7. Marisol
7
MARISOL
Moretti finds me about a mile outside of the Rossi’s home.
It’s amazing, truly, how fast he is. One second I’m walking down the road, completely alone, and then the next, there’s a dark shape in front of me.
If he wants to startle me, though, he’s going to have to work a hell of a lot harder than that.
“I’m here,” I say softly. “I’m here, and you can take me to him.”
Predictably, Moretti doesn’t say anything.
I’m certain he is capable of speech. He’s spoken in front of me before.
I think.
He doesn’t often do it, though. Moretti is a man of few words, which works for me.
He doesn’t need to speak .
And neither do I.
Without another word, he escorts me to a blacked out Dodge Charger. I raise my eyebrows at it. “Seems a little obvious, no?”
“It’s a police vehicle,” he says, his words heavily accented, showing his Italian upbringing.
I raise my eyebrows. “And that’s less conspicuous?”
“They aren’t looking for it,” he replies.
Okay then.
Moretti opens the passenger door for me and I get in. I buckle, and he slides into the driver’s seat, starting the vehicle with a throaty roar.
He slams his foot down on the accelerator, confident and controlled, and we’re out.
We don’t speak.
The private airstrip is an hour away. I’m surprised Moretti hasn’t blindfolded me, but I’m not going to say anything about it.
I guess it would be kind of weird if he had to explain it. Especially since the passport he hands me lists that we’re married, a couple heading back to Brazil after our honeymoon.
God.
It’s like some kind of sick joke.
What’s amazing is that as soon as it’s assumed I’m Moretti’s new wife, no one looks at us twice. They don’t notice that there’s absolutely zero affection between us. No one makes any comment on the fact that Moretti and I barely speak .
I don’t know why I’m expecting more.
I’ve never seen a marriage that has affection, so I guess it’s normal enough for everyone.
That’s not true.
Elio and Caterina seem to like each other. Same with Gia and Sal, who I know are more than just affectionate.
Sal was willing to take on my father to rescue Gia.
That’s more than just affection. That’s devotion.
Moretti jerks his head, signaling that I need to get to the plane. We board, with suitcases that contain absolutely nothing for me, but make a convincing enough front that again, no one says anything.
When the plane takes off, my thoughts return to Sal and Gia.
Devotion.
Could Dino be capable of…
No. Stop. It doesn’t matter.
I shut my eyes tight, trying to hold back the tears pressing against my lids.
It doesn’t matter what Sal and Gia have, or if Dino is capable of giving that to a lover.
It doesn’t matter because I can never be his.
And he can never be mine.
When we get to Brasilia, my mood darkens.
I don’t realize how evident it is until Moretti turns to me, one hand on the wheel as the car curves towards my father’s estate.
“Stop,” he says quietly.
I tilt my head. “Stop what?”
“Being nervous.”
“I’m not nervous,” I respond. I am, but I don’t want my father’s guard dog to know that.
He looks at me, his dark eyes too astute, too knowing, and I look out the window.
The road rushes by, but I can’t stop myself. I pick at the edge of my pants. My father needs me, I know, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to be happy to see me.
I need to get myself under control. We’re entering the final checkpoint when Moretti speaks again.
“I will stop him if he tries to hurt you.”
My head snaps back to look at him. “What?”
But Moretti doesn’t respond. He rolls down the window to talk to the guard, and doesn’t say anything to me.
Andrei Moretti is a robot. He doesn’t have feelings. My father hired him as his assassin and go-to support because if there’s one person on earth more unhinged than my father, it’s Andrei Moretti.
I will stop him if he tries to hurt you.
We’re basically at the front gate. Andrei turns the car off, and goes to unbuckle.
“I need to free my mom,” I whisper.
His hand pauses on the buckle.
Neither of us are looking at each other.
I don’t even know why I’m saying this. Moretti could be lying to me. He could have said that to me to gain my trust, so that I don’t try to run again.
However, given that Moretti hasn’t hurt me yet, and the fact that he’s been… It feels like the bar is in hell to say that he’s been kind, because he hasn’t.
But he’s a man of so few words, I can’t imagine that he would use them on a lie.
So I take a deep breath, and say what’s on the tip of my tongue. “I need to get my mom out of here. That’s my plan. I’ll come willingly. I’ll do whatever I have to. I’ll be his doll. But I need my mother to walk out of this place. Alive,” I add.
His hand wavers. “I don’t know…”
“That’s what I’m doing. You can try to keep him from hurting me if you can, but if it comes down to pain in exchange for my mother’s freedom, I’ll take the pain,” I whisper.
I don’t give him a chance to respond. I unbuckle, open the door, and pause.
The door snaps open and Moretti follows me.
I take two seconds to adjust myself. I’m still wearing the same clothes from when I left the Rossi estate. They’re nothing but workout attire.
However, that doesn’t mean I’m going to walk in like I’m ashamed .
