Chapter 8
Madelene
“That’s not the point,” I hear Alessio growl into the phone.
I deduced very quickly that the call is from his father, and the man isn’t happy about this entire situation.
The yelling I catch every once in a while from the other end tells me he’s not an emotional wreck over the news of his son’s death.
Maybe the family has seen and taken part in so many deaths that even the loss of one closest to them doesn’t register the same way it does with normal people.
Alessio’s face turns a variety of shades of red as the call continues.
More than once, I’ve felt his eyes on me as I sit on the couch.
It’s where he pointed when we got back from his meeting with Raul Cortez.
If I had to guess, Lucian is more livid about the boys going against his direct orders about building a relationship with the cartel than anything else.
Even Alessio seems angrier about the audacity someone had in killing his brother than lost to grief over it happening.
Last night went nothing like I expected. The door to my room didn’t open once. I know this because I stayed awake all night, fearful of Alessio’s return to the hotel.
The man has barely said a word to me. Although it’s not unusual for him to ignore me, he’s definitely looking at me more often than usual.
I feel the suspicion in his eyes, feel the blame. His anger hasn’t been directed at me in any other way, but I know it’s only a matter of time.
Alessio speaks of revenge and retribution, of disrespect and how this will look for people back home as he raises and lowers his voice to a growl, speaking with his father. I hear him confirm his need for reinforcements from Chicago, requesting men from New York and Boston as well.
I’m honestly surprised that Lucian hasn’t demanded that he come home.
I know the blame for this will be placed on Alessio’s shoulders.
His father is a brutal man. He thinks all the bad that happens is Alessio’s fault.
He’s second-in-command and shit rolls downhill.
If something happens that Lucian feels could’ve been avoided, even if it would require being a mind reader or predicting the future, the fault lands on his oldest son.
Alessio speaks of family and respect as the call continues. By the time it ends, he seems more upset than he was last night when he pulled me out of the SUV covered in parts of his brother.
He grips his phone, leaning his head back as he stares up at the ceiling. A calm, controlled Alessio is a terrifying thing. Anyone can rant and rave to get their point across. When the world is in utter chaos and someone stays calm, that’s when you know they’re a threat.
I swallow as I watch him pace, longing for my phone as I watch him put his in the pocket of his slacks.
My phone was in my purse in the vehicle last night.
I didn’t even consider grabbing it before leaving the scene.
I know better than to ask for it, despite having daily contact with my father being one of the conditions of this fucked-up arrangement our families have.
It wouldn’t surprise me if Alessio wasn’t planning to text my father, pretending to be me.
It wouldn’t be the first time I was punished this way.
My fingers grow extremely interesting as one of the men enters the living area of the suite. I sense more than see him approach Alessio. The conversation they have is spoken much too low for me to decipher.
I happen to look up at the same second Alessio looks over at me, but I’ve learned not to dart my eyes away.
Playing stupid never works out in my favor.
It’s a fine line between not acting afraid and being scared just enough that the man doesn’t see it as a challenge, but I know my time is limited in that regard.
“Leave,” Alessio says, his upper lip twitching in barely caged rage.
I stand immediately, walking toward the front of the room.
Before last night, it wouldn’t be unheard of for me to take a walk outside even when traveling. The Severinos know I’d never walk away from them. It would guarantee my father’s death, something I’ve been diligent to avoid triggering.
The guard standing there stiffens when I approach, and the action hits me like a ton of bricks.
I wasn’t crazy, thinking I was being looked at with suspicion.
What kept me with Alessio and Marcello was loyalty to my family.
My father spoke of it often, told me on numerous occasions that he and I are the only ones left.
With our deaths, our entire family dies.
It’s the ultimate insult for us, and the biggest victory for those wiping us from the face of the earth.
Maybe it’s pride and the sense of family instilled in me by my mother that has kept me standing strong rather than giving in to the same urges that took my brother away.
I look up at Julio, but his eyes are over my shoulder, across the room in Alessio’s direction.
He doesn’t have to tell me that it’s more than a vow that’s now holding me prisoner.
Instead of pressing an issue I know I’ll never win, I turn back in the other direction, avoiding eye contact with Alessio, and step inside the bedroom designated to me.
I close the door softly, wondering if it will trigger the beast in Alessio.
I don’t know if he’ll translate it to mean I’m giving him privacy or demanding some of my own.
He could take it either way. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve closed the door and been accused of hiding things.
Leaving it open could also bring on accusations of being nosy.
I’ve been called my father’s spy more times than I can count.
I can literally do nothing right because they’ll twist my behaviors to suit their moods.
I sit on the bed, waiting for the door to swing open, but it never does.
I spend the first couple of hours terrified about what will happen, and although I calm some after that, I never settle into a false sense of security.
Adrenaline keeps me awake until the early hours of the evening, but eventually the exhaustion carries me into sleep.
I spend the next two days in that room, my meals being brought to me wordlessly by Julio.
I don’t know what to think of Alessio’s absence, but I know better than to think that it means he’s given up whatever assumptions he’s made about me.
From inside the room, I can tell from chatter and the rise and fall of voices that reinforcements have arrived from the States.
It’s the morning of the second day when my door opens, but Julio doesn’t have a tray from room service in his hands as he steps inside uninvited.
My jaw clenches, a threat I doubt would be valid now on the tip of my tongue. He wouldn’t test Alessio in this way, stepping into my space, if he didn’t feel like it was allowed, as if I’ve lost all protection.
My skin pebbles with gooseflesh as I watch his eyes scan the room.
“You need to pack your things.”
“Are we going home?”
I don’t have the illusion that I’m safe in either location.
Instead of answering, he simply turns around and walks out, leaving the door standing open for the first time in two days.
I consider that maybe this was Alessio’s goal the entire time as I try to pack my things with shaking hands.
My nerves are tattered, my thoughts racing as I zip up my small suitcase.
We’ve already been here longer than I expected, meaning I’m running dangerously low on clothes.
I know better than to bring up such a trivial thing at a time like this.
If we were back home, I’d place an order online and not a single eye would be batted at things being delivered.
I’m supposed to look the part of a spoiled Mafia princess.
Buying things has never once been a complaint of theirs, but I don’t even have access to do that here.
My phone still hasn’t been returned, but its absence is more of an inconvenience than anything else.
I would never message or call anyone I wasn’t allowed to.
I’ve seen too often them following through with their threats to take that chance.
I see nothing but Alessio’s back as I leave the room, pulling my suitcase behind me. I know I’m going to be forced to face him eventually, so I know better than to feel grateful with the reprieve right now.