Unbroken

By Alex Steele

About the Book
Sara Gigante was broken like shattered glass when she finally found the courage to escape from the abusive husband who promised to love and protect her. In efforts to save her life and the life of her one-year son, Sara flees to another state and assumes a new identity as Trish Smathers in hopes of deterring her husband Frank from ever finding them. But Sara knows that Frank is a very powerful and dangerous man in the illegal drug trade business and it’s not a matter of if he finds her, it’s a matter of when. Struggling to keep their lives as normal as possible, Sara secures a job as personal assistant to Heavy-Weight MMA fighter Gabriel Cohen, an eligible bachelor fighting his own demons in life. For nearly four years, Sara is able to hide from Frank and manages to keep her true identity hidden from Gabe, but what Sara isn’t able to do is to keep herself from falling in love with him, despite knowing that Gabe could very well be Frank’s next victim.
UNBROKEN tells the story of a young woman’s fight for survival, and the internal struggle within herself to know that she is worthy to be loved; especially by someone like Gabriel Cohen; her colleague, her friend, her protector. Could Gabe really want someone like her, someone broken, someone damaged? Would he ever be willing to leave his playboy lifestyle and surrender his heart whole-heartedly to a woman whose been broken in so many ways? And if he does, would Sara ever forgive herself if Frank took vengeance against him. Although Gabe is very well capable of protecting Sara, Frank is a very dangerous man who would rather see them both dead than to not have her for himself.

About the Author
Alex Steele resides in a small town in South Carolina with her spouse and two of her four children. She’s a proud military mom and also a proud grandmother of her one-year-old granddaughter Lilabug. She is a registered nurse at her local hospital and when she’s not working, she’s spending time with her family. In her spare time, Steele enjoys writing and spending time with her characters! Alongside writing books, Steele writes screenplays and also is a film director and producer for her new production company Empowering Women Productions.
Steele’s dream is to own a nice log home on some land with her family, where she can sit on the deck overlooking the mountains while writing her next big seller.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dorrance Publishing Company
• Release date: Aug 2, 2023
• ISBN: 9798887296722

Book preview

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The contents of this work, including, but not limited to, the accuracy of events, people, and places depicted; opinions expressed; permission to use previously published materials included; and any advice given or actions advocated are solely the responsibility of the author, who assumes all liability for said work and indemnifies the publisher against any claims stemming from publication of the work.

All Rights Reserved

Copyright © 2023 by Alex Steele

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted, downloaded, distributed, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, including photocopying and recording, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented without permission in writing from the publisher.

Dorrance Publishing Co

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ISBN: 979-8-88729-172-7

eISBN: 979-8-88729-672-2

I want to give a special thanks to my 6th grade English teacher Mrs. Sandra Lewis, who was my biggest inspiration. She sowed the seed to my creativity and always encouraged me to keep writing.

I would like to thank my family and friends for never-ending support.

And lastly,  I dedicate this book in memory of my late friend and mentor, Author John W. Huffman. You are gone, but not forgotten.

CHAPTER 1

I would have thought by now, I would be thriving, confident, and happy with every aspect of my life. But yet, I stand here in front of this Cheval mirror looking at this disappointing, aging face staring back at me. The bruises on my body reassure me that I have no rights; the right to have a voice; the right to choose; the right to my dignity; the right to feel safe and protected, or just my God-given right to be me. Me? I don’t even know who that is anymore.

So, as I stand here in front of this mirror, I promise myself, like I have a hundred times before, it will be the last time that I do; a promise I can never seem to keep. But I pray for the courage to not break that promise tonight.

With trembling hands, I slowly wipe away the fallen tear from my bruised eye. Feeling my heart beat harder, faster, I try to rough up the courage that I so desperately need to take myself, my one-year-old son and leave this place; to leave the man who inadvertently, in the beginning, kept me in bondage by instilling fear into my heart, mind, and soul. Inadvertently? Now, he intentionally keeps me afraid so I won’t leave him.

Through the mirror, I peek at this man I call my husband and pray that he stays asleep, waiting, listening, for the large hand to reach one in the morning on the old grandfather clock. He was the man I use to hail as my Knight in Shining Armor, but now hail as the monster who enslaves me because of his own insecurities.

