Chapter 31
AIDA
The following day, one of Dom’s drivers takes Matteo and me to Ms. Greco’s mother’s home.
I had wanted to visit them to pay my respects, and to meet them, to know where she came from.
If anything, I knew they had to be wonderful from the way she’d spoken about them.
The sisters spent their time taking care of their mother, while also trying to live their lives.
She has two nieces, and her sister is divorced from what I remember.
Matteo sits beside me, both of us staring out the window, embracing the world and each other. It’s different when you’ve been locked away. Everything seems brighter, flashier, the colors practically glowing. We take it all in. Every little detail everyone else probably takes for granted.
We were both Agnelo’s hostages. One a prisoner in the basement, the other a prisoner in the house.
If I had no yard, I wouldn’t even know what it felt like to breathe in fresh air.
It’s something Matteo never had and something I’m grateful for.
I could imagine how many others like us are out there, locked away, nothing but darkness.
But at least I had Matteo and Ms. Greco. How many don’t even have that?
“You okay?” he asks, his lips lowering to my temple with a warm kiss.
“Yeah.” My heart swells with a smile. “Just thinking how lucky I am that I have you.”
“I think I’m the lucky one, Aida,” he whispers. “You kept me sane. All the shit I did…”
He told me about it all last night as we lay down in bed together, and I reassured him, it made no difference to me. He was still the man I love. “It doesn’t matter,” I remind him. “I’m sorry those people died, but you had no choice.”
He nods, his gaze falling downcast, and I can tell he doesn’t agree. He blames himself for it all—the murders, the beatings. But he was just a child, learning to kill.
“It’s hard,” he admits, gazing up at me. “To see myself the way you do.”
With my eyes boring into his, I cup his face. “For all the days you forget who you truly are, I’ll be there to remind you.”
He quickly curls an arm around me, holding me against his chest, his breathing hitching as the car sways.
A few minutes later, we pull up to a two-story pale blue house, a cheerful garden gnome with a green hat in front of the freshly cut grass. You can smell it from the whiff of air rising through the slit in the window.
“You ready?” he asks, as he grips the door handle.
“I don’t think I’ll ever be ready for this.”
“We’ll tell them together.”
My gut churns. “How do we tell them she’s dead?” Tears spring into my eyes.
“I don’t know.” His Adam’s apple bobs, and he opens the door.
“Take your time,” the driver says as he turns, and we shut the door behind us.
I stare at the brown, unassuming door, my heartbeats drumming so loud, I almost lose the courage to go up the steps and knock.
But he must notice how nervous I am, because his hand slips into mine and he brings it to his mouth, kissing the top of it. “It’ll be hard,” he admits. “But we’ll make it through, and so will they.”
“Okay.” I shudder with a breath. “Let’s go.” And we do, walking side by side toward the door, his hand knocking gently.
“One second!” someone shouts—a female voice. Then it opens, and two little girls look up at us.
“Hi there.” I kneel.
“Who are you?” The girls look questioningly at us, squinting through a set of dark blue eyes. They’re most definitely twins from all appearances, and identical at that. One of the girls pops a hand on her hip, the other twisting a curl of brown hair at her shoulder.
“Girls! What are you doing?” A woman hurries to the door, seemingly out of breath, her black hair coiled up high in a messy bun, her black t-shirt covered in red stains.
“I’m sorry.” She looks down at herself. “I was cleaning the kitchen. These girls made an absolute mess. How can I help you?”
We stare at her with an understanding smile. “We’re friends of Alison’s,” I say, feeling that familiar twinge in my heart whenever I think about her.
“Oh my! Where is she? Mom and I’ve been calling her nonstop for almost two months. Please tell me you know where she is. We wanted to call the cops but ahh—” Fear greets her gaze before her face twitches. “I need to know where my sister is. Please just tell me.”
My breathing turns heavy and I’m ready to burst into tears, but he’s there, holding me steady, like he always does.
“Would it be okay if we came in?” Matteo asks.
That gets her expression turning serious. “I—ahh—I don’t know.”
“We’re not with the Bianchis. I promise.” I hope to reassure her.
Her eyes pop wide and she nods, stepping out of our way so we can stroll inside. The girls stand beside their mother, before they run into another room.
“You can come in here.” She gestures with a hand toward the two black leather sofas. “Mom is taking a nap.”
“I’m most definitely not,” a distant voice says, and we all turn to find an older lady, short gray hair reaching her chin as she carefully climbs down the stairs, holding tightly to the banister.
“Who may you two be?” Her glance moves quickly between us, her kindness showing in the softness of her gaze.
“They’re friends of Alison, Mom. I’m Dora, by the way,” she quickly says before going to help her mother settle on the couch.
“Sit, you two,” Alison’s mom says, and we take a spot at the end of the sofa, opposite from her while Dora takes a seat to the right.
“So where’s my daughter? Did something happen to her?”
“Mom!”
“I don’t want to think it either, honey, but she hasn’t called or visited in weeks, and it’s not like we can call those bastards and ask.”
Dora peers into her lap, her fingers playing with the strings of her sweatpants. She’s pretty, just like Alison was. I can clearly see the resemblance.
“There’s no easy way to say this…” As I try to get the words out, a sob slips out.
“No!” Dora cries, slapping a hand to her mouth.
“They killed her, didn’t they? Those fucking Bianchis, they killed my baby?” Her mom’s emotions slice through her words as she looks straight into my eyes, waiting for me to confirm it.
