38. Tatiana
Chapter thirty-eight
Tatiana
The tears fall silently down my cheeks. I may not have loved my mother, but in the end I do think she wanted to save me from this. Which means there was a heart in there somewhere, right? That she cared enough about me to not want this for me.
I’m still so angry at her. Angry, resentful, bitter, hateful, confused, irritated, saddened. My emotions have been all over the place since Giovanni banged on my door the morning after the wedding and told me.
“Your mother’s dead. Funeral’s in a week.”
I’d been too afraid to turn my phone on, in case it was true. Without a call or a text confirming it, I could pass it off as a cruel joke. Until he banged on my door this morning, telling me it was time to leave for the funeral, with some colorful threatening language to go along with it.
I’ve spent the past week in and out of consciousness, sanity, depression, and reality. All I’ve had are a few granola bars someone snuck into my luggage and water from the tap. I’m too afraid - or maybe can’t be bothered - to find any real food.
I’m a coward.
But something in my chest snapped when I saw Mik, Ro and Lev again. It was small, but I’d felt the shift as if my bones finally snapped in with my soul.
I wasn’t going to live like this anymore.
I wasn’t going to give into this depression anymore.
I wasn’t going to self-medicate to avoid my life, like my mother had.
I wasn’t a Disney princess, trapped in a tower, waiting for a knight. My knights were standing in front of me at the funeral today, hands tied completely.
No, this princess was going to have to save herself.
How?
I have no idea.
But it starts with turning my phone back on.
I’m dropped off at the mansion while the car takes Giovanni, Lord knows where. But it’s not here, and that’s good enough.
Instead of making it to my room, though, I bee-line it to the kitchen and start shuffling through cabinets and drawers. Every kitchen has a junk drawer, right? With chargers?
I don’t find any phone chargers, but I do grab some food to squirrel back in my room. I’ll have to come out when Giovanni’s not home to get more. I’ll need to be strong if I’m going to escape.
Guards walk around the property, inside and out, palming guns of all types, but mostly they ignore me.
Finally, I pass by a French door with a guard stationed outside of it and only it. I make a mental note of that later.
Sneaking into Giovanni’s bedroom, I find a charger that fits my phone and steal it, rushing back to my room, slamming the door shut and locking it behind me.
Okay. The first step is to stop avoiding the world.
I take a deep breath in and out, reminding myself that I’m strong. That I can do anything. Even if I haven’t felt strong lately. Knowing Juliet wasn’t sold has given me something else to fight for. It’s a little of my past that I might be able to make my future again.
Notifications interrupt each other as the phone powers on, and text message after text, missed call after missed call loads.
I ignore the calls. They’re from my brother and father.
It’s the text messages that I care about the most.
From my guys.
Tears spring back into my eyes reading the heartfelt confessions.
Lev: I got into a fight tonight. It was the only thing I could think of to do. Missing you hurts too much
Roman: I pray you're safe, Tanya. And if anyone dares to hurt you, I'll set the entire city on fire
Mik: Life is not the same without you. I'm telling Sparkles that you're just on vacation and coming back to us soon
Daily text messages, telling me about their day or how they miss me.
I need to get free, if not for myself, then for my guys.
No. Scratch that. I’m going to get free for all of us.
I deserve a happily ever-after. Maybe that’s what I loved all those years.
Not love itself, but the ability to choose yourself, who you love, who you spend your time with.
I didn’t need love from a man. I needed to learn how to love myself.
That realization hits me like a truck. I stand and look at myself in the full-length mirror, maybe seeing myself really for the first time ever.
Before, when I’d look in the mirror, it was always critical - my eyelashes were never long enough, so I’d wear fake ones.
I’d contour the shape of my face to be better with makeup.
I’d do my hair so that every strand laid perfectly.
But who gives a shit?
Lev, Mik and Ro don’t love me because of what I look like. Their eyes would soften with affection when I was at my rawest - makeup-free, hair a mess, wearing pajamas or one of their shirts.
And I want a love that’s going to last long into old age, when I’m wrinkled and gray.
But I don’t love myself. I maybe never have. Because I don’t know what that looks like? My mother wasn’t a good example. And my father is a narcissist and maybe a psychopath. Can psychopaths love themselves? My brother loves my father, but he’s compromised himself in the process.
No.
I need to figure out what self-love looks like on my own.
And right now, that means coming up with a plan.
I text our group chat.
Me: Thank you for being there today. It meant a lot to me.
Me: I'm making my way back to you. I promise
I change into pajamas and drop onto the floor. I do five push-ups before my arms shake. Then I do five sit-ups. If this princess is saving herself, she needs to be physically strong, too. Then I do five air squats.
I do these until I physically can’t anymore, willing my brain to work.
If the boys can’t help me. And my family refuses to. Who do I have left?
Hannah.
I scramble back onto the bed and grab my phone.
I’m sure she knows about my wedding to the son of the man who tried to kill her. Or maybe she doesn’t. I don’t know how involved she is with the mafia politics of her men.
Me: Hi Hannah. Have you heard the news?
Her reply is immediate.
Hannah: Yes. Are you safe?
Me: I am, but I could use a friend
Hannah: What can I do?
I think about that for a minute. Because I honestly don’t know. Asking her to risk her men isn’t the way to do it. I won’t have anyone die for me.
Me: Hypothetically speaking, if I wanted my husband to… not be my husband anymore… What's the best way to go about that?
Three bubbles appear and disappear, and hope grips my chest. Please have someone smarter than me help me!
Hannah: Do you have any allies on the inside?
That sounds more like one of her guys asking, but I don’t mind. I’d three-way call her and her guys and my guys if it meant figuring all this out, but I’d be too afraid someone will overhear through my door.
Me: No. Not one
Three more bubbles and that hope swells even as nerves eat away at my belly. Please don’t say you can’t help me.
Hannah: This is Rico. Every operation has a weakness. Vitale's known for being careless. There's a paper trail somewhere. You just need to find it. His men aren't that loyal
And then that’s it. Okay. So, I have to find proof of his shady business, and then what? Send it to the FBI?
Suddenly, an image of a SWAT team busting down the door instead of me or Hannah’s men seems that much more appealing. I can do this.
But the guard in front of his office. I wonder if he’s there all the time? Or just during the day? Would I need to access the room physically at all? Or could I get access to his computer?
Through a wifi?
I do a quick Google, and yes, depending on how his network is set up and if I have a password, I could access his computer.
Me: Any way you could get a laptop to me? I'm locked up tight here
Her response is immediate.
Hannah: Not me, but I have a friend. Let me see what I can do
Even better! Of course she wouldn’t be allowed; she’s the reason half of the building is under renovation. But she’s willing to help. A smile spreads across my face for the first time in months. It’s a long shot.
But it’s the only shot I have.