Seconds seem like minutes and minutes seem like hours when the large hand finally strikes one. I close my eyes; take a deep breath, preparing myself for the terrifying journey which I’ve been forced to take with my one-year-old son. A journey I’m uncertain to where it may lead.

Headlights flash outside my window three times, my cue that it’s time. So, I take one last peek at the man who has broken me in so many ways, and finally make a run for it.

Down the hall I scurry, ensuring that my steps are fast, steady, and soft. I make a quick left turn into the spare bedroom, head for the closet and pull down two medium black duffle bags hidden on the top shelf. Then BANG, all the planning; the precision; the waiting for this journey, could all be in vain from one careless mistake.

The shoebox full of old photos lay scattered on the floor. I gasp frozen with fear, listening, expecting him to storm through the door ready for the next strike from his large, dangerous hands. But he doesn’t.

Barefoot, wearing only my white night gown and my long brunette hair now damp with sweat, I leave the pictures scattered on the floor. Remnants of painful memories I hope to leave behind and then I race to my son’s room.

I quietly drop the bags to the floor, ease my hand on the knob and open the door. But instead of seeing my son, Jackson, asleep in his bed, I see my husband Frank standing in front of the entrance patiently waiting for me, shirtless, muscles flexed as if to warn me of an imminent attack.

I gasp for air, and then watch his eyes glance over at the two black duffle bags sitting in the hallway. With my body now shaking, my heart beating faster, harder, I desperately try to hold back the fountain of tears that threaten to fall from my eyes at any moment. There’s no denying or hiding the obvious from him. Slowly, his dark brown eyes trace over my breasts, watching as my respirations become quick and uneven through my gown.

With his fists clenched and his eyes now fixated back on the duffle bags, his deep voice asks the question I prayed and begged to God he wouldn’t have the chance to ask. Where you going, Sara?

His tone, I know all-too-well is the calm before the storm. I step back, still trembling, but mute, hoping he will close the door to our son’s room.

His eyes trail over to mine, this time, with malicious intent burning within them. He gently closes Jackson’s bedroom door, takes a few steps towards me, backing me up against the wall.

Where were you going, Sara? he asks sternly for the second time, now standing directly in front of me; intimidating me once again by his large dominating, muscular stature.

Frank, I manage to whisper from my shaky voice. I…I was going to my moms. Just for a couple of days. You know she’s been sick.

He gives me a long, cold, hard stare before he squeezes my cheeks with his hand and pushes my head against the wall. I let out a painful cry; a cry he’s heard one too many times and now is desensitized and immune to.

Don’t you fucking lie to me, he yells through pursed lips. Do you think I’m that fucking stupid! That I can’t see what’s going on?

Please, Frank, I beg as I’m no longer able to hold it together. Don’t wake up, Jackson.

And with that, Frank snatches the bags up, grabs me by my hair and drags me to our room. Shutting the door behind him, he slings me by my hair to the floor, then begins emptying the clothing from the duffle bags on me all the while demanding that I’m not going anywhere.

On the floor now, sweating, waiting for his next strike, I watch him stroke his fingers through his black, slick hair in frustration. Those same fingers that I once desired to caress my young, soft skin and ripe nipples; I now pray they don’t touch me at all.

He glances at me; a look in his eyes that I’ve never seen before; a look that almost reminds me of a dog who has lost his best friend. No. I can’t feel sorry for him. Not now. I can’t let that one look from his eyes change my course of direction for me and my son. I just can’t do it.

Slowly, Frank walks over to me with tears welling in his eyes. The frustration and anger now gone; he kneels on the floor beside me. He cups his hands around my face, gently, genuinely; a gesture he hasn’t done in years, and cries. He cries. I’ve never known Frank Gigante to cry. Not even when our son was born. Damn him!

Sara, he whispers as he caresses his thumb against my bruised eye, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, baby. I don’t mean to hurt you. I don’t want to hurt you and I don’t want to lose you and Jackson. You two are the best things that have ever happened to me. Please don’t leave me. I need help. I need you to help me.

