Chapter 42
CARMELA
I wake up. Which means I fell asleep… in his bed with his arm wrapped around me. It might have been only a nap, but it was the best rest I’ve had in a long time. No nightmare. No waking up in a cold sweat…
The comforting weight of his arm is gone, but his scent lingers. He’s no longer in the bed. I roll over slowly to check and find an indent where he was.
My stomach aches. The first couple of days of my period are never fun.
When I roll back, I notice a bottle of Advil and a glass of water on the nightstand. I smile. When was the last time somebody who wasn’t a maid did something kind for me?
Jessica, maybe, when she was still living at home. And before that, my mother.
My smile fades. I sit up and take a couple of Advil.
A flashback slams into me. Weight pressing down on me… The dusty sheet blocking airflow, and a sensation of joints and tendons straining to their limit… like they’re about to break.
Like I’m about to break.
A sob catches in my throat.
I can’t breathe, again.
It’s like I’m there, trapped, and helpless.
One one-thousand.
I’m alone.
Two one-thousand.
I’m safe.
Three one-thousand.
I can do this—I can just breathe.
God, I wish there were a magic eraser for the memories, the sense of helplessness and vulnerability.
I keep counting and reassuring myself until my racing heart and ragged breathing settle into a steady rhythm.
I cry. The specifics behind my tears elude me beyond that they’re part of a collective ball of misery, and that what happened is fresh and the scar is core-deep.
Being here is like stepping outside a timeline. It offers a sense of respite but not closure.
Once upon a time, I was na?ve, but that time is long gone.
The fallout from my disappearance will be unfolding.
I’m terrified that my father or sister will get caught up in this, despite Dante’s reassurance that they would not…
What does he really know? My husband is a powerful, vengeful man.
Losing me will reflect poorly on him—he will pursue all avenues to recover me.
I rise and pace, restless, trying to distract myself from those disturbing ruminations. My eyes go to the closed bedroom door. Maybe Dante is still in the apartment and merely left me to sleep.
My stomach takes a slow tumble at the thought of him being nearby. My hands shake as I pick up the glass again and finish the water.
I head to the bathroom, with its polished marble floor and walls, to wash my hands and face, then leave the bedroom and enter the lounge area.
He’s not here. Well, I suppose he might have an office in his apartment, but something tells me he’s gone.
I can’t say I noticed much about the apartment on arriving, but it’s stunning.
The expansive living area is open plan with matte stone floors, plush rugs, and minimalist decor that flows into a dining and kitchen area.
The views from the windows showcase the marina and the edge of Lake Michigan.
In the distance, I can just make out the city skyline.
It’s elegant, but at the same time, it feels a little cold… maybe impersonal.
My purse, sitting on the low coffee table between two tailored couches, snags my attention. Christian must have picked it up when he brought me to the apartment. I’ve probably lost a few things after the contents went rolling around in the back of the van before I could scramble to pick them up.
Christian didn’t seem particularly interested in the contents beyond taking my cell phone, which I’m confident Ettore had a tracker installed on. Likely why Christian took it.
I couldn’t care less about my cell phone.
I barely use it for more than messaging Jessica and my father, which I already know would be a very bad idea right now.
My friends have all dropped away over time.
Ettore disapproved of anyone he had not personally vetted, and besides that, maintaining friendships added a different kind of pressure.
It wasn’t like I could tell anyone about the hell my life was sinking into.
While I trusted my friends, there was still a risk that anything I said would get back to Ettore.
And even if it didn’t, watching them go off to college and flourish while I lived in my gilded cage hurt too much.
Their pity was even worse.
Out of self-preservation, I distanced myself from everyone, even my sister.
Which left me with Christian.
I’m still staring at my purse. Did he go through it?
I open it and check the contents: my makeup case, a couple of tampons… and my birth control prescription, still in a sealed paper bag. If he realized what it was, I’m sure he would have taken it for no reason than he’s an asshole and would enjoy forcing me to ask for it back.
