You have no idea, my love, how many times I would      sweep the earth looking for you.

                             ~writingRo~

                                   Mia

The one time I disregarded Rom's instructions, I fell into the hole of the same people he has spent months protecting me from. He has been shot twice in his life while protecting me, killed more than once because of me, and I had let him down.

If regret could be measured, mine would have filled the entire world.

Now I as stared at Paulie's ugly face on the washroom mirror; I knew Stefano finally had me.

We stood like that, my eyes showing fear while his filled with so much hatred, I was afraid he was either going to choke me to death or shoot me.

"We meet again, Ursula, " he sneered, his upper lip folding up to show the gums of his discolored teeth. He wore tight black jeans, a blue turtle neck sweater, which looked a little too small for him because the sleeve barely covered his wrist, and a black cap.

I could smell tobacco on his breath and sweat from where I stood.

I have met this man twice in my life, and on both occasions, he has seemed like a man who detested water, or in this case, hated showering.

He looked dirty; I remembered the dirt beneath his nails from three years ago.

"Did you tell your boyfriend to kill my brother?"  My eyes widened in shock, and he laughed mirthlessly, taking off his cap to reveal a clean-shaven head. I couldn't turn around; neither could I move my eyes from his image in the mirror. It was like I was rooted in that spot; my movements felt limited.

Tony was dead; Romano had killed him. I didn't know that, and I wasn't sure how I felt about it. On one hand, I hated that Rom had to kill someone because of me, and yet I couldn't feel anything for the man who was dead or the one left mourning him.

" You did not know, " it was more of a statement than a question, but I found myself shaking my head.

"You must have told him something about that night, mostly about me." I did. I told him about everything I remember regarding that night. The way I had felt, the fear of rape, death, and physical assault. The irony was, I was about to experience every one of those emotions again, this time because of me. I had ignored Rom's countless warnings, lacked the foresight to avoid this again. I did not, however, confirm that I had to Rom anything about the brothers; it was evident to both of us that I had.

"You know what he said when he killed Tony?"  Paulie asked, looking at me like I should know. I wanted to say Rom does not tell me such things, but I did not. Somehow, I knew that it would be like poking a bear, and I remembered quite well how explosive Paulie could be, and without Tony to control him, I didn't want to end up with broken ribs or fractured cheekbones.

"He said; because I can't forgive your brother. Do you what that means? Do you?"

I kept my silence, in shock as I watched the beginning of tears glistening in his eyes. I couldn't believe a man like Paulie, crying. It hit me then that I had not considered him to have any normal human emotions.

How human could someone be when calling out for rape as a game? I remember him vividly asking Tony whether he could play with me.

"It means Tony died because of me!" he finally said, moving his eyes to settle in my face. " He is dead because your boyfriend wanted me to live, knowing I was the reason Tony died; he wanted me to wallow in guilt. In that regard, he'd won."

Romano was evil. I knew that. He has told me that quite often, but it surprised me sometimes how calculating he could be. Killing Tony and leaving Paulie to mourn him was Romano's ultimate punishment for him.

"Why should my brother be dead because of a bitch like you. I didn't touch you because he stopped me. Why then, should he be dead?"

I didn't kill him. I wanted to shout, but how could I when I was so scared? I wondered if Devonni was looking for me. I prayed that any moment from then, he would burst through the door to save me, yet nothing happened, not even when I finally moved my eyes to the door.

He saw me looking at the door, and he must have realized he was running out of time if he wanted to get me out of the hotel without any suspicions.

"I want to kill you, but I have orders not to. But if you so much as make a sound,  I will hit you so hard the blow will lend you unconscious. Do you understand?"

I nodded, feeling the fear deep down to my stomach; this is what I was afraid of the most—reliving the whole experience.

I remembered Stefano ordering me to strip down. Smoking, sweat smelling doctor poking my vagina. I remembered a photographer taking nude photos of me. How could I survive it a second time?

Did I have the fortitude for it?

Nodding in agreement, I watched him walk towards me, then stood a few steps from me. I didn't know what to do, and I was afraid to ask, but more importantly, I couldn't find my voice.

I'm not sure what happened after that other than Paulie must have drugged me because when I came around, I was strapped on a helicopter seat. I guess he couldn't trust me not to scream the place down.

When I woke up, some of my clothing items were missing. I had worn one of Romano's black Nike hoodie because I loved how big it was on me and because it smelled of him.

They had also removed the dress rings I was wearing; my hair was in disarray, my blouse was unbuttoned almost to the waist. I realized they must have been checking if I was wearing a tracking device. Shame washed through my whole body, reminding me of the same emotion three years ago. My body was in a display; the nipple of my left breast was almost visible.

I felt so helpless, scared, and I missed Rom. I knew he was aware I was missing by now, probably going crazy wondering where Stefano had taken me. He hadn't even fully healed from the last time we were shot at coming from the party; now, I had put him in danger again. I couldn't find tears, but I knew I would break down later.

The first person I saw when I opened my eyes was Stefano. He'd lost a lot of weight and all of his potbelly. He looked sickly, but his eyes remained the same. Evil, calculating, greedy, and mean.

It has been three years since I last saw him, three years of wondering whether he was any closer to finding me, of living in fear. Now, as we looked at each other, I wondered whether his claim of being my father was true.