Maybe this time it’ll be different. Maybe this time he really is sincere. I’m afraid is all I have the strength to whisper.

I’m afraid too. But we can get through this…together. He pulls my hand up and caresses the large diamond on my left ring finger with his lips. You and I both promised for better or for worse, remember? Please don’t give up on me now, Sara.

As much as I wanted to be successful tonight with my attempt to escape with my son, I knew it would be short of a miracle to do so with Frank Gigante. Nobody leaves Frank. Nobody doubles crosses Frank either unless you’re asking to be put in a body bag six feet under.

His eyes scorch the sacred part of my heart that was once soft, warm, and full of love, but now hard, cold, and full of hopelessness as he waits patiently for me to respond. But my response is the only response I know he’ll expect.

As tears well in my eyes, I cave into what seems to be genuine remorse spilling from his soul; a soul I thought had been long dead and gone, until this moment. I won’t…I won’t give up on us, I reply with a shaky, trembling voice.

No words needed. His passionate kiss affirms that I gave him the answer he wanted to hear. For the first time in years, Frank touches me with hands that were well intended to love me, not hurt me. His warm lips against my neck gives me hope; gives me promise that things will be different and that his words aren’t just loosely spoken but spoken with meaning and authenticity. For once, I feel safe nestled in the crook of his neck, the worry, the fear, the doubt, abating as quickly as they came.

I love you so much he says while tracing his lips down my chest. I promise I’ll never hurt you again…. Make love to me, Sara.

And with those words, I surrender myself once again to his promise to always love me and never hurt me again. There on the floor, we make love like it’s our very first time.

The sound of the rain beating hard against the window pane wakes me from a dead sleep. I glance over at the old grandfather clock, its large hand nearly on the three. At least two hours in from my initial attempt to escape and I have yet to signal the person who was to aid me in my pursuit to freedom.

My eyes trace over to Frank’s empty side of the bed, then over to the window, to where only two hours earlier I had received my cue that it was time to leave. Quietly, I get up from bed with the sheets wrapped around my naked body and switch the lights on and off two times; their cue to know that I can’t leave.

My mind ponders on all the memories of the promises that he’s made throughout our eight years of marriage, but never kept. Will this time be any different? I truly have faith that it will be.

My memories of broken promises are ostracized by headlights flashing two times through the window; affirmation they’ve received signal that I can’t leave. Quickly, the headlights beam across the window pane, fading, leaving like the sound of the rain.

Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath in and whisper a small prayer to God for strength; for his protection over me and my son; prayers for faith that Frank will do what he promised and prayers that I can help him like I said I would do. Reality sets in, as there is no turning back now.

Several weeks have gone by since my initial attempt to leave Frank. For the last year there hasn’t been a day that’s gone by that Frank hasn’t raised his hand to me until now. Three weeks, no bruises, no scars, no unkind word spoken. Just the man I remember marrying eight years ago that promised to love me for better or for worse. Finally, God is answering my prayers.

With a backyard full of family and friends to celebrate Jackson’s first birthday, I hurry to tidy up the kitchen before we move the party from outside to inside because of the threat of a thunderstorm.

Before I can get all of Jackson’s toys from the floor, my mother, Roxy, with her white hair pulled in a bun and her frail arms encasing Jackson on her hip, races in the kitchen, both drenched in rain. Soon following, Frank and everyone else rushes in behind her.

For a moment my heart drops when Frank’s smile fades as he looks on at the mess that still remains on the floor. Frank has always been a tidy man. Never could stand messes, especially when we had company over. There was never a second thought in his mind to not slap me in front of friends and family when something wasn’t just to his liking. He made sure those lessons were hard learned.

When the smile sneaks back on his face a gush of relief fills the inner core of my stomach. My heart slows and my respirations returns to normal as I watch him take Jackson from my mother’s arms, sit him in his high chair and grab a mixed drink from the hostess.

Listen up, everybody! Frank says after taking a large gulp of his drink. I just want to say, thank you all for coming and celebrating with us our son Jackson’s first birthday. You guys don’t know how much it means to us that you’re here….