Jessica gets it for me—she has since the start. I get regular health checks with Ettore’s doctors, but it’s not like I could ask them.
I’m not delusional about my liberation. This isn’t a noble cause. Dante made it clear that he owned me—even went so far as to use that word. Now is not the time to be getting pregnant.
I ought to rail against his blunt descent into autocratic declarations, but the fact is, Dante’s claim on me, whether real or perceived, is not the worst thing to happen to me.
Honesty dictates I admit to welcoming it.
Ettore is a monster, and no ordinary man will cut it in a battle with him.
All this aside, I cannot deny the explosive spark between Dante and me.
I couldn’t resist him even at the risk of getting pregnant.
Far from injecting caution, the thought of carrying his child has the opposite effect.
Better to continue quietly taking these… which means I have to hide them.
I carry my purse back into the bedroom and look around.
It’s his room, full of his things, and not even a drawer I might call my own.
He almost certainly has someone come around and clean, which he may or may not curtail for however long I’m here.
I need to put them somewhere easily accessible, whether he’s at home or not.
After thirty minutes of inspecting the apartment, I decided to remove the pill strips from the packaging and tape them to the inside of the face frame of the bathroom vanity.
Then, I rip the packaging into tiny pieces and flush any incriminating parts down the toilet.
The rest, which is indistinct, goes into the trash.
It takes longer than I intended. I double-check the tape is holding, but I’m tense and shaking by the time I head back into the lounge… just as the door opens, and a stunning woman enters from the foyer.
I have a vague impression she’s dressed casually in jeans, but most of my attention is on her long, deep red, and very glossy hair.
The door clicks shut behind her, snapping me out of the daze. I blink a few times. There are several large shopping bags in her arms and a piece of paper in her hand that she tucks into the pocket of her jeans.
She smiles brightly. “Hi, I’m Cherry.”
You definitely are.
Also, who the hell are you besides being Cherry? She’s certainly not his cleaner. Her smooth, educated voice is at odds with her appearance. A sickly sensation washes through me. Is this his girlfriend?
He can’t have a girlfriend.
“You have me at a disadvantage.” I search for the legacy of my mother’s famous poise, certain it’s failing me miserably.
She shakes her head and her brows pull together. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean… I’m not with Dante. At all. Ever. I’m just…” Her smile is rueful. “One of the dancers at his club.” She glances around, her expression turning glum. “I realize I’m a little older than typical for such a career path.”
My eyes widen—not at the older part because if she’s a day over twenty, I would be shocked… but at the whole package she just divulged.
She grimaces. “That didn’t come out great, did it? It was Leon who asked me to collect these things. I’ve never even spoken to Dante except that one time when he was—” She cuts off abruptly.
When he was what? “Leon Barone?” I’ve lost my brain somewhere between her entering and now.
“The very same.” She smiles—she really is stunning. “He mentioned you needed clothes and products. I’m sorry, I’m rambling, and you must have been through a lot. Are you doing okay?”
Am I? “I’m better than I was.”
“I can relate to that… Given Leon was offering up his credit card for me to abuse, I bought every product I could find. Hopefully, something in there is what you prefer.”
She hands over the bags, which I take with thanks. Dropping them down on the small coffee table, I open the first. On top is an enormous block of chocolate.
I sigh.
I smile.
She smiles back. “I figured go hard or go home when it comes to chocolate.”
“Thank you again.”
“You’re welcome.” She nods toward the door. “I’d better go.”
“Do you... Do you know where he’s gone?” Something unwholesome unfurls in my chest. What if he has gone to her , his wife?
“Dante?”
I nod.
“No. I was just told to shop and bring it here… There’s a code for the door, by the way.
To get in and to get out. I’m on a warning not to tell you.
I get a strong impression you’re better off here anyway if you’re who I think you are, and I saw your pictures in the paper after the Kennedy Memorial charity ball, so—” She snaps her mouth shut.
The hairs at the back of my neck stand to attention. I don’t know this woman beyond Leon trusts her with his credit card and the code to Dante’s door. Only I’ve trusted men I consider family before and look where that got me.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
She really shouldn’t, but that she did is a forewarning.
