Chapter Twenty-Eight – Lunetta
I keep my eyes on the edge of the desk where the wood is chipped, trying not to look at the crucifix above the cabinet. Mary’s statue is perched by the window, serene and watching. My hands rest in my lap, stiff and pale. The black dress I wore to Nonna’s funeral still clings to me like a second skin I forgot to peel off.
It took a couple of IV drips for me to feel like a human after Bea rushed me here. She insisted on me having bloodwork done.
Sister Caterina’s voice cuts through the stillness. “Your bloodwork came out normal. You’re undernourished and severely stressed. That’s expected, after what you’ve gone through.”
“Thank you,” I whisper.
But Bea leans forward, not letting it go. “And?” she presses gently. The nun shifts in her chair. The way her fingers fidget with the folder tells me everything.
“There’s... one more thing,” she murmurs. “Miss Lunetta, according to your results... you’re about two weeks pregnant.”
My body goes numb. I stand.
“Thank you.”
Then I walk out of the office.
“Lune!” Bea’s footsteps echo behind me. “Lune, wait—please.”
My shoes slap against the tile. I want to scream but there’s no breath. Just static in my skull. Just that word, looping.
Pregnant. Me.
“Lunetta!”
I turn so fast the hallway blurs. “What?”
People freeze. Conversations hush. A nurse crosses herself.
“Let’s just talk—”
“About what, Bea?” My voice cracks. “That I’m pregnant? What else is there to talk about?”
Bea lowers her voice. “We can fix this. But I need you to talk to me.”
“A man kidnapped me from the airport. That’s why I disappeared. He took me—and I let him touch me. I wanted him to. I begged him. I loved every second.” My chest is tight. My throat stings. “And I still do. I want him again. That’s the truth. That’s what happened.”
Bea reaches for me. “Lune... breathe—”
“Don’t,” I whisper, stepping back.
But she doesn’t let go. “So what? You wanted it. That doesn’t make you less.”
I can’t look at her. My head drops. “I’m not who I was. I’m... ruined.”
“No,” Bea says, and her voice breaks with me. “You’re still the girl who kept napkins in her apron to wipe strangers’ sweat. You’re still the girl who prayed over bread before slicing it. You’re not ruined, Lunetta. You’re just older now.”
“I’m carrying a baby,” I breathe, and it lands like a stone. “Bea... what am I supposed to do?”
She pulls me in, arms wrapping around me.
“If you don’t want it, that’s okay. We let it go. But if you want this—if even a piece of you wants this—I’m not going anywhere. It’s yours. Ours. We’ll raise it together.”
The sob breaks through my chest before I can stop it. I collapse into her, fingers clawing at her blouse, nails digging into fabric as the weight I’ve been carrying shatters at once. She holds me like she’s holding what’s left of me together.
And I scream into her, all sound and no words. My face soaked in her shoulder. Her hands trembling at my back.
****
Back from the hospital, Bea leads me inside the house, her hand pressed gently against the small of my back. In the house, everything looks the same, but it doesn’t feel like home anymore.
“Sit,” she whispers, guiding me to one of the kitchen chairs.
I obey.
She moves around the kitchen. The clink of ceramic, the low hiss of the kettle. It’s like watching a memory replay itself—how Nonna used to brew tea after long days at the café. When Bea sets the cup in front of me, steam curls up to meet my face. I wrap my hands around it and breathe in. Chamomile and honey.
I sip slowly. She doesn’t say anything. Her eyes study me the way Nonna’s used to when she knew something was wrong but waited for me to speak first.
When I finish, Bea stands and helps me to my feet.
“Come on,” she says softly. “Let’s get you in bed.”
I let her guide me down the hall. My legs feel like they aren’t fully connected to my body. She draws back the sheets, helps me lie down, then pulls the blanket over my shoulders.
“Let’s talk when you wake up, okay?”
I nod once. My eyes close before I can even think.
I wake to the soft clink of a spoon tapping porcelain.
Bea sits beside the bed with a bowl in her hands, offering me soup. She feeds me, brushing a strand of hair off my forehead now and then. I manage to finish half of it before the heaviness pulls me back under again.
This time, sleep is not quiet.
