Chapter 39
CARMELA
I t’s been five days since Cosmo: since the last threads holding my fragile existence together came unstuck. I flinch whenever Ettore comes near. Cosmo might have had a different mother, but there are still too many similarities in the way they look.
I’ve slept in the spare bedroom alone.
A small mercy.
He doesn’t seem inclined to push me, but it’s only a matter of time before he does. I can’t say with any confidence how I will react when that happens. I’ve hated my husband ever since he forced me to my knees and demanded I thank him for a gift. Not a single thing since has softened me toward him.
The doctor came by yesterday and checked my injuries. The swelling and bruising in my throat are finally subsiding. The bloodwork showed nothing, so that’s a small mercy, too. I’m healing on the outside, at least.
It’s Wednesday. The day I usually visit my mother’s grave and then my father. It’s time for me to step outside this house saturated with bitter memories. Time to figure out how I extract myself from under this black, somber cloud.
The shower is a good start. I need it extra hot.
Then, I change the small waterproof dressing on the bite mark.
It’s mostly healed, but I can’t stand seeing it, so for now, the covering stays on.
Then I dress, finding a high-necked sweater at the back of my dressing room, along with my jeans and a pair of Miu Miu ballet flats.
When I check my outfit in the floor-to-ceiling mirror, I find a familiar reflection. Other than the slight puffiness around my eyes, there is no evidence of the trauma lurking underneath the surface.
“I am worthy,” I say to my reflection. “I am worthy of something better than this.”
The reflection does not believe the words yet, but if I say them often enough, maybe that will change.
Ettore is in the formal dining room when I arrive downstairs for breakfast. Shock passes over his face before he schools his features, and rising, he pulls out the chair beside him for me in a gallant gesture, at odds with the man.
I don’t flinch. But I tense all over.
I tell myself it will get easier; only my definition of easier is, by any other standard, low.
Brigida bustles in with a cappuccino for me.
“Good to see you, Mrs. Gallo.” Her smile is tentative. She has been bringing a tray up to me and taking it away mostly uneaten. She also told me Cosmo was dead when I asked, and that Christian wasn’t.
“Can I get you anything to eat?” she asks.
I still hate my own name. “Thank you, Brigida. The coffee is perfect for now.”
She leaves.
I can feel Ettore’s eyes on me and an unspoken question hanging between us.
“Does my father know?” I lift my eyes from the coffee I’m yet to sip and force myself to meet his.
“Yes. But not the details. He wanted to see you. I said you were not ready yet.”
“Thank you. I feel ready today. I’d like to visit him if I may.”
“Of course. I’ll ask Christian to take you.”
My flinch is entirely involuntary. Ettore does not miss it. “You would prefer someone else?”
The question is loaded. If I say the wrong thing, my vengeful husband will kill my dark knight, and I might not survive that.
But I can’t face Christian yet. Christian, who saw me at my weakest, screaming and clawing my own skin because Cosmo’s seed was on it…
I draw a shaky breath. Maybe I’m not ready for this yet? “Do we have any female soldiers?”
“I will arrange for one.”
CHRISTIAN
She asked for a female driver.
That stings. But also…
I pull up my nondescript white van behind the car where her driver is parked outside her father’s house.
It’s a nice leafy street, so that will shield the view of the road and vehicles if anyone happens to be glancing out an upstairs window.
Her sister’s not home. Her father is in a wheelchair, and I’ve never once seen him come down to see her off.
I might not get an opportunity this good for a long time.
Game on.
I flip through some fake delivery notes while watching the car. She’s been in there for a couple of hours. If she follows her usual pattern, she should be coming out soon.
Her driver gets out of the car.
Angela is six foot and a former marine. She is not going to be having a good day if this works out.
C’est la vie, and all that.
Pulling my baseball cap down low, I open my door, jump out, and slide open the side door. With a parcel in my hand and my eyes on my cell phone like I am checking the address, I cut a path that will take me past Angela.
Her eyes track and then dismiss me.
I pivot, drop the empty delivery parcel, and take her by the throat. My knuckles are still sore from beating on Cosmo, and my grip is off. A brief tussle follows while I choke her out. Then I open the back door and shove her heavy ass inside—the bitch works out, so it’s all fucking muscle.
Working quickly, I administer a prepped injection that will knock her out for a good hour. I search her for her cell and the car key before slamming the door shut.
The back windows on all of Ettore’s cars are one-way glass, so that works out well.
I’m retrieving the parcel I dropped on the sidewalk when I hear the front door open. I carry on to the neighbor’s house and drop the box on the porch.
When I glance over my shoulder, Carmela is nearing the car, her steps slowing as she glances around.
I make a show of taking a photo of my fake delivery while keeping my eyes on the prize.
She’s peering through the car windows now.
I cut a path back toward my van, keeping tabs on what she’s doing out of the corner of my eye.
CARMELA
Where the hell has my driver gone? I just messaged her to say I was coming out, and now she has disappeared. This is fate punishing me for not letting Christian drive me.
I’m wrung out from the conversation with my father, where he cried and told me once more that this wouldn’t be forever. But today, I wasn’t in the frame of mind to sugarcoat my feelings.
And today, I didn’t believe him anymore.
I cup my hands to the one-way glass and try to peer inside.
A hand clamps over my mouth from behind, and another circles my waist. I’m lifted clean from the ground and manhandled away. Panic slams into me. I’m there in the attic room again, trapped and helpless, the dust clogging my throat… I catch the flash of a white van and turn feral. The delivery man?
He lifts me into the back, untroubled by my wild thrashing. The door rattles as it slides shut along the rails. My bag is tipped onto the floor while my captor is still holding me, his arm anchored around my waist and his palm over my mouth. He snags my cell phone and slips it into his pocket.
“Quiet, babe.”
I blink furiously, my mind playing catch up. Christian?
“Behave, and I will take my hand away.”
I nod slowly. The absolute terror might have left me at the sound of his voice, but I’m still trembling violently.
He slowly peels his hand away.
“What are you doing?” I glare at him over my shoulder.
A faint bruise on his cheekbone is evidence of his violent life. He grins. “What I should have done a year ago—taking you.”
Releasing me, he slides the side door open, jumps out, and slams it shut again.
My legs give out, and I drop to my knees.
“Taking me?” What the hell does that mean?
The adrenaline has barely cut me lose when it surges again, this time in anger.
I push up and bang on the door. The vehicle rocks slightly and then the cab door slams shut.
My face swings toward the small window between the front and back of the van.
I bang on it as I peer through. “Taking me where?!”
He starts the engine, switches the radio on to drown me out, and swings into the road.
I pitch to the side, grunting when I bang a bruise on my hip, and barely steady myself when he takes a sharp right.
I brace my hand on the wall and look around for something to hold.
A nearby strap dangling from the ceiling is the best I’ve got.
I lean forward to peer through the tiny window as he slows.
Stopping at a set of lights, he lowers the driver side window and passes some things out to a motorbike rider pulled alongside the van.
My cell, another cell, and what looks like a vehicle key.
Then he winds the window up and pulls away.
“Christian!”
He turns the radio up and slides a covering across the small window, blocking my view.
Asshole!
I bang against the wall between us and call out some more. After a few minutes, I give up and slump, fuming onto the floor amid the scattered delivery boxes. I guess I’ll find out where he’s taking me when we arrive.