"Ursula, we meet again,"  he said it like it was a coincidence as if we met outside the steps of a bank or bumped into each other at Starbucks. I hated how cavalier he seemed as if he didn't just have someone drug me to make it easier for him to kidnap me.

"We didn't meet," I answered calmly, even though I felt anything but; he laughed then, a vicious sound that filled the air around us to settle in my stomach in dread. He turned his head slightly, motioning to a young guy the age of Matteo to bring him water. I noticed his head was cleanly shaven, just like Paulie's. I found it strange until Stefano removed the hoodie of his jacket to reveal the same.

Stefano struck me as a man who pretended to be in charge, living in fear of someone challenging his leadership to reveal how weak he was.

"Bellucci did not tell you I'm dying, did he?" his voice sounded feeble like he was running out of breath.

I shook my head, and he nodded in return. I noted that the gesture took a toil in him.

" You're here because I need to clear my debt before I die."

" How so?"

"You're going to marry a man who settled my debt."

Which year was this,1850? I thought. What is it about men that made them believe they had the right to peddle women?

I said nothing for a while, but I watched him drink his water from a glass, noticing that his hands shook a little. Stefano was a few days from being bedridden. He had signs of a man whose small tasks were becoming hard.

"What gives you the right to sell me?" I asked angrily, my throat choking up with anger that promised to consume me.

" You're my daughter," he said calmly, yet impatiently as if he was speaking to a five-year-old.

This whole thing was ridiculous. That a man who was a stranger could feel he had the right to marry me off simply because his sperm happened to be the one that fertilized my mother's ovum.

"You're not my father, Stefano," I said, turning my face to look at the ground. I made a decision then that I would rather kill myself than have to live with a man of Stefano's irk.

"I take it your mother never mentioned me?"

I shook my head. Stefano did not say anything else; instead, he leaned his head on his seat, closing his eyes, something he seemed to do quite often. I wasn't a bad person, but I wished he'd died long before now.

With Stefano asleep, or just closing his eyes, I was left with my thoughts. I noticed the boy kept throwing me lusty looks, and it scared me as much as it angered me. I felt as if I was put in this world to be tossed over between men.

A few minutes later, the boy looked at his watch, then tapped on Stefano's shoulder. His eyes flew open, a flicker of satisfaction flashed across his eyes, giving his face a glow that was a contradiction to the smirk on his lips. I knew something untoward was about to happen to me, but then he took his phone, and I signed in relief that whatever it was wasn't about to happen to me.

But that relief did not last long because he mentioned Bellucci. He was speaking to Rom. My heart almost stopped, and then started beating in uncoordinated beats, my hands trembled, and I wanted so much to hear his voice because I knew if I did, I would feel a little better; however, my demeanor did not change. I was afraid Stefano would pick up my need to speak to him and deny me out of spite.

I knew Rom would ask to talk to me, and he did. Surprisingly, Stefano agreed, and although I didn't show it, I was happy. With my trembling hands, I took the phone and placed it on my right ear, clutching tightly using both hands as if I was afraid Stefano might yank it away.

"Hello," I said before he had the chance to say the same. I could hear him breathing, and that gave me hope because he often said as long as he was alive, he will always protect me.

"Are you real?" I looked at my lap, noticing the hem of my shirt had a hidden button, trying really hard not to cry from hearing his voice and that specific question.

"No, I'm not," I answered, wiping off the tears from the corner of my eyes with the collar of my shirt while keeping my voice the same. I did not want him to hear me crying; neither did I want to give Stefano the satisfaction of seeing me reduced to tears.

"Bella Mia, why are you not real?"

"Because Manuel was right," I said and then hanged up immediately because I was afraid I might keep talking and tell him I loved him, which I didn't think would have been a good idea, especially in front of Stefano.

I had heard Stefano and the two guys talking about Mexico. Thanks to Rom, I could pick up a little Italian, so I understood a bit of what was said.

"There are three countries and one city in which Stefano and Silvio would take you;" I remember Rom telling me. "They'll either take you to Mexico, Brazil, Marseille, or South Korea. The last two not so much because I know every corner of Marcellile, and I don't think he's stupid enough to take you there a second time, and after some research, neither of them has so much connection in South Korea, but I need you to be prepared just in case."

I had nodded, my eyes fixed on his face, my legs underneath me while I ate ice cream in bed one late night.

"What do you remember about Marseille?" He had asked.

"The first place we met," I had answered, and he had smiled with his eyes.

"That is the perfect answer if you ever end up there, that is what you tell me, and I'll know where you are. I had nodded again, holding a spoon in my mouth while I brushed one strand of hair from his forehead.

"What do you tell me if you end up in South Korea?"

"The first time you saw me."

"Perfect. That is how I thought when I saw your image; you looked so beautiful and ethereal. I wanted you from that moment." He'd leaned over and kissed me.

I could hear his voice as he'd sounded then, I could see him too, with his shirt unbuttoned at the throat and sleeves rolled up.

"What about Brazil? Where you run away from me the moment you realized you were falling in love with me?" And although I didn't like him reminding me how much I loved him, I had to admit that it was fitting. And the last had been Mexico, which was where the guy whose idea of saving me had been for Rom to provoke Stefano by throwing me into the lion's den himself.