I see him—Vieri—standing shirtless beneath a beam of light. I reach out to touch him, but blood blooms from his head. It runs in slow rivulets down his face, across his bare chest. I scream.
My eyes snap open. My throat is dry.
The room is dark, lit only by the moonlight bleeding through the curtains. I turn to see Bea curled in the corner armchair, her knees tucked to her chest, arms wrapped around a pillow. Asleep.
Quietly, I slip out of bed and pad over to her.
“Come on, Bea,” I murmur, nudging her shoulder.
She blinks up at me, dazed and half-asleep.
“Bed,” I whisper.
She nods groggily, letting me pull her up. I help her shuffle to my bed and tuck her under the blanket she’d given me earlier.
My chest tightens. She’s done everything. Carried me when I didn’t have the strength to move. I lean down, kiss her forehead, and step out quietly.
The kitchen feels colder than before. I walk barefoot to the sink, fill a glass from the tap, and drink slowly, staring at the moonlight reflecting off the tile floor.
I freeze, glass in hand. My eyes dart toward the hallway. At first, I think my mind is playing tricks on me again. I am seeing a figure by the door moving.
“Hello?” I whisper.
I inch closer, holding the glass like a weapon. Just enough to see.
A hand clamps around my arm. I scream and jerk back, elbowing him hard in the ribs. He stumbles. I turn, ready to run—but he catches up to me and he grabs my hair. My scalp burns. I scream again, my arms flailing for anything to grab. My back hits the floor hard. The breath rushes out of me in one sharp gasp.
He’s on top of me now, heavy knees pinning my hips, hand clamped over my mouth.
My vision swims, panic flooding my limbs like fire—but somewhere in the haze, instinct kicks in. I bring my knee up. It slams into his side. I twist my head just enough to sink my teeth into his gloved palm.
He howls. The hand comes away.
I draw in air and scream loud enough to shake the windows. He tries to pin me again, but I claw at his neck, at the fabric of his mask. My nails dig into his cheek and I feel skin tear. Warm blood smears under my fingers.
His fist slams into my shoulder, then my face. Pain explodes behind my eye. I blink through it, dazed—but I don’t stop. But I twist under him, kicking with everything I have. I shove hard, roll us sideways. My knee slams into his gut. He growls and grabs a fistful of my hair again, dragging my head back. I claw at his arms, choking on my sobs.
“Lune!”
Bea barrels into him and she wraps her arms around his neck and pulls, dragging him off me. I gasp and roll away, coughing, blood dripping from my nose onto the floor.
Bea’s on his back, legs locked around his middle. She’s pounding at his head with her fists, screaming like a wild thing.
He slams her back against the wall. She grunts but holds on.
I stagger to my feet, vision blurring. The lamp.
My fingers scramble across the counter until they close around the heavy ceramic base.
“Get off her!”
The lamp crashes into the side of his head with a sickening crack. His body jerks. Bea tumbles to the floor.
He turns toward me—stumbling, woozy. I swing the lamp again.
The second blow hits harder. His knees buckle. His body drops like a sack of bricks, face-first onto the carpet.
My breath saws in and out of me. I’m shaking. My arms burn. Bea groans beside me, rubbing her shoulder.
I stumble forward and drop to my knees beside him, fingers trembling as I reach for the mask. Together, we peel it back.
The face beneath is pale, bloodied.
I gasp. Bea recoils.
It’s Father Romani. His mouth is slack. His cheek is bruised and raw from where I clawed it.
I fall back on my hands, staring at him.
Then her hand draws back and slaps him hard across the face. The crack echoes through the room.
“You sick fuck!” she shouts, voice raw. “Wake up, you bastard!”
She raises her hand again, but I catch her wrist. “Bea—”
I kneel by his side, forcing my hands to stay steady as I search his coat. There—an inside pocket. I pull out a small brown bottle, capped tightly.
Bea crouches beside me, and I keep searching. Another pocket yields a phone and a ring of keys.
“Give me the phone,” Bea says, already reaching for it.
She turns it toward his face. “Lune, help me—hold his eyelids open.”
My fingers tremble, but I do it. His eyes are glassy, rolled back, but enough of his face registers.
