Chapter 22 – Gabriella
He knew my coffee order.
My exact order.
When I opened the fridge to grab the egg whites, I screamed.
Covering my mouth, I stared at the sixteen-ounce plastic cup standing on the shelf, waiting for me.
It wasn’t the only thing added to the fridge.
My heart thumped hard against my ribs. My fingers shook as I reached for the black envelope with my name scrawled across the front.
Little Bird,
Use for whatever you need.
-L
Behind the note, which was just a torn piece of college-ruled notebook paper, was a shiny gold credit card. It had weight to it, made from real metal. Upon flipping it over, my married name was stamped on the back.
I can save the cash….
My gaze peeped up at the coffee. The credit card was business.
The drink? That was personal. A large hazelnut latte with an extra shot, half the pumps of flavor, but with extra caramel drizzled inside.
The whipped cream on top was falling flat, the ice slowly melting into the drink. But it was mine.
He knew.
The beast was thoughtful.
A shiver rattled down my spine. Not only had he been watching me—because how else would he have known?—but this was something nice. Why was he being nice?
“Can’t you just accept the kindness without fishing for an ulterior motive?” I muttered to myself.
No. No, I couldn’t. It didn’t make sense.
My husband had no reason to be nice to me.
He didn’t know me. And if he thought he could make me fall in love with him, he had another think coming.
My heart was already broken, and I spent too long trying to mend it.
The devil in a mask would only chew it up, spit it out, and laugh at me if I tried to make room for him.
It’s just coffee.
I was having a freaking existential crisis over coffee. It wasn’t even nine in the morning!
My phone chimed with an incoming text. I jumped, slammed the fridge shut, and fished the device from my back pocket. While my mind wondered what the drink offering meant, my eyes read the message.
Mama: Cara mia, are you coming to visit? I’m free this morning!
My jaw clenched tight. I was just there. Most married daughters didn’t go home to hang out on a daily basis. But….
What if something happened?
I ripped the fridge back open, plucked the drink, and began to guzzle as I sped upstairs.
I plucked the cornicello pendant from the bottom of my makeup bag.
The malocchio might not bother me here in my husband’s home, but my parent’s house was cursed.
The evil eye was always present. Stroking the horn necklace my heartrate calmed.
Funny how I didn’t feel the need to wear it daily anymore.
But when one was married to the devil himself….
I let out a short laugh as I went back to the kitchen. I felt safe around the masked monster. My soul might be blackened with my sins, my hands stained with blood that would never wash off, but there was no evil in this place. Not true evil. Not the kind that made me scared to breathe.
No, there was a man without proper morals, who brought my exact coffee order and wanted me to be comfortable in his home. I grabbed the coffee, took a long sip, and sighed.
Damn, that tastes good.
Really good.
A smile played on my lips as I marched into the garage.
I might not trust Liam with my heart, but the masked devil had a sweet side.
Slipping behind the wheel, I stroked the cornicello.
Nothing was going to hurt me while Liam was around.
I decided as I slid behind the wheel that I would unravel my thoughts around my husband later.
For now, it was safe to say that while his hands were permanently bloodstained, Liam McDonagh was a good man.
***
Mama’s face wasn’t swollen. If there was a fresh mark or fading bruise, it was expertly hidden by makeup—as always.
She had some fashion magazines and gossip rags on the kitchen table, which she idly flipped through as we chatted.
Because she wasn’t allowed to have a tablet or a smart phone—her phone was the basic call-text only kind—she had to page through her material the old-fashioned way.
Cesca bustled about the kitchen, prepping lunch and shooing the girls when they popped into the room.
It was mother-daughter time.
Which was beyond strange because we’d never done this before. I disliked being lazy. There was always work around the house to help with. Plus, I’d had a real job.
When Mama rose to use the bathroom, I dropped my head into my hands.
“It’s good you’re here, cara mia,” Cesca said quietly.
I peeked at her from between my fingers. I bit my tongue to keep from telling her how much I detested tabloids. But I didn’t have to say it; she knew.
Coming to the table with a fresh glass of lemonade, the old woman leaned down to brush the hair off my face. “Your mama has very little life. You being here gives her an excuse to let her guard down. To just…be.”
