14. Adriana
ADRIANA
Everything starts to blur together after that night.
I don't let Lachlan touch me again, but I watch him with Matteo, and I don't know what to feel anymore.
Matteo is wary and nervous around him, but after a few bids to spend time together on Lachlan's part, he relents at least enough to let Lachlan talk to him and suggest activities.
The phone isn't returned to him, and I look through Matteo's room every day while he's showering or eating breakfast to make sure that nothing else has found its way into his belongings that I don't know about.
Lachlan questioned all of his men, but no one else knows anything about it, either.
And I'm at a loss, caught between what Lachlan wants for us—and what a part of me that I buried long ago still wants—and the fear that trying to have this will cause our worlds to come crumbling down again.
I don't know how to reconcile the man who sits on the floor building Lego sets with my son, his voice patient as he explains how the pieces fit together, with the man who comes home with blood under his fingernails and killed men to get me back.
Matteo stays nervous. He sits across from Lachlan at the dining table during meals, his shoulders hunched and his gaze darting between us like he's waiting for something terrible to happen.
But Lachlan doesn't push. He just talks to him about places to go in Chicago, the movies Matteo likes, even what he wants to be when he grows up.
When Matteo says he wants to be an astronaut, scoffing at the end of it like it's a silly dream, Lachlan looks at him seriously.
"Yeah?" Lachlan leans forward, his elbows on the table. "That's a good choice. You'd be good at that. You're smart, and you're brave."
"I'm not brave." Matteo's voice drops, and he stares at his plate, pushing his food around with his fork. "Uncle Gio said brave boys don't cry. And I cry all the time."
The silence that follows is heavy, and I can see Lachlan's jaw tighten.
But when he speaks, his voice is soft and careful.
"Your Uncle Gio was wrong. Being brave doesn't mean you don't cry.
It means you keep going even when you're scared.
Even when things are hard. And you've been doing that every day that I've known you so far.
That makes you one of the bravest people I know. "
Matteo looks up at him, his eyes wide and uncertain, and I can see him struggling with the possibility that Lachlan might not be the monster Gio painted him as.
And I hate that it makes me feel something too.
Watching Lachlan with my son—our son—melts something inside of me.
It makes me long for the things we could have had, the family we could have been.
I watch them together in the living room later that afternoon, Matteo sprawled on the couch with a book while Lachlan sits in the armchair across from him, working on his laptop. There's no conversation, no interaction, but it feels almost comfortable. I could get used to this.
I shouldn't get used to this.
Getting used to it means loss. It means breaking my heart all over again when Lachlan is inevitably taken from us. It means my son never escaping this world of violence and blood, and there will have to be so much more in order for Lachlan to keep us.
This is breaking me apart, and I have no idea what to do.
Every time I see a glimpse of the boy I loved—the one who used to hold my hand and ask me for kisses and whisper with me about how we'd run away together—it's immediately followed by the reality of who he's become.
The tattoos that cover his arms, the scars that crisscross his knuckles, the way his men defer to him with a mixture of respect and fear, the way he gives orders without hesitation, the way he moves through the world now like he owns it.
He's not the boy I loved. He's a man who kills people. A man who runs a criminal empire. A man who kidnapped me and my son.
But he's also the man who sits on the floor with Matteo and builds Lego spaceships. Who makes sure there's food Matteo likes in the kitchen. Who checks on him at night to make sure he's sleeping okay.
I don't know if both can exist in the same person. I've never seen it before, and I don't know how to believe in it now.
—
I'm in the kitchen making ham sandwiches for myself and Matteo to take up to the rooftop pool later in the afternoon when I hear a sudden, sharp noise that sends me dropping to the floor. I freeze, my heart slamming against my ribs as my brain tries to process what just happened.
Then I hear more gunfire, rapid and relentless, the sound of automatic weapons tearing through the air. I can hear shouting, men's voices barking orders, and underneath it all, the high-pitched wail of the building's alarm system.
"Matteo." His name tears out of my throat, and I come unstuck, bolting up from the floor, my bare feet slapping against the hardwood as I race toward the movie room where I left him watching TV.
He's not there.
"Matteo!" I scream his name, panic clawing at my chest. I can hear more gunfire, closer this time, and the sound of glass shattering somewhere. "Matteo, where are you?"
