38. Chiara
38
CHIARA
W here are they?
I pace my room like a caged animal, my heart pounding with anxiety. The door remains stubbornly locked, no matter how many times I jiggle the handle or throw my weight against it. I’ve even tried picking the lock with a hairpin, but my trembling hands and lack of skill make it impossible.
The window taunts me with its false promise of freedom. I’ve considered climbing out, but one glance at the ground far below sends a chill through me. Why didn’t my sisters just let me keep the rope? Why didn’t they let me come?
But I know why. The risk of falling, of hurting my baby—our baby—is too great. I can’t take that chance, not when this child is all I have left of Dante.
Dante . His name echoes in my mind, a constant refrain of worry and longing. What if Bianca was wrong? What if he’s not at the bar? The thought of him disappearing forever, believing I betrayed him, is almost too much to bear.
“Where are you?” I whisper, pressing my forehead against the cool glass of the window. “Please, Dante. Please come back to me.”
I turn away from the window, resuming my restless pacing. The room feels smaller with each passing minute, the walls closing in on me. I’ve never been claustrophobic before, but now I understand the panic of feeling trapped, both physically and by circumstances.
My hand drifts to my stomach, still flat but holding so much potential. Our child. A mix of Dante and me, created in love despite all the complications surrounding us. How could Papa lock me away? How could Dante believe, even for a moment, that this baby could be anyone’s but his?
The hurt and disappointment in Papa’s eyes flash in my memory, making me flinch. I’ve never seen him look at me that way before, like I was a stranger, an enemy. The weight of his disappointment is crushing, but not as crushing as the thought of losing Dante.
“What’s taking so long?” I mutter, glancing at the clock for what feels like the hundredth time. My sisters should have been back by now. Unless… unless they couldn’t find Dante. Unless he’s truly gone.
The thought sends a fresh wave of panic through me. I rush to the door again, pounding on it with renewed desperation. “Please!” I call out, not caring who might hear. “Please, let me out! I need to find Dante!”
But there’s no response. Just the oppressive silence of the house, broken only by the sound of my ragged breathing and pounding heart.
I slide down to the floor, my back against the unyielding door. Tears stream down my face as the full weight of my situation crashes over me. I’m pregnant, alone, locked away by my own father. The man I love thinks I’ve betrayed him. My family is in turmoil, and it’s all my fault.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, to Dante, to my baby, to my family. “I’m so sorry for all of this.”
But sorry isn’t enough. It won’t unlock this door, won’t bring Dante back, won’t undo the hurt I’ve caused. I need to do something, to fix this somehow. But how can I when I’m trapped in here?
I force myself to take deep breaths, trying to calm the panic threatening to overwhelm me. I need to think clearly. There has to be a way out of this, a way to make things right.
If— when —I get out of here, I’m done being afraid. Done hiding. I’ll tell Papa everything, consequences be damned. I’ll find Dante and explain, beg for his forgiveness if I have to. I’ll fight for our love, for our future, with everything I have.
Because the alternative—a life without Dante, a life living with this lie—is unthinkable.
I stand up, wiping away my tears. I may be locked in for now, but I’m not giving up. Somehow, some way, I’ll find a way out of this room and back to Dante. I have to. For him, for our baby, for us.
I turn back to the window, scanning the grounds below for any sign of my sisters returning.
“Please,” I whisper, one last desperate plea to whatever higher power might be listening. “Please bring him back to me. Give us a chance to make this right.”
Taking a deep breath, I look at my bedroom door again. A hairpin didn’t work, but maybe something else will.
Something like a credit card.
I rush to my purse, fingers fumbling as I search for a credit card. Finding one, I hurry back to the door, hope fluttering in my chest. Maybe this will work where the hairpin failed.
I slide the card into the crack between the door and the frame, just above the lock. My hands are shaking, making it difficult to maneuver the thin plastic. I try to remember what I’ve seen in movies, angling the card downward and applying pressure.
“Come on,” I mutter, biting my lip in concentration. “Please work.”
I feel the card catch on something inside the lock mechanism. A surge of excitement rushes through me. Is it working? I apply more pressure, wiggling the card back and forth.
Suddenly, the card slips from my sweaty fingers. I watch in horror as it slides further into the crack, disappearing from view.
“No!” I cry out, my voice breaking. I frantically try to grab the card, but it’s gone, lost in the space between the door and the frame.
Overwhelmed by frustration and despair, I burst into sobs again. I slide down to my knees, feeling utterly defeated.
As I sit there, crying, a new worry creeps into my mind. What if Dante knows the truth now? What if he comes rushing into the house, half-cocked and ready for a fight? The thought sends a chill through me.
“Oh, Dante,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around myself. “Please be careful. Don’t do anything rash.”
I know how protective he can be, how quick to act when he thinks I’m in danger. The image of him confronting Papa in his current state makes my stomach churn with anxiety.
It feels like I’ve lit the fuse on a stick of dynamite, and now I’m powerless to stop the explosion that's coming. All I can do is sit here, trapped and helpless, while the men I love most in the world potentially tear each other apart.
Please come in through the window. Please .
Suddenly, a voice cuts through the silence of the house. My blood turns to ice as I recognize it immediately.