A surge of guilt swelled in my chest. “She could do something to pass the time.”
“You know that mobsters pride themselves on keeping women pampered and out of the menial drudgery.” Cesca clicked her tongue. “Your mama hasn’t had a life of her own since her papa thought her old enough to marry.”
“She could have a hobby.” Even as I said it, I knew it wasn’t true. I held up my hand to stop Cesca’s lecture. “I’m glad I’m here. If a couple of hours entertain her, then so be it.”
The withered hand caressed my cheek once more, before it withdrew to find more work.
When footsteps sounded at the door, I held up the magazine and smiled broadly for my mother, ready to show her something. Ready to engage with her and give her the escape she craved.
Only…it wasn’t Mama.
“Gabriella, come to my office.” The clipped tone brooked no argument.
With a sigh, I rose and followed my father to his den.
“Where is Liam today?” Papa demanded, falling into his easy chair.
I glanced toward the closed door, wondering if this wasn’t a trap. “At work.”
“Where?”
“The new construction build. You know, the fifty-story complex that his company is building?” I didn’t know that much about my husband’s actual work. It was probably something a good wife would learn about, but since I wasn’t invested in a long-term relationship, I hadn’t seen the point.
“What does he do all day?”
I shuffled my feet. “I—I don’t know. I’ve been at our house this whole time.”
Papa’s voice grew tighter with each question. “What time does he come home?”
This was the same line of questioning he’d taken the other day.
“It varies,” I stuttered.
“What’s the address to his residence?” Papa’s gaze narrowed. “Where do you live? Surely a smart girl like you knows that.”
Wait…what?
Why would he bother asking? If he was somehow tracking my phone, didn’t he already know? Or maybe he was pretending. It could be a cover-up for the text he’d sent about the weekly confession.
That seemed the more likely answer.
I gave him a non-answer. “I follow the guards when I drive. I haven’t looked at the street signs or the house—”
Something flew at my face.
I ducked just in time. A crash exploded behind me.
“Papa!” I scrambled back as he climbed out of his chair. “Papa, what is it?”
“You are next to useless,” he snarled, cheeks puffing. “Find out and text me. I want to know where you are, where your husband is. Got it?”
My father was right in my face. His finger shook as he glared at me.
“I’ll text you,” I hedged. “But…I’m often asleep before he comes home. And Liam leaves at the crack of dawn.”
Papa’s lip twitched in disgust. “Don’t lie. A husband goes to fuck his wife, no matter when he gets in.”
“Liam doesn’t,” I snapped.
It was the wrong tone. Or maybe the wrong thing to point out that my husband wasn’t some rutting hog.
Papa moved like the crack of a whip. The back of his hand slapped my face. The sting radiated through my jaw. Teeth ached. The flesh burned.
His voice dripped with poison. “You’re rotten enough that your husband doesn’t even want to fuck you.” Papa laughed, a vile, mechanical grating. “What a waste of a daughter. Get out, useless girl.”
I rushed to the door.
“And don’t forget to text me,” Papa warned as my sweaty hand slipped on the knob. “I want to know everything.”
As I rushed to the front door, not stopping to get ice for my face, but heading straight to the car, I vowed this was the last time I would come visit.
It was a trend. Mama summoned me because she was allowed to accept my visits.
But they would always come at a price. I didn’t know how I would throw my father off the scent.
I only knew there was no way in hell that I would report Liam’s whereabouts.
The cost would be that my mother didn’t have her little visits. So be it.
Liam might be a monster, coming home covered in blood.
Last night, I’d seen him from a crack in the door to the kitchen.
I wanted to know what he thought about the kitchen.
If he hated or approved of my work, and what he did with the note about dinner.
There’d been blood everywhere. He’d stunk of metal and death.
But Liam never laid a hand on me. Not when he’d been irritated.
Not when he’d held me close, hauled me to his bed in the dead of night.
He hadn’t even woken me to take his husbandly right.
And that wasn’t because he didn’t want me as my father suggested.
Dio sopra! That husband of mine wanted me.
Badly. But he only tucked me into his bed and had fallen fast asleep.
I wasn’t betraying that kind of trust. My mama would have to find some other way to escape for an hour or two a week.