Chapter 33
33
GIANNA
I jolt awake, blinking groggily as I glance around the room. My brain lags, stuck somewhere between sleep and reality. A couple of textbooks are flipped open on the desk in front of me, one page smeared with a suspicious wet patch that screams drool.
Ugh.
I quickly swipe at my mouth and the dampened page.
Under the soft glow of the desk lamp, my wedding ring twinkles, catching my eye. But it’s not just the jewelry that holds my attention—it’s the lines of ink peeking from beneath it. I shift the ring slightly, and my heart gives a stupid little pitter at the sight of Michael’s claim on me.
The tattoo.
It’s only been a few days since he inked my finger, and it’s already healed quite nicely. Michael removed the bandage just this morning, so seeing it bare still feels a little surreal. But I love it. I suppose I’ll get used to it with time—just like I’m slowly coming to terms with the fact that I’ve fallen in love with my husband. Although I’m too much of a coward to tell him.
I stretch as I push up from the chair, only to wince when a sharp cramp ripples through my lower back and stomach. Could it be menstrual cramps? The thought makes my heart trip over itself, and suddenly I’m too awake.
Menstrual cramps .
When was my last period?
I try to remember. I try really hard. And I… I can’t .
The last time was probably while I was still in Seattle, right before I met Michael.
No. No, no, no, no.
That’s impossible. I used the morning-after pill, and I’ve been taking my birth control religiously ever since.
I can’t be pregnant. I can’t.
I’m about to go into a full-blown panic attack when someone knocks on the door. “Sorry to interrupt your study session, Gia,” Gracie calls from the other side. “But there's someone at the gate asking for you.”
Someone wants to see me? My brow furrows as I cross the room and open the door. “Who is it?”
“I don’t know her,” the housekeeper answers, her expression pinched with uncertainty. “I’ve never seen her before.”
Not Elira, then. She’s been here twice since the pill incident. Gracie would recognize her.
So who the hell could it be?
An unfamiliar visitor sets off warning bells in my head, but curiosity wins out. I follow Gracie down the stairs to the security panel near the front door, and the camera feed displays a face that punches the air from my lungs—Marie Cabello.
Aldo’s wife. My aunt.
I’d almost forgotten I even had extended family, but here she stands, a living reminder that they still exist. “What the hell are you doing here?” I snap, hating the horrible memories her presence drags back to the surface.
On the screen, Aunt Marie looks right into the camera, hunching dramatically into the thin jacket around her shoulders as she shivers. “I–I ran away from Aldo, and I couldn’t think of where to go that he can’t reach except here. Please, let me in, Gigi.”
I go rigid.
The use of that nickname sends cold chills through me. Nothing good has ever followed that name. But then, it’s what everyone from that side of the family has always called me, so she probably doesn’t mean to tug on my trauma by using it. Probably…
“Gianna, please,” Aunt Marie sniffs and throws a quick, fearful glance over her shoulder. “I’m not sure, but I think I’m being followed, and if he catches up to me… I’m as good as dead.”
I don’t owe her anything.
No love lost between us.
But I remember what it’s like to be in her shoes—the gnawing fear, the suffocating paranoia, always looking over your shoulder for shadows.
It’s that memory that makes me do it.
Against every screaming instinct, I approve her entry into the house, letting her in.
I wait by the front door, watching the empty driveway for several endless minutes until her slim figure finally materializes on the long road. A small, stupid part of me itches to meet her halfway, but I crush it ruthlessly.
She can walk her own damn way here.
By giving her sanctuary at all, I’m already showing her way more kindness than she ever showed me. Not once did she lift a finger when I was suffering under her husband’s and son’s cruelty. She happily turned an ignorant ear to my plights—hell, and sometimes even seemed to derive pleasure from them.
So why now?
What made her run away from home?
“Thank you so much, Gigi,” she says as she finally reaches me, extending her hands like we’re long-lost relatives reuniting. I keep my arms firmly at my sides, meeting her gaze with ice in mine.