“I’m so sorry.” An ache clogs my throat. “But she’s gone.”
“No!” Dora cries, jumping to her feet. “I won’t accept that!”
“My poor baby,” her mom snivels. I let them take all the time they need, my tears leaking along with theirs. There’s a heavy wave of mourning crawling up every wall.
Matteo holds me, and I know he feels it too. She mattered to him. He loved her. But we can’t tell them he shot her. It’s something we’ll take to our graves.
“Did she suffer?” Alison’s mom asks.
“No.” Matteo’s voice is forceful, and she nods, as though that small sliver of information brings her peace.
“Do you know where they put her body?”
“I’m sorry, we don’t,” I tell her. “But we want you to know we loved her.” I look up at Matteo. “Both of us.”
“You’re her, aren’t you? Aida?” The mother swipes under her eyes. “She talked about you all the time.”
My heart warms to know she had. That just like she meant a lot to me, I meant the same to her. “I am. Your daughter saved me. Every day.”
“She was a hero to us,” Matteo adds. “We’ll never forget her.”
“She loved you,” Dora says in a teary tone. “You were like a daughter to her.”
“And she was every bit the mother to me.” I blink back tears, my chin trembling.
“We have something for you.” Dora stands, swiping at her eyes, as more tears come. “Years ago, she had us hide something for her, something that she said belonged to your mother.”
“What?” My pulse jumps.
“Oh my, I forgot all about that,” her mom whispers. “Go get it, honey. I’ll tell her the story.”
Dora nods as she passes her mother, going up the stairs. We all sit quietly, not sure what to say to a woman who just found out her daughter died.
“When Alison first met your mother, she gave Alison a handbag. She told her to keep it safe just in case. Alison brought it here and told us to hide it. And to this day, it’s been here, waiting for you.”
Hope grows in my heart, like a root taking shape, nourished by the thought that maybe in that bag is more of my mom, something that’ll give me more of the shreds of who she was.
“Thank you,” I tell her. “I’m grateful you kept it.”
“Of course we did, child. Alison would kill us if we hadn’t.
” She laughs dolefully. “The way she spoke about you…” Her eyes shimmer as she stares past me as though recollections find her deep in her mind.
“She’d tell me how smart you were.” Her gaze lands to me again.
“That you were the sweetest child, so polite, even with that deranged criminal who kept you locked away in that house.” Her eyes go to Matteo.
“Did you live there too? And I use that term loosely.”
“Yes,” he says.
“Oh goodness.” She shakes her head, her gray brows tucking tight.
“She never talked about anyone else in that house, but I always suspected something else was going on. I know she was scared. She probably would never have told me about Aida either, but when she gave us the bag, she broke down.” She settles further against the sofa.
“The way she poured her heart out when she told me what he was doing. The kinds of evil that family was capable of… I can’t even think about it.
” Her bottom lip quivers. “I’m gonna miss her. ”
“Me too,” I breathe. “If it brings you any comfort, I want you to know the Bianchis, they’re all dead now.”
“Good.” And the glare that fits her face doesn’t seem to quite suit her.
“Here it is.” Dora returns with a simple black satchel. “This was your mom’s.” She hands it to me.
My fingers run past the soft material, so well kept, like it’s been treasured.
How could I ever repay Ms. Greco for this?
I hope wherever she is, she realizes what a gift she has bestowed upon me.
I fumble with the button, the room silent as I drag up the flap, and gradually, I reach a hand inside, finding a notepad, a pen, and a stack of…
“Photos,” I practically cry, when I retrieve them.
There are lots of them, small enough to fit into a wallet. I realize, she must’ve taken them out before they took her wallet and put it inside here so Agnelo couldn’t get rid of them.
I glance at the first one, and it’s of her and me, both of us grinning with silly faces. Tears track over my cheeks, stumbling down my face. I wipe them away, not wanting to ruin the photo.
The next photo is of just me, or at least I think it is, because in it, I appear to be a newborn. Another is of Mom in the hospital, holding me, her grin wide as she gazes at me like I hold the answers to all of her problems.
Little did we know that only years later, our lives would be forever shattered. I sift through each photo, and once I find the last one, I see someone else in it—a man, and his eyes are the exact shade of hazel as mine.
“Dad,” I whisper, a finger running over them both. He has an arm flung over my mother while he holds me at his side.
My parents. The two people I can’t seem to remember, not unless I’m dreaming of my mother, and even still, I don’t see her anymore. And I want to, so badly.
“I have to find him,” I tell Matteo. “I have to try.”
“I know, and we will. I told Dom, and this morning he told me he’s found his address.”
I gasp, not believing he had done that for me already.
“We can go whenever you’re ready.”
I throw myself into his arms. “I want to go as soon as possible.”
“Then that’s what we’ll do.”
We separate, peering over at the two women. “I’m sorry about everything,” I say. “We didn’t want to hurt you this way, but I couldn’t allow you to live not knowing.”
“I appreciate it, dear girl.” Alison’s mom purses her lips, while Dora’s face is practically ashen. “You two are welcome anytime, you hear. Anytime.”
“Thank you.” We both rise, readying to go.
I give the old woman a hug, and she tucks me tighter to her, patting my back. “Bye, now.”
Dora takes us to the door, and she’s no longer the same woman who first opened it. Without even a goodbye, she closes the door behind us. The next thing we hear are the echoes of her sobs as they drift through the space and into my already broken heart.