I remind myself that Leon trusts her, but yeah, mine is in short supply.
He probably didn’t know she’d seen my picture with Ettore and understood enough about me, and my husband in particular, to conclude I’m better off out of his sphere of influence.
There is never a good time to faint, I reflect, but the proximity of a couch and her reflexes in rushing to sit me onto it rather than letting me pitch into the coffee table are advantageous, nevertheless.
“Head down.” She doesn’t give me a chance to comply; she just shoves my head between my parted knees and holds it there. “That’s the way. You’re doing great. Just stay there until it passes.”
Her hand is cool on the back of my neck.
“You’re remarkably competent at this for a dancer in a club,” I mutter as the sparkling dots begin to recede. “Do you deal with fainting women often, in your line of work?”
She snorts a laugh. “Hardly. Stay there. I’ll get you a glass of water.”
I hear a cupboard open and close, then another, and another before the faucet turns on.
It makes me smile. Either she’s a quick thinker, or she wasn’t downplaying her relationship with Dante.
Her feet enter the space before me. I sit up slowly, and she hands me the glass.
I take a drink.
“Feeling better?”
“Yeah.”
She sits on the coffee table directly before me, giving me no choice but to look at her.
Her expression is wary… and also sensitive: I’m fairly sure mine is the same, but I make myself address the elephant in the room. “You’re thinking about what you said and who my husband is, possibly theorizing about what I’m doing here.”
“Guilty as charged.”
“I don’t know what I’m doing here either, beyond the fact that the man my husband employs as my bodyguard is a loose cannon, plus Dante thinks he owns me.”
Her lips twitch.
I get a strong notion I can trust her.
Then I realize I already do, which takes me by surprise considering Jessica is the only person I’ve previously given that lofty accolade to.
“I didn’t aspire to become a dancer,” she says.
“This career was thrust upon me out of sheer desperation… I find it liberating now, but it wasn’t my first choice…
A senior administrator at the hospital where I worked assaulted me.
I pressed charges, and that’s where my life and career came unstuck.
He was a friend of a powerful man named Ettore Gallo. ”
I inhale sharply.
She leans forward a little. “It’s not a recommended approach to therapy, but I semi-stalk your husband, take screenshots of any pictures of him, and draw comedy mustaches on them.”
I burst out laughing.
She shrugs and her smile is rueful. “I know. It’s ridiculous. But it makes me feel better… Nobody at the club knows about what happened to me. Not even Leon or Dante. Supposing they did look me up, all they would find was a doctor struck off the register for malpractice.”
A doctor? She’s either an amazingly quick study or much older than she looks.
But I don’t linger on that for long. My smile fades. The direction this story is going makes me deeply uneasy.
“I’m not telling you this for your sympathy.
Nor to enlighten you about the kind of man your husband is, that he would help a friend ruin a woman guilty of nothing more than being assaulted and seeking justice.
I have a feeling that your eyes are wide open for someone so young.
No, I’m telling you because I sense you have very little peace of mind, and I took the last of it from you.
For that, I’m deeply sorry, and I wish only to give you something back.
The man who assaulted me wasn’t content with having me struck off the register; he chased me with a wrecking ball through every legitimate job I found until, finally, out of desperation, I looked for a place to work where they didn’t use regular channels to perform background checks.
He’s still the administrator at the Kennedy Memorial Hospital.
He’d pay good money to find out where I work so he could screw me over again.
I’m trusting you with my secret because you unwittingly trusted me with yours…
If you need anything, ask Leon to ask me to get it.
” She smiles, but her eyes are sad. “The way Leon spoke about you tells me he cares deeply about you. I envy you that.”
I’m reeling, but at the same time, I feel like I’ve just made a friend. When was the last time I had a friend? Acting on instinct, I hug her.
Her chuckle is warm. She hugs me back, fierce and perfect. “You like the chocolate that much, huh?”
“Yeah, I really do.”