“Do not ever call me that again,” I snap, and she flinches like I slapped her. But something shifts in her eyes—something dark and cunning—but it’s so brief I gaslight myself into thinking I imagined it.
“Alright, I won’t,” she says meekly, trembling. Then she forces a weak smile. “I’m just so glad you let me in. I know I’ve done nothing to deserve your kindness, but you’re just so soft-hearted… just like your father was.”
Suspicion narrows my eyes. This is the first time she’s ever mentioned my dad to my face. But before I can ask what she means by that, she shivers again, and I reluctantly step aside. “Come on in.”
Gracie is waiting for us in the foyer. A subtle nod from me sends her melting into the background, though I can tell from the set of her shoulders she’s not completely at ease.
That makes two of us.
“Where is everybody?” Marie asks as I lead her into the living room and wait for her to sit down.
“Everybody?” I ask as I take a seat across from her.
“The Mad Hat–I-” She clears her throat abashedly when I skewer her with my glare. “Sorry, I meant Michael’s security. The people who are meant to protect us– you .”
My lips press together. I regret letting her in already. I hope this impulsive generosity doesn’t come back to bite me—or worse, Michael.
“Don’t worry about that,” I say flatly. “We’re well secured. What happened with Uncle Aldo? Why did you run away?”
She places trembling hands on her knees and bursts into tears. “Oh, don’t mention that monster. He blamed me for Dario’s death. Said our son died because I didn’t raise him well. And he’s been very… physical with his anger towards me.” Her voice wobbles as she sniffles. “Tonight, he started drinking with his friends in the house, and I overheard him telling them that he’ll s–send me to meet my son since I’m too old to give him another heir. He wants to marry a younger woman, Gia.” Her sobs intensify. “Oh, Gia, he’s so horrible.”
She continues sobbing, shoulders shaking emphatically, and I just watch her, detached. What does she expect? That I’ll rush to comfort her? Offer her my shoulder to cry on? After everything she allowed to happen to me under her roof?
Not fucking likely.
Besides, I doubt she’d appreciate that. The only reason she came here at all is because she had nowhere else to go.
I get up from my chair, clearing my throat awkwardly. “It’s okay. Let me just get us some tea.”
She glances up at me, teary-eyed, and I give her a stiff nod before turning towards the door.
But just as my hand closes around the handle, pain explodes through my neck, lightning-striking straight into my skull. I cry out, slapping my hand to the source as icy liquid floods my bloodstream, chilling me to the bones.
My heart stutters.
A thick syringe juts from my neck and I turn, movements already sluggish, to see Marie standing behind me, her face twisted with savage glee. Confusion swamps me as my vision swirls. “W–what arrr yew do-ing?” The words slur out. My limbs feel like lead. My heartbeat slows to a crawl.
Aunt Maria smirks, all traces of the cowering victim evaporated. “Don’t worry, Gigi . It’s not deadly—you don’t get to die yet. Not this easily anyway. It’s just something to knock you out. Makes transporting you out of here easier.”
She yanks the syringe from my neck with unnecessary violence, and my legs finally betray me. I collapse against the door, body crumpling into a useless heap. My arms won’t move. My legs won’t respond. My lungs struggle to keep up.
The ceiling sways—spinning, twisting.
Once.
Twice.
Then darkness devours me.
The voices drag me back to consciousness.
They’re loud. Annoying.
I try to raise my hands to cover my ears, to drown out their words, but my arms won’t respond. Neither will my legs when I try to stretch them.
What the…?
My mind claws through the haze, scrambling for awareness. I wake up the rest of the way, wincing from the bright lights in the room. My vision swims at first, eyes watering from the strain. But as clarity slowly returns, a pounding ache makes itself known from the back of my skull, radiating outwards until my skull feels like it might shatter.
I groan and squeeze my eyes shut, welcoming the temporary relief that comes with the darkness.
Then—silence.
