Chapter 33
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Alessia
Isabella is laughing at something Dante said to one of the maids yesterday, her hands moving while she talks, and I'm trying to pay attention but my mind keeps drifting back to last night.
I told Matteo everything. Every detail about that night and Matteo didn't flinch. Didn't look at me with disgust or horror or any of the reactions I'd been bracing myself for since the moment the confession started spilling out.
He looked at me like I was worth protecting.
The thought makes something warm curl in my chest, and I reach for my coffee cup to hide whatever expression is probably showing on my face right now.
The warmth seeps into my palms, and I take a sip, letting the familiar taste ground me.
Single shot of espresso with just a dash of milk, exactly how I like it.
"You're not listening to me at all, are you?" Isabella asks, but there's amusement in her voice instead of offense.
"I'm listening," I lie, and she laughs like she knows exactly what I'm thinking about.
I reach for the smoothie, pale purple and thick with berries and whatever else the kitchen puts in these things. Sweet but not too sweet, cold enough to make my teeth ache slightly. I love smoothies and I have no idea why I didn’t ask for one earlier.
The first sip goes down easy, just as her phone buzzes on the table, and she glances at the screen before her expression shifts to something more serious.
"I need to take this. Work thing with the foundation.
" She stands, smoothing down her dress. "I'll be back in ten minutes. Don't eat all the pastries."
"I promise to focus on my smoothie," I say, and she's already walking out with her phone pressed to her ear.
The room feels bigger when she leaves, quieter in a way that makes me notice the guards stationed by the door.
Romeo stands closest to me, his posture relaxed but alert, and Marco is near the entrance looking as rigid and unfriendly as always.
I still haven't forgiven him for what he said at the casino, but Matteo needs every man he has right now so I keep my mouth shut and my distance.
I take the glass again but the more I drink, the more I feel that something is off.
Not the taste exactly, but something underneath the sweetness makes my tongue feel thick in my mouth. I set the glass down and press my fingers to my temples because suddenly the sunlight pouring through the windows seems too bright, too harsh, like someone turned up the intensity without warning.
My vision swims at the edges, and I blink hard trying to clear it, but that just makes everything worse. The room tilts sideways, or maybe I'm the one tilting, and I grab the edge of the table to steady myself because the floor suddenly feels very far away.
I know this feeling. I know this dizzy, floating sensation from the handful of times I’ve had painkillers which is exactly why I avoid them, especially in big doses.
The same heavy fog that wraps around my thoughts and makes my limbs stop responding properly, the same sensation of being trapped inside a body that doesn’t do what I tell it to.
Oh God. Oh God no…
"Signora" Romeo's voice sounds like it's coming from underwater. "Are you alright?"
I try to answer, try to tell him something's wrong, but my tongue won't form the words correctly. They come out slurred and broken, meaningless sounds instead of language.
Stand up! Get help! My brain is screaming commands but my body isn't listening, my legs have gone completely useless, and I'm falling before I can stop it.
Romeo catches me before I hit the ground, his hands under my arms holding me up even though my body has gone completely limp and useless.
I try to focus on his face, try to tell him I've been drugged, that someone put something in my drink, but the words dissolve before they reach my mouth.
My vision narrows to a pinpoint of light surrounded by spreading darkness, and I can feel myself slipping away even though I'm fighting it with everything I have.
No, no, no this can't be happening.
But my body doesn't care what I want. The darkness swallows everything, and I fall into it like dropping into deep water with weights tied to my ankles.
My head is splitting open—that's what it feels like when consciousness drags me back up from nothing—like someone took an axe to my skull and is still hacking away at it. My mouth tastes like copper and chemicals, and it’s so bitter that my stomach heaves.
I try to move but something holds my wrists in place. The realization cuts through the fog still clouding my thoughts—I'm restrained.
My eyes won't open properly at first but I force them apart through sheer willpower, and the world that comes into focus is wrong in every possible way.
This isn't Matteo's bedroom. This isn't anywhere in his estate that I've seen before.
The walls are bare concrete, gray and water-stained, and the only light comes from a single bulb hanging from the ceiling that swings slightly even though there's no breeze.
The air tastes stale and damp, like being underground or somewhere that hasn't seen fresh air in a very long time.
I'm sitting in a chair, my wrists bound to the armrests with something that bites into my skin when I test it, probably zip ties from the way they feel.
My ankles are secured to the chair legs in the same way, and when I try to shift my weight, the chair doesn't budge because it's bolted to the floor.
My pulse hammers in my wrists where the restraints cut into flesh, and I can feel panic trying to claw its way up my throat but I force it down. I need to think, need to figure out where I am and who took me and how I'm going to get out of here before whatever's coming next happens.
The room is small, maybe ten feet square, with a metal door on the far wall that looks heavy enough to be soundproof.
No windows, no other furniture except my chair.
Nothing I can use as a weapon even if I could get my hands free, which I can't because whoever tied these restraints knew what they were doing.
I hear footsteps outside the door and my whole body goes rigid because whoever drugged me and brought me here is about to walk through that door and I have no way to defend myself, no way to fight back, nothing except whatever's left of my voice after being unconscious.
The door opens with a squeal of hinges that haven't been oiled in too long, and light spills in from the hallway beyond, silhouetting the figure that enters.
I can't see their face at first, can't make out anything except their general shape, but something about the way they move makes my stomach drop through the floor.
The door closes, cutting off the light from the hallway, and the single bulb overhead swings enough to illuminate his face.
Lorenzo.
My dead husband stands in front of me, very much alive, with that smile I know too well curving across his lips.
"You've always loved to sleep, bambola mia.”