank in as I took a moment to analyze his words. The vial, a vessel of unknown contents, became a macabre talisman in his grasp, amplifying the ominous nature of his revelation. "Are you going to kill me?"

"Yes."

I stood up and flew toward him, but the chains holding my arms and legs captive, dug into my skin, yanking me to a sudden, violent stop. The metallic chill bit into my flesh, a stinging reminder of my captivity. "Why?" I demanded. "What did I ever do to you?!"

My plea hung in the air for a moment too long. His next words, a haunting declaration, cut through the stillness.

"You married the wrong man."

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Did you see this plot twist coming?