Chapter 11
Matteo
Knocking back two fingers of scotch, I hang my head in shame. Sure, at picking up the damn bottle again. But more for invading my wife’s privacy as I had last night.
Slumping back into my chair, I recall jerking off all night to the memories of what I saw on that camera feed. Hell, one time would never sate my desire after seeing her gorgeous lithe body for the first time in years.
John Mayer’s “Your Body Is a Wonderland” had to be written about this woman. The images on the screen would whet my appetite, but as I’d continued to grow hard thinking of her, my mind would wander to the years she shared my bed. Her coy way of looking at me through her golden tresses each morning. The playful way she’d crawl toward me when I came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel.
We didn’t make plans often. I was so much happier knowing she was safe at home with me. But I can’t tell you how many times we planned to go to a movie, or pick up dinner, only to stay home lost in each other.
My head flops back against the cushion as I rub concentric circles over the hollow ache that’s taken up permanent residence under my sternum. Hell, even scotch can’t dull this pain. She’s completely wrecked me. My withdrawal for her is relentless. If you’d told me before meeting her I was capable of a love like this, I would’ve called you a filthy liar. Yet, I’m cursed to watch her move on without me.
I vow, here and now, not to allow myself to go there again. To invade her private moments. At least not intentionally.
I’ll peer in each night to ensure she’s tucked safely away in her bed, nothing more. Sure, I should lean on Anthony’s men to update me with any concerns. But let’s be for real here. There’s no way I’m ever going to trust anyone else to keep my wife safe. No one.
Perhaps I can reach out to Max to see if there’s a way to add some type of notification software to the camera feed, to alert if there’s movement between certain hours of the day. This may limit my temptation. Yes. That’s it. I’ll make a quick peek to calm my nerves and keep me from reaching for the bottle and then let Max’s team advise if there’s anything concerning that requires my attention.
I refuse to keep Sydney like a caged animal, as my father had done with my mother. But then again, my motivation is completely different. My father wanted control. Sure, I do too. But I honestly love my wife. Unlike my satanic father, Sydney’s wellbeing is more important to me than my own.
It was beyond him to understand why my mother would want a life free from evil. Her father had promised her to him. As far as he was concerned, that was the end of the story. What he did with his wife was his concern. No one else’s. While it was a contractual obligation, she never expected romantic love from Vincenzo Messina. However, she still deserved respect.
Yet my mother received the opposite. He’d openly parade around his whores, and despite her begging to the contrary, would put his children in harm’s way in order to “educate them” on the family business. She lived in fear one of us would end up hurt, or worse. Dead. She asked to leave. Begged. She was willing to stay married on paper, if she could only raise her children in peace. Away from the evil that surrounded him.
Yet her asking this only infuriated him. He’d left her alone for years, getting his needs met with other women. But once she had the audacity to ask him to let her leave, he returned to her bed, forcing himself on her. It was a power play, and she knew it. Even at my young age, I could see what was happening. I wanted to kill him with my bare hands, but knew enough about the long reach of the Messina crime family to know it’d take more finesse. Otherwise, I’d be taken care of. Then who’d be left to protect my mother, sister, and brothers? Much less try to put a stop to the malevolent deeds of my father and his underlings.
My mother quickly began spiraling into depression after this. It wasn’t long before she was spending most of her days locked in her room. Doctors were summoned who kept her sedated on anxiety and anti-depressive medications. She even retreated from us. The only one who ever managed to get through to her was Antonia. But that all ended the morning Luca found her unresponsive, an array of open pill bottles and alcohol at her bedside.
My mother’s death is at the hands of my father. I’m certain of it. His actions drove her to it. She was held captive in her own home, tortured by a life of horror she couldn’t escape. But what choice did she have? She would never have left us there with him.
Luca, Antonia, and I have lived with the guilt of our mother’s suicide since that fateful day. Tortured by the thought we could’ve done something. Anything.
Antonia’s kidnapping and assault only made this worse. It’s a miracle my sister survived. To see her getting stronger each day is beyond what we could’ve hoped for. Luigi and Maria have been the equivalent of adoptive parents to Antonia. To all of us, really. I owe them a debt of gratitude I’ll never be able to repay.
My rambunctious nephew, Mimmo, has also provided healing to his mother. He’s been a surprising answer to our prayers. We’d all been so worried about Antonia once we found her and brought her home. No one would’ve blamed her if she struggled to parent him, given the constant reminder that he was the product of her assault. However, that little cherub shines with a light so bright, it’s nearly impossible to be sad in his presence.
If only Luca was still here. He had a special way with Antonia. He’d take her to the beach and lovingly encourage her to step outside of her well-constructed walls of self-protection. But he deserves to have the life he’s living now.
Don’t we all?
Reaching for the bottle, I pour another two fingers of scotch. I’ll put it away after this. I have to. There has to be a way to get control of my addiction. If nothing more than to limit any further distractions. I must keep Sydney safe.
Rubbing the stiff muscles along the back of my neck, I stretch my weary head from side to side to break the tension. A side effect of carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders, Giovanni tells me.
As the amber liquid swirls in my crystal tumbler, my heart clenches. I can’t help but consider how my actions have already caused my wife so much pain. If I’ve inflicted even a sliver of the distress my father had brought to my mother… Hell. Was I any better than he was?
Shaking my head at the thought, I down my drink. I refuse to believe I’m anything like that monster. There was no choice. I had to convince her to move on. I had to. It wouldn’t be right allowing her to stay in my world, knowing what was at stake. It wasn’t safe before the threats. Yet I’d been so swept up in the joy I’d felt with her, I simply wasn’t strong enough to fight it.
Now I’d have to relive those brief beautiful moments with her to keep me warm at night. Because turning to her was no longer an option. And leaning on alcohol was clearly not the answer. And it’s not right to keep invading her privacy, watching her in our bed.
I need to focus on the positives. My sister is doing better. Luca is living the life he deserves. And whether she hates me or not, Sydney is much stronger than my mother had been after years of my father tearing down her confidence. She’s going to be okay. She’ll continue to help countless patients as a dedicated surgeon. We will protect her, and she can go on to live a great life. Even if I have to watch her live it from afar.
Boy, will I eat those words.