Chapter 13
GIANNA
As soon as he left, I rushed to the bathroom for a quick shower, even though not taking your time in the white marble tiled bathroom that adjoins this room should be a crime.
The view is of the ocean and the shower alone is about the size of my whole bathroom back home.
As for the bathtub, it’s practically a swimming pool.
But there was no time. As soon as I was done, I put on a pair of black sweats, rolled up my wet hair into a bun at the back of my head and went to work clearing up the bedroom.
The sleek black dress I wore last night is ruined and I got serious rush of desire and need for Matteo’s touch, or his cock more like, as I stuffed it under the bed.
As for the rest, between all the clothes and the boxes, bags, and packets they came in, the room really does look like a bomb went off in here.
A soft knock on the door comes and I’m not even halfway done putting everything right.
“Come in,” I call out and turn to the door, a big strand of my wet hair hanging down the side of my face because my makeshift bun came undone in my haste. I manage to release the rest of it before a woman walks in.
She’s about sixty years old, her long, almost black hair laced with grey and there’s stark surprise on her face at seeing me standing there, holding a pair of pumps in one hand, and combing out my wet hair with the fingers of the other.
Then she smiles, which makes her already beautiful face gorgeous. She walks to me and offers her hand.
“You must be Gianna,” she says. “I am Maria.”
I shake her hand, cringing as I realize mine is all soggy from touching my hair.
“Yes, Matteo said you would be coming,” I say, belatedly wiping my hand on my pants. “I’m sorry about the mess.”
“Did he also tell you I don’t like messes?”
I nod.
A very bemused smile stretches across her face. “That’s his little joke ever since I made him clean his own room that one time. But you don’t have to worry about cleaning all this up. I’m here now.”
“It’s no trouble,” I say and put the pumps I’m still holding into one of the boxes by my feet—the wrong box. “Have you worked for the family long?”
She nods. “A very long time. Since before the madam…”
The madam what? What madam?
But she doesn’t finish her sentence, and I don’t ask. She takes the box with the shoes from my hands and produces a phone from the pocket of her wide beige skirt.
“Matteo said you might like to call your sister,” she says, taking all my air.
I can’t believe he’d think of that. I thought I was going to have to wait until whenever I see him next and ask him to let me do that.
Even though I told him I’d never ask him for anything.
I told him that over and over last night.
Just so I didn’t have to feel so damn guilty for enjoying his company and the way he makes love to me so much.
“But I’m to take the phone right back after you do,” she adds apologetically, pity in her eyes as she gazes into my face.
I reach for the phone. “That’s OK. Do you know the number I should call?”
“Apparently it’s saved in there under your sister’s name,” she says. “And it’s not OK. He shouldn’t keep you locked up here like a pretty bird in a cage.”
“It’s fine—” I can’t believe I was just about to defend him and apparently neither can she, the shock in her dark eyes practically palpable.
“I mean, it could be worse,” I say and look around the room. “At least I have all these pretty clothes.”
I meant to be sarcastic, but I don’t think it came out that way and I have no idea why not.
She gives me another sad smile then points at the balcony. “You go out there and have a nice chat with your sister. It’s a lovely day today. And I’ll finish clearing up in here.”
I look down at the phone and do as she asks before I say anything else stupid. The line’s already ringing by the time I’m standing at the balcony railing, a slight breeze, smelling of the ocean, honeysuckle, and roses, caressing my face, and the sun warming my skin. It could definitely be worse.
But it could also be so much better.
And it does get better as Chiara answers the call. She sounds stronger, her voice almost like it always was.
“How are you?” I ask.
“I’m not a hundred percent yet, but I think the worst is finally over,” she says. “What took you so long to call? I’ve been waiting by the phone all morning.”
“Sorry, I just got the phone,” I say.
“How are mom and dad and Lidia?” she asks. “Did they get there all right?”
“Get where?”
“There… to LA,” she says. “Angelo says they arrived late last night.”
Whatever favor Matteo managed to win in my heart while I wasn’t paying attention is now mostly gone.
Even my sister’s monster husband keeps her updated on the things that are important to her, like the location and well-being of our family.
And here’s Matteo, telling me he loves me and that he’ll make sure everyone is safe…
but he doesn’t even tell me that they’re all in town.
“I didn’t know anything about that,” I say and sit down on one of the lounge chairs out here, ignoring all the dirt and debris that’s accumulated on it.
In fact, this whole balcony is dirty and full of rotten leaves, abandoned spiderwebs and assorted other filth.
Even the sun suddenly doesn’t feel so warm anymore.
“Tell him to let you see them,” she says. “He’ll do it if he feels even half as bad about me getting shot as Angelo does.”
“He told me he’s going to dangle me like a carrot so Dad will do what he wants him to do,” I say. A golden carrot, he called me that night at the hospital. “So I don’t think he’s going to let me see them.”
“Are you OK? Is he treating you well?” Chiara asks, sounding alarmed.
“Apart from keeping me locked up, he’s treating me better than I’ve ever been treated,” I say. “And I hate him even more for it.”
Chiara sighs, sounding like she’d been holding her breath.
“Use it,” she says. “He clearly has a lot of affection for you, so use it to get what you need. What we need. It’s the only way now.”
She sounds like she’s been thinking a lot about this.
“Is that your strategy with Angelo?” I ask, putting a lot of emphasis on her husband’s name.
“Yeah,” she says. “He wants to rule New York and I’m going to be his queen.
But not the kind he expects. Or desires.
Us women, we don’t get a lot of say in anything.
But we have a lot of power. And I mean to use all of mine to make him pay for everything he’s done to us.
You should do the same. They all underestimate us. ”
She’s speaking in a low tone, but her voice is heated despite it. And she sounds just like her old self, passionate about what she believes in, unafraid to say exactly what she means, full of sharp ideals and ideas.
I wish I had her fire. I wish I had her drive. I wish I truly hated Matteo like I just declared I do.
But the truth is… I still love him as much as I hate him.
And the only time I want to manipulate him is when I need him to give me the kind of pleasure that makes everything else go away.
“I’ll ask him to let me see our family,” I say.
“Don’t just ask, make it happen,” she says, and I promise her I will.
As to how, that’s another matter.
But I’ll find a way. I’ll figure it out.
Because despite the confused state of my mind and the two polar opposites of love and hate existing in my mind, there is only one reality.
And the reality is that I am locked up on the second floor of a mansion, allowed out only when my captor has the time and the wish to take me out, touched and kissed and fucked only when he wants it and I should stop pretending I see anything more in any of that.
Chiara tells me they’re releasing her from the hospital later this week. That she has the phone now, but can’t make outgoing calls and that I should call her back as soon as I have news.
I promise I will then end the call.
I return the phone to Maria as soon as I re-enter the bedroom. The room is neat and tidy now, all my new clothes in piles ready for laundering and dry cleaning. I want to mess it all up again. Trash this beautiful room, this beautiful prison filled with all my favorite things.
Because I want to stay right here. Forever.
And I want to make him pay for all he’s done to me. To my family. Pay in blood and pain.
But I don’t know which of those things I want more.
And it’s tearing my mind apart even as I stand here, returning Maria’s smile as she tells me to follow her to the kitchen for some lunch.
Why do my jailers have to be such nice people?
Why can’t I hate Matteo more than I love him?
Why am I so much weaker than everyone else in my family?