As Frank continues to give his speech to our friends and family, Lenny Gigante, Frank’s brother, strides next to me. With his half-buttoned up shirt, his toned chest muscles scream for me to look at them. A temptation I do well to avoid. As jealous as Frank has always been, I know to keep my distance from him and not make eye contact, even with his brother.

I always said the color red looked good on you, Lenny casually says, inching closer to me. But I have to admit, that yellow summer dress looks stunning on you this evening. I dare say you wear it well. I’m actually jealous my brother snatched you up before I did.

Trying hard to keep my face from blushing, I whisper back, Lenny, you shouldn’t say things like that to me. You know Frank doesn’t like it.

What part doesn’t he like? The part where I say you’re beautiful and mean it or the part where he knows you’re beautiful and never says it?

Slowly, I make eye contact with him as he brushes a piece of fallen hair back behind my ear. A gesture I am certain would tread on thin ice if Frank were to see. Both, I answer back.

Well, he says sincerely, if my brother hasn’t already told you today, you are beautiful. Never forget that, Sara.

With a soft smile touching my lips and my face turning pink, I innocently reply, Thank you, Lenny.

Suddenly, my vision turns black and my ears ring as a sharp pain throbs on the left side of my head. Before I know it, I’m slammed against the refrigerator door and all I hear is Frank yelling words that are only muffled to me.

Get out! I can hear clearly now as he presses my face harder against the refrigerator door. I said everybody get the fuck out! Now!

From the corner of my eye, my mother yanks my screaming son out of the high chair and runs out of the kitchen along with everyone else but Lenny.

What’s wrong with you, Frank! Lenny yells. Am I not allowed to talk to her now?

I said get the fuck out! This is between me and my wife. Not you!

Frank, I cry, please let me go.

Shut the fuck up! he yells back, smashing the side of my face against the refrigerator door again.

She didn’t do anything! Lenny pleads. I only gave her a compliment, Frank. So let her go for Christ’s sake.

I said get the fuck out of here! Now!

Reluctantly, Lenny glances over at me and leaves at Frank’s request because he, too, knows that if he doesn’t, the outcome won’t be good for either of us.

Pressing the side of my face harder against the refrigerator, Frank grabs a handful of my hair and yells in my ear. What the fuck was that, huh? The sobbing prevents me from answering him right away. Answer me, dammit! he impatiently retorts.

I don’t know what you’re talking about, I manage to cry with a trembling voice.

You don’t know what I’m talking about! And then another smash against the refrigerator door with my face. You don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about, Sara? I saw the way you were looking at him. You going to deny it! Admit it; you want to fuck my brother, don’t you? Don’t you?

No! I scream back, but before another word can escape from my lips, Frank knocks everything off the counter, including our son’s uneaten birthday cake and slams me down on it face-first.

The gentle hands I had the pleasure of having many times after my initial attempt to escape are now hard, rough, and dangerous once again. His large hands pull my yellow sundress up to my waist and he rips my panties from my body. Angrily, he inserts his two fingers into my vagina then pulls them back out and shows them to me.

You lying fucking bitch! he yells with his fingers in front of my face. You see this?

Frank, please?

You do want to fuck him! If you want to fuck him so bad, I’ll give you something to fuck; a fuck that you won’t ever forget!

With all of his strength, Frank pushes my face against the counter, unbuttons his pants and penetrates me from behind. Each stroke is more painful than the last. I beg, I cry, I try to fight him off, but this infuriates him even more. Not once in our marriage has Frank ever violently forced himself on me like this. This…this is the first.

You want to fight me? he angrily retorts as he pulls my head back with a handful of my hair. Say?

Harder, more violently he penetrates me sending sharp pains from my inner thighs all the way up to the top of my navel. I scream for him to stop, but he just keeps going deeper and harder until I’m nearly on the verge of passing out.

Pressing his pursed lips against my ear he says, You know, you’re a better fuck when you fight.

With no more fight left in me, I lay there helpless and victimized at the hands of my husband. Allowing him to violate and batter me in ways he’s never done before; an act that has left me more vulnerable and more oppressed than I was before I promised to not give up on him. A promise I now wished I