Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
PRIEST
T herapy with Dr. Anna Violet Freud, who for unknown reasons sometimes went by Violet and other times as Anna, was no small or cheap feat.
Her Ph.D. from Harvard hung behind her, the evidence of her accomplishments undeniable. Nobody else between the States and Italy was good enough to deal with this shit. Or maybe Dr. Freud’s forays into the minds running the criminal underworld gave her a specific set of skills. From the sounds of it, she’d been treating more than a few people in my circles.
A week had passed since I left Ireland and my wife behind. It wasn’t a goodbye, though. I meant what I said to her that day. But it was the reason I found myself sitting in this room in Trieste, Italy, working out my shit so I could see her—have her—again.
Until then, I’d watch her from a distance. I’d purchased the Irish security company that had a monopoly in the country and could penetrate every corner of the island with the exception of people’s homes. It was the best thing—for now—to contain my restlessness and worry over her.
Dr. Freud’s voice interrupted my thoughts with her next request.
“If you could say one thing to your parents, with no consequences or judgment, what would it be?”
The clock’s ticking was the only sound in the room while Aisling, Papà, Dante, and I sat in a semicircle.
I reclined in my chair, resting an ankle on my knee as I contemplated her exercise. The air around me was thick with the unspoken deeds that were trapped in my soul.
Just as I opened my mouth to utter a white lie, my eyes narrowed. You need to work out your own problems and secrets. For your sake, Christian. So you can find happiness.
I would do this for her. For us. For me .
Running a thoughtful hand across my jaw, I admitted the truth.
“I hated Vittoria. I hate Aisling too.” It was the truth, but not the whole truth. Dr. Freud couldn’t stop a spark of surprise from lighting in her eyes. Aisling’s lip quivered, but she remained seated, clutching her skirt. “A discontent between children and parents is hardly a novelty,” I mocked lightly.
Dr. Freud’s lips quirked, and to hide her reaction, she dropped her attention to her lap where an empty file lay.
“Tell me why, Christian,” Aisling asked, her eyes locked on me. “I’m tired of tiptoeing around you, desperate to get into your good graces. Yet, the only thing I’m running into are brick walls.” I gave her a blank look and her gaze wavered, but she powered on. “You’re buried so deep into your shell, I don’t know how to reach you.”
I focused on a dot on the wall right behind her and suddenly hated myself. Aisling’s last sentence fucked me over, an echo of similar words that Ivy uttered.
I hadn’t been a good man for a long time. However, I’d learned at too young of an age that the world was a dark place. I’d become so tainted that I started to believe darkness was the status quo. Only… as I sat here, my ears ringing, I realized I could get back to the light, and maybe this world I ruled could be gray.
“When children lack protection, or their parents are absent in times of need, resentment can form and follow them into adulthood,” Dr. Freud supplied tentatively.
Papà raised a brow. “That’s impossible. My sons were protected at all costs.”
Dr. Freud didn’t even spare him a glance, her eyes locked on me. “I’d like to give your sons the floor.”
When I didn’t answer, Dante cleared his voice. “Mother… Vittoria… was a vindictive bitch. She hated Christian because he was a reminder of Papà’s infidelity, and she hated me because I looked like him. She… wielded her power over us, as you shrinks might say. But really, she fucking terrorized us.” He cleared his throat and brushed a nonexistent piece of lint off his shirt. He might seem unaffected, but I knew my brother.
“Physical abuse?” Dr. Freud asked while Papà and Aisling sat frozen, unable to process Dante’s words. “Or sexual?”
“Physical,” gritted Dante at the same time I clenched my teeth and said, “Both.”
And there it was, out in the open. There was no retracting those words.
Aisling’s gaze whipped to Papà’s, but he just turned to me and then Dante, horrified. A sardonic feeling pulled in my chest that he could have been so fucking blind. We were rough as boys, but not even the clumsiest person in the world got as many bruises as we had growing up.
“How is that possible?” Aisling questioned, her eyes darting between Papà and me, then back to Papà. “Frank, you promised nothing would happen to him.” Her breathing labored slightly. “You promised.”
Before he had a chance to answer, I did. “She gave carte blanche to Father Gabriel.”
Dr. Freud fidgeted, averting her gaze and crossing her legs. For a moment, we simply stared at each other in silence as unspoken words bounced off the walls. I could almost hear the pitter-patter of every heart as we all stared at each other in thick silence.
This was me no longer hiding. This was me going for the heart: my wife’s. The fire in my chest stole my breath.
“Why didn’t you say something?” Papà’s voice shook and so did his hands.
I looked out the window, running a hand across my jaw while Dante’s thoughtful gaze settled on my face.
“Vittoria swore she’d kill you if we did,” my brother answered. “Kill us too.”
“No wonder you hate me,” Aisling whispered. “Did Vittoria—” She swallowed, then tried again. “Did she—” An audible gulp sounded in the room. “Did she touch you too?”
One corner of my lips lifted, although there wasn’t an ounce of humor in my body. “Don’t worry. Every person who touched me without my permission is dead.”
The bomb dropped, and in its wake were harsh breaths and soft sobs. I didn’t want anyone’s pity. I wanted—needed—to get my mind fixed so I could win my wife back. The alternative was unfathomable. Dangerous.
“You should have told me,” Papà said, suddenly sounding decades older. “I would have ended that bitch.”
I shared a look with my brother and could see my thoughts reflected in his eyes. We can’t change the past. All we could focus on was on the future. But we both knew it was easier said than done.
“Not to worry,” I grumbled. “She got hers.” For fucking years. But there was no need to get into specifics.
Papà stared at us for a silent beat. “Her death… the fire… wasn’t an accident?”
I raised a brow but remained silent. It was best he came to his own conclusions. Plus, I knew enough about doctor-patient confidentiality to trust Dr. Freud, but I wasn’t in the mood to test her limits.
“Good, she deserved nothing better,” Aisling said breathlessly, her thoughtful gaze settled on my face.
My eyes met hers. “I need you to stop trying so hard. I can’t give you what you want.”
“You don’t even know what I want.”
My jaw tightened. “You want a son, a relationship. But every time I look at you, I remember Vittoria and all the shit she put Dante and me through. And you’re the one who put us in that position in the first place.”
“Maybe I can help,” offered Dr. Freud.
“I don’t need help.” I’d never uttered a more ridiculous lie.
“Maybe. Though your behavior contradicts your words, Christian,” Dr. Freud said with a slight lift to her lips. “In order to help yourself, you need to come to terms with your past. Once you do, you’ll be better equipped to move past it and accept your normal human emotions. Only then can you start building a relationship with your mother and father.”
“And if I don’t want a relationship with them?”
“Then how about with your wife?” Dr. Freud smiled sadly. “Unless you learn that a relationship is the constant work of two people sharing and negotiating, you’ll lose everything and everyone you love.” A sardonic breath left me. “But then you already know that, don’t you?”
For the next hour, words were spoken and tears were spilled—mainly by Aisling—before the session concluded and steps forward were taken.
It wasn’t until I crossed the parking lot and slid into the driver’s seat of my Aston Martin that I understood why the damn doctor came so highly recommended.