The sharp bang of a door slamming makes me flinch.
I force my eyes open to see three figures walking in.
Aunt Marie.
Uncle Aldo.
Carlo.
Fuck.
Fear rips through me at the malevolence twisting their faces and the smug victory plastered across Aunt Marie’s features. I glance around, my vision finally adjusting. The familiarity of the room makes bile rise in my throat.
This is Uncle Aldo’s office, and I’m tied to one of the chairs.
The violent urge to thrash, to fight, is instant, and it takes everything in me to shove it down. Struggling won’t do shit except amuse them. I need to be level-headed.
I inhale through my nose, letting my glare settle on Aunt Marie. “What did you do? My husband will find out you took me. And when he does, he’ll kill you.” My voice is eerily calm, but it’s threaded with lethal promise. She flinches slightly, some of her bravado faltering.
“What? Like he killed poor Dario?” Uncle Aldo’s gaze darkens. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to kill you. I just need you here for a few hours, and you’ll be free to go back home.”
“What?” I frown. Why orchestrate this elaborate kidnapping only to release me? What’s he playing at? Is he trying to taunt me?
“Oh no, not the home you shared with Michael,” Carlo says with a smarmy smile. “Your new home. With me.” He nods at Aunt Maria, who scurries to the door and ushers in an older man dressed in judge's robes, complete with a ridiculous white wig.
Oh my God. They can’t be serious.
“The honorable justice will expedite your divorce with Michael and wed us,” Carlo finishes, and the man shifts uncomfortably.
I shake my head, my pulse hammering. “That’s impossible. Michael would need to sign the divorce papers for it to be legal and binding.”
“That’s where this comes in.” Uncle Aldo gestures to Aunt Marie, who takes out a flash drive from her pocket and waves it in the air like a trophy. “You see, Marie was able to procure Michael’s digital signature, and that’s more than enough, isn’t it?” He directs the question to the judge, who mumbles something under his breath.
My mouth falls open as my gaze ricochets between them—Uncle Aldo’s smug confidence, Aunt Marie’s vindictive glee, Carlo’s lecherous anticipation, and the judge’s shameful avoidance.
This can’t be happening.
It’s just a fever dream, right?
“All this,” I force out,” “just to get me married to Carlo? Michael and the rest of the Nightshades won’t take this lightly. If you wanted a connection that badly, all you had to do was apologize to me and Michael.”
Uncle Aldo throws his head back and laughs. “Oh, getting you married to Carlo is just a bonus—to clip your wings, not because I’m hungry for more power. And to silence any voice of resistance to the power I currently wield.”
Confusion churns in my gut. What the hell is he talking about? What resistance?
“But,” he continues, “that’s just the icing on the cake. The main deal today is the other information on that flash.”
Somehow, instinctively, I know this is all Aunt Marie’s doing. I face the older woman who now radiates pure malice—utterly transformed from the sobbing, frightened creature in my living room earlier this afternoon. Hell, was that even today? “What the hell did you do?” I ask again, but my voice isn’t as strong this time. Because deep down, I’m starting to realize—this might be one battle I won’t win.
She smirks, twirling the flash drive between her fingers. “Interesting, isn’t it? That Michael would keep such sensitive information on his computer. I wasn’t expecting to hit such a goldmine, but then again, his arrogance will be his downfall.”
A fresh wave of panic slams into me.
“What’s on that flash?” I demand angrily as I realize that no, this isn’t Aunt Marie’s fault at all, but mine for being such a fool and letting her into our home. Fucking dumbass.
“Nothing for you to worry about,” Aldo cuts in impatiently, “Now come on, let's get this ceremony over with.” He beckons at Carlo and the priest.
“Wrong, Aldo. She does have to worry about it.” Aunt Marie slithers towards me, her smile widening. “We’ve planted evidence that you stole this information from Michael’s laptop to share it with the man you’re cheating on Michael with, and in turn the man, who in this fictional story is our mole, handed the flash over to us.”