"Mama!" His voice is high and terrified, coming from the hallway, and I run toward it, my vision tunneling, my entire world narrowing to the sound of my son's fear.
I find him in his bedroom, pressed against the wall beside his bed, his hands over his ears and his face streaked with tears. I drop to my knees in front of him, reaching for him, and he throws himself into my arms, sobbing.
"It's okay," I whisper, even though it's not. I can still hear the gunfire and the shouting, and that means nothing is okay. "It's okay, baby, I've got you. I've got you."
Another explosion of sound rocks the building, and Matteo screams, his fingers digging into my shoulders. I pull him closer, wrapping my body around his, trying to shield him from whatever's happening out there.
The door slams open, and I look up to see Lachlan, his gun drawn, his face hard and focused.
There's blood on his shirt, splattered across his chest, and I don't know if it's his or someone else's.
"Stay here," he says, his voice clipped and commanding.
"Don't move. Don't open the door for anyone but me. "
"What's happening?" My voice is shaking. I hate how small and helpless I sound.
"Gio." The name is a curse on his lips. "He's made his move, and he's hitting us hard. I need to get to my men. Lock the door behind me. Don't open it until I come back."
He's gone before I can respond, the door slamming shut behind him, and I'm left alone with Matteo, the sound of gunfire echoing through the penthouse.
I don't know how long we stay like that. Time loses meaning when you're waiting to die, and I feel sure that's what's coming for us. If not right now, then soon, when Gio finds us and drags us back. Maybe not for Matteo, but what Gio will have planned for him is almost worse. And for me…
Whatever he has planned for me won't be quick, I'm sure of that.
The gunfire eventually stops, replaced by an eerie silence that leaves my ears ringing.
I can hear voices in the hallway, then footsteps, and the sound of something heavy being dragged across the floor.
Matteo is still crying, his face buried in my shoulder, and I'm whispering nonsense to him, trying to keep him calm, trying to keep myself from falling apart.
I have no idea who the footsteps belong to, if they're Lachlan and his men or Gio and his, and I won't know until it's too late.
When the door opens again, I flinch back, my arms tightening around Matteo, but it's Lachlan. He's covered in blood now, his face grim, and there's a hard anger in his eyes that makes my stomach drop. "It's over," he says, and his voice is exhausted. "They're gone."
"Is anyone—" I can't finish the question.
"Three of my men are injured. One's critical." He runs a hand through his hair, leaving a streak of blood behind. "But we held them off. They didn't get inside."
I nod, my throat too tight to speak. I notice Matteo has gone still in my arms. Too still.
"Matteo?" I pull back, trying to see his face, and that's when I see the blood. It's soaking through his shirt, spreading across his side, and my brain can't process it at first. Can't understand what I'm seeing.
"Matteo." My voice is high and panicked, and I pull his shirt up with shaking hands. There's a large piece of glass embedded in his skin under his ribs, and I realize with horror that I was so terrified that I didn't see it, and he was so scared that he didn't tell me. "Matteo, what happened?"
"I was scared," he mumbles. "I had my drink in the movie room, and I dropped it because of all the noise. And I ran to get you. I was scared, and I fell… it hurts, Mama…"
"Lachlan—" I gasp his name, horror flooding through me.
It's not a direct result of what just happened…
children have accidents all the time, but I can't help connecting it in my head.
Matteo was terrified again, because we were under attack, and he was hurt.
And I didn't even see because I was so panicked.
"He's bleeding—" I can feel myself going pale, my hands shaking, and Lachlan presses one palm to my shoulder before he reaches for our son.
"Let me see." His voice is calm as he examines the wound. "It's not deep. He's going to be okay. We need to get him to a doctor, but he's going to be okay, Adriana. I promise. I'm going to take care of him."
Matteo is crying again, his face pale and twisted with pain, and when Lachlan tries to lift him, he screams. "No! Don't touch me! Get away from me!"
"Matteo, I'm trying to help—"
"You did this!" Matteo's voice is broken, and he thrashes, trying to get away from Lachlan. "Uncle Gio said you'd hurt us! He said you were bad! And now I'm bleeding, and it's your fault!"