I throw my shoulders back, tilting my head forward. When I stride into my father’s home, it’s as though I own the place.
As if I am the Mafia princess he’s making me out to be, and this is the castle that I’ve always been promised.
The guards melt to the side, and I feel Moretti at my back like a stalking panther. When I push the doors to the house open, there’s no lock on them.
They bang against the walls.
“Papai,” I say, the cutesy term sour on my tongue. “I’m back.”
For a minute there’s silence.
Stunned, presumably.
Then my father belts out a laugh.
I take the time to assess the situation. My mother, to my relief, is sitting at the dining room table with him. She looks pale, but unharmed, and she’s looking at me with an arched eyebrow.
I smile at her. “M?e, you’re looking well.”
“And you, my beautiful daughter,” she purrs.
Benicio finally stops laughing. “And you think you can just what? Waltz back in here and pretend that you did not run from me? That you did not cause the death of so many of my men?”
“It’s hardly my fault that they were incompetent, Papai,” I snort.
This is the game with my father. Any sign of weakness,which he can sniff out like a bloodhound, he will take and he will squeeze between his fingertips until he pops it like a pimple. His specialty is to cause pain, which he seems to take pleasure in doling out.
My mother warned me of this, many times.
So yes. I am absolutely going to pretend that I didn’t run. I’m going to make the whole thing seem like a game. He has largely forgotten that I have two children, after all.
I’m going to make sure he doesn’t remember.
With my shoulders still held back and my head up high, I sidle into the seat next to my mother. She leans my way, her knee barely brushing mine.
She’s shaking.
My heart sinks.
“Papai, how am I to trust that someone can well and truly win my hand if it is so easy for me to escape?” I ask casually.
He snorts. “Easy? No, Marisol. It was not easy.”
“It was easy enough.”
“Only because that Italian bitch brought you out of here!” he snarls.
My mother freezes, and I bump her knee with mine.
I know well how to handle his rages.
“Easy enough. And I’ll do it again, if I have to prove my point.”
“And what point is that, Marisol?” he sneers.
Casually, I pick up a fork and stab the chicken sitting in the middle of the table. “That those guards were not worthy of your employ. ”
“Marisol,” he growls. “I am not in a position to lose the men I have, which you well know.”
I do.
I shrug. “Then I will leave again.”
“Your mother will die if you do.”
M?e laughs at that. “You couldn’t kill me if you wanted to, Benicio.”
“Watch me, Isadora.”
My mother mutters in her native Spanish, which usually means she’s plotting something.
She told me she thinks better in Spanish.
That’s good.
“How about this, Papai,” I say casually. “If you let M?e go, I’ll agree to your stupid plan.”
“You’ll agree to it either way, you ungrateful, unworthy child,” he spits.
Interestingly, my father never calls me names. Not truly. He calls me all kinds of things, but he’ll call my half siblings ‘bitch’ or ‘bastard’ about a hundred times in a sentence.
Again, for some reason, I am his favorite, and we have no idea why.
“Perhaps. But imagine, when I escape again, and M?e stabs you through the heart, how you’ll feel then, knowing you could have simply made this deal.”
“There is no deal to be made,” he growls.
I look at my mother, who shakes her head slightly .
Then, my eyes slide to Moretti.
I take a deep, steadying breath.
Please forgive me, Andrei, and please, for the love of God, don’t betray me either.
“Let mother go.”
“No.”
“Let mother go, and I’ll make your marriage competition even more interesting.”
Benicio looks at me.
I can feel Moretti’s eyes burning a hole in my shoulder. I slice my chicken, neatly and into small pieces, showing off the fancy etiquette lessons my father paid for me to attend in Paris as a teenager.
“Let mother go, and I’ll add a complication to your trials. Moretti will serve as my champion. Anyone who gets through your games has to get through mine,” I say softly.
There’s silence in the room.
“Think of it, father. It was so easy for me to leave. So easy for the Rossi’s to find me here. So easy to just walk out. The rumors. The holes in your security. You wouldn’t want them to think you weak. But with Andrei as my champion, he’ll be unstoppable. Truly, the only ones who can defeat him would be the ones you’d want as a son-in-law, no?”
His eyes narrow. “What makes you think that I had not planned to do that anyway?”
“It doesn’t matter. Moretti already swore his loyalty to me, and agrees that this idea will be the best for the organization. ”
This is where I need Andrei to follow my lead. You told me you wanted to help. You told me that you would keep him from hurting me. This is the only way. Please, I mentally beg him.
It’s a leap of faith. Moretti doesn’t owe me anything. He has no reason to do this.
But my relief when he speaks is so great, I almost sag in my chair.
“I will do this,” he says in that thick Italian accent. “It will make it seem as though you are stronger than you are. The security is too weak. If I walk among the competitors, I can find the strongest one. And then they must get past me,” he adds.
I look at my mom. Her eyes are round.
Benicio nods. “Isadora, pack your things. Marisol, you have a deal.”
Thank you.