Cold sweat slicks down my spine and forehead as understanding dawns. “What are you talking about?” The question is pointless. I already know. I just need to hear it, need to understand exactly what I’m up against.
Uncle Aldo is only too happy to elaborate. “You see, the flash drive I gave my wife contained a little surprise—viruses that overrode Michael’s security on his devices and gave us access to a treasure trove of information on your husband. Damning information that you’re going to leak. And you’re going to take the fall for.”
No.
No, no, no.
“No.” I shake my head. “It’s not going to work. Michael knows I would never do anything to betray him. He knows I love him.” Except… I never told him, did I? A lump swells in my throat. Michael is too smart to be fooled like I was, right? He has to be .
“Does he now?” Uncle Aldo smirks and nods at Aunt Marie.
Before I can react, she grabs my right hand and rubs the flash all over my fingers. Horror floods me when I realize what she’s doing, and I start to thrash against my bonds, but it’s useless. I’m well and truly trapped.
Once she’s satisfied that my fingerprints are thoroughly imprinted on the drive, she retreats, and I watch, chest heaving as Uncle Aldo nods at the judge, who clears his throat and steps forward.
“We’re gathered here today to?—”
“None of that nonsense now,” my uncle cuts the man off sharply. “We all know why we’re here and that one of the parties isn’t willing. Skip the formalities.”
The judge's eyes flick to mine before quickly darting away. He opens his robe, revealing a suit underneath, and pulls out a stack of documents from his pocket. “I have with me here the lady’s divorce papers from her first husband and the marriage contract to her new husband.”
Oh God.
Dread suffocates me as sweat streams down my body.
This nightmare is real.
The judge hands what I assume must be the marriage contract to Carlo and Uncle Aldo. “I’ll need her signature on this.” He waves two papers up and starts walking towards me. “Her fingerprints will do just fine in this case since I doubt she’ll willingly sign anything.”
I curl my fingers into fists, shaking my head at him frantically. “No, please don’t. Please.”
The man doesn’t even look at my face as he kneels before me and tries to force my right hand open. I keep it clenched tight, so he switches to my left hand. That’s when, for the first time I notice— my ring is missing . Aunt Marie or someone else must have taken it off.
Then, suddenly, everything shifts.
The judge lets out a horrified gasp and stumbles back, falling on his ass, his face paling as if he’s just seen a ghost. I frown at him. What the hell is wrong with him?
His gaze is glued to my left hand—more specifically, to the tattoo on my ring finger.
He shakes his head violently. “I… I didn’t know she was married to the Mad Hatter.” His voice is barely a whisper. Then he scrambles to his feet like a man who’s just realized he’s standing on a landmine. “She’s Nightshade property. No. This—this is suicide, Carlo, and I won’t go down with you. I won’t do it.” With that, he spins on his heel and bolts out of the office.
I stay quiet, stunned by this unexpected turn.
Did that just?—?
What does this mean for me?
Is the cursed wedding… off? Are they going to let me go now?
Carlo curses viciously and runs after the judge, leaving me alone with my aunt and uncle. The latter walks forward and glares down at my finger. His face blanches. “You’re part of the Nightshades now?”
“Well… I married one,” I say slowly, confusion mingling with a flicker of hope. Who would have thought getting tattooed is the thing that would ultimately save me?
Uncle Aldo doesn’t like my answer. Not one damn bit. He draws his hand back and hits my face so hard my head whips to the side. My ears ring, my lip splits against my teeth, and the metallic tang of blood fills my mouth.
While my face is still turned, his phone pings with a notification.
He glances at the screen?—
And grins.
“Well, well, well, this is even better than I anticipated.” He lifts his gaze to mine, smug as hell. “Guess who’s about to see and condemn you in front of your husband now, Gigi?”
Before I can spit out a retort, pain lances through my neck.
The same sting as earlier.
Aunt Marie, damn her , has thrust the syringe into me again.
My vision winks out.