“Don Marino!” Dante’s voice rings out, loud and clear. “We need to talk. Now!”
My heart leaps into my throat. No, no, no. This can’t be happening. Dante’s not here to see me—he’s here to confront Papa. The realization hits me like a physical blow.
“Dante, no!” I cry out, even though I know he can’t hear me. I scramble to my feet, rushing to the door and pounding on it with renewed desperation. “Papa! Please! Don’t hurt him!”
I can hear commotion downstairs, muffled voices raised in alarm. My sisters must be trying to stop him, but I know Dante. When he’s determined, nothing can stand in his way.
“I’m here about Chiara,” Dante’s voice carries up the stairs, fierce and unwavering. “And our baby.”
Oh, God . He knows. He knows about the baby, and he’s confronting Papa. This is the worst possible scenario. With Papa’s current state and the news of my pregnancy, this confrontation could turn deadly in an instant.
“Please,” I whisper, tears streaming down my face as I press my ear against the door, straining to hear what’s happening. “Please, don’t let Papa hurt him. Don’t let Dante do anything stupid.”
The sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs makes my heart race even faster. This is it, the moment that could change everything, and I’m trapped up here, unable to intervene.
“Dante!” I scream, pounding on the door with all my might. “Papa! Please, stop this!”
But my cries go unheeded as I hear Papa’s voice, low and dangerous, joining the fray downstairs. I slide down to the floor, my legs unable to support me any longer.
Suddenly, the sound of heavy footsteps rushing up the stairs makes my heart leap.
“Chiara! Keeks, are you okay?” Mia’s voice calls out, filled with concern.
I press my face against the door, desperation coloring my words. “Mia! Please, help me get out! I need to stop them!”
“We’re trying, Chiara!” Mia cries back. Suddenly, there’s a loud bang on the door that makes me jump back in surprise.
“Goddammit!” Bianca curses, her voice frantic. “Rork, we need to get this door open now!”
Sofia’s voice joins in, “Chiara, stand back! Dom and Rork are here. They’re going to try to break down the door!”
Hope surges through me as I scramble backward, my heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. There’s another tremendous BANG and I can’t help but scream as the door shudders but doesn’t give.
“Fuck!” I hear Rork’s gruff voice. “This thing’s solid as a fucking rock!”
Dominico’s voice follows, equally frustrated. “We need to hit it harder. On three!”
More shouting erupts from downstairs, and panic surges through me. I can hear Dante’s voice, angry and determined, mixing with Papa’s deeper tones. The sound sends chills down my spine.
“Hurry!” I scream, my voice breaking with fear. “Please, hurry! I think it might be too late!”
I hear them count to three, then another massive impact rocks the door. It bows inward slightly, but still holds firm. The wood creaks in protest but refuses to give way.
“Come on, you bastard!” Rork growls, his frustration evident.
“One more time,” Dominico pants, determination in his voice. “Put your backs into it, boys!”
I press myself against the far wall, hope and fear warring in my chest. Please, let this work. Let me get out in time to stop this madness before it turns deadly. I can still hear the argument escalating downstairs, and I’m terrified of what might happen if I can’t get there in time.
Papa will kill him.
“Papa, please!” I shout, even though I know he can’t hear me. “Dante, don’t do anything stupid!”
The sound of running footsteps and raised voices from downstairs grows louder. Time is running out. Everything hinges on this moment, on whether this door will finally give way and allow me to rush to the rescue.
I hold my breath as I hear Dominico and Rork count down one last time, ready to throw their full weight against the unyielding wood. This has to work. It has to.
“One!” Rork's voice calls out.
“Two!” Dominico joins in.
“THREE!” They shout in unison.
The impact this time is so powerful that I feel it reverberate through the floor. There’s a splintering sound, and for a moment, I dare to hope.
But the door still stands.
“No!” I cry out, frustration and fear overwhelming me. “Please, try again! We have to get it open!”
I can hear my sisters arguing outside, their voices filled with barely-concealed panic.
“We need something to pry it open,” Sofia says, her usual calm demeanor cracking under the stress.
“There’s no time!” Bianca snaps back. “They’re going to kill each other down there if we don’t get Chiara out now!”
Her words send a fresh wave of terror through me. I rush back to the door, pounding on it with all my might. “Papa! Dante! Please stop!” I scream, my voice hoarse with desperation.
Suddenly, there’s a new voice in the hallway. “Stand aside,” I hear Victorio Tenebre command, his tone brooking no argument.
Hope flares in my chest. Dante’s father is here. Maybe he can stop this madness.
“Victorio!” I call out. “Please, help me get out! We need to stop them!”
There’s a moment of silence, then I hear him speak again, his voice calm but filled with authority. “Rork, Dominico, on my count. We hit it together. Chiara, step back from the door.”
I comply immediately, retreating to the far corner of the room. My heart is racing, my palms sweaty with anticipation and fear.
“Ready?” Victorio calls out. “One… two… THREE!”
The impact this time is deafening. I hear wood splintering, metal groaning, and suddenly, miraculously, the door bursts open.
I don’t even wait for the dust to settle. I’m running, pushing past my stunned sisters and brothers-in-law, racing down the stairs with every ounce of speed I possess.
“Please,” I whisper as I run, “please let me not be too late.”