The phone unlocks. Bea scrolls quickly. She angles it toward me.
A single message glows on the screen, sent just an hour ago.
“The Tavano brothers Vieri and Riccardo are with us now. Bring the girl to us. We end it tonight and we take our rightfully earned loot.”
Below it, a red pin blinks on a Google Map. Coordinates, no name.
“What does this even mean?” Bea whispers, her voice cracking.
I stare at the time again. 10:42 PM. It’s just after midnight now.
He was coming to take me.
“Can you drive?” I ask her.
She exhales sharply. “Technically yes.”
I grab her hand. “That’s good enough. Come with me. He came in the car, we can use it.”
We run to the door still in our nightdresses and we slide on shoes as I grab our coats.
Bea yanks the keys from me as we reach the steps. “You’re telling me what the hell’s going on once we’re in the car. I swear, I want a rundown, Lune. I’m not driving blind into hell.”
My heart is pounding in my chest. I am not certain either. I am running on pure instinct and adrenaline.
****
Bea leans on the horn once. The Tavano mansion gates remain shut.
A few trips back and forth allowed me to memorize the route to the mansion.
Then, a figure emerges from the shadows near the guardhouse, walking with a slow, suspicious stride. He’s tall, built like a wall, and the scowl on his face is anything but welcoming.
“Turn around,” he barks, already reaching for something at his side. “You’ve got five seconds.”
I open the passenger door and step out before Bea can stop me. My voice comes out steadier than I feel. “Tell the brothers that Lunetta says she knows something about Vieri.”
His frown deepens. “You can tell me.”
“No,” I say, lifting my chin. “I’ll only speak to them. Directly.”
He studies me for a long second, then mutters into his earpiece. There’s silence. Then a short, sharp nod.
The gates creak open. Bea drives through slowly, jaw tight, knuckles pale against the wheel. We barely make it halfway up the gravel driveway before the front doors burst open.
Three men charge out.
“Lunetta!” Enzo’s voice cracks through the night. He reaches me first, arms wrapping around me so tight I forget how to breathe for a second.
“What’s wrong? Why are you here? Is that blood?”
I forgot that my face is busted.
I pull back just enough to speak. “Vieri—he’s in danger.” I dig into my coat pocket, hand him the phone. “This text… it was sent an hour ago.”
Enzo reads it fast, face hardening. He passes it to Omero, who tilts the screen toward Alfio.
“Where did you get this?” Alfio asks, voice low and sharp.
“A man broke into my house,” I say. “It was a priest.”
Their gazes snap to me.
“Are you okay?” Enzo asks.
“I am now. But I think… I think he was coming to take me. The message—it mentioned Vieri and Riccardo. Said they’re ‘with them.’ He’s been missing, hasn’t he?”
Omero nods grimly. “A month now. Riccardo too. We’ve had people looking everywhere. Every lead turned cold.”
Enzo runs a hand down his face. “We were going to contact you, ask some questions. You were the last person seen with Vieri.”
“But…” Omero steps in. “We saw you nursing your grandmother. You didn’t seem to know anything. And our uncle seemed more like a viable suspect. He has been trying to kill us. Remember the explosion?”
Bea, who’s been quiet until now, flares. “Wait what explosion? And you were spying on her? Who are you people?”
They ignore her.
Alfio’s already barking orders, calling out to the men behind the gate. “Gear up! Get the convoy ready, three cars. Now.”
Enzo turns to me. “You need to stay here. We’ll check it out.”
“No,” I say, firm. “I’m coming with you.”
Omero shakes his head. “We don’t have time for this.”
“You wouldn’t have that phone if it wasn’t for me. Let me help.”
Alfio tosses a vest toward Enzo and walks toward the garage.
Enzo sighs. “Get in the car. You and your friend. Back seat.”
Bea mutters under her breath. “This is insane.”
I turn to her Bea.
“Don’t tell me to stay. Don’t be silly,” she says.
The brothers load up, moving fast. Weapons clipped, radios strapped, guns checked and reloaded with practiced ease. I watch them move like soldiers. Like they’ve done this a hundred times.
Within minutes, they pile into the car with us, one in front, one beside Bea, and one beside me.