28. Liana
TWENTY-EIGHT
LIANA
S weat trickled down my spine as I ran through the forest. The flashlight that I gripped tightly in my hand outlined a clear path on the black dirt. The distant hoots of an owl echoed in the otherwise silent night.
My hair stuck to my face and my breathing labored, but all I was focused on was escaping this. Escaping my husband. Escaping her. It was the only way I’d be able to escape the hell I’d been living through during the last couple of months. Since they murdered my baby.
A shiver went through me, and I clutched the flashlight tighter as tears streamed down my cheeks.
I shouldn’t have trusted anyone. It was all my fault.
Wiping my face with the back of my hand angrily, I forced myself to stop crying. There was no sense in shedding tears: there was nobody to cry for or to help me.
I’d seen the evil in that woman, but I ignored my instincts. Blinded by hope, even with all her malice right in front of me. I’d seen it over and over again.
I made my choices, and I’d live with them.
It was useless anyhow. My baby was gone, and all I could do now was run. Over and over again, until it killed me. Or I managed to escape, and I’d kill them.
My throat burned with the force of my emotions, the tears soaking my cheeks and slipping into my mouth, making me taste salt.
I was truly on my own in the world now.
The sound of the crunching of leaves echoed behind me and I whirled around, my eyes scanning the darkness. The sound wasn’t consistent so it couldn’t be an animal.
It was almost hesitant. Careful. I was being stalked, and they were getting closer and closer.
Just then, a shadow passed between the trees, but before I could blink, it was gone. I stepped back, my sneakers crunching against the dirt.
I inhaled deeply and slowly, focusing on the sounds and their movements. But then, it was gone. Maybe I’d misheard it? I hadn’t slept. Scared of the living, even more of the dead. Whenever I closed my eyes, all I could see was my baby torn from my belly, then shoved into a bag. So much blood.
I aimed the flashlight in the direction of the trees where I suspected the shadow was lurking. No movement. No rustle of the leaves. Nothing.
It had to be all in my head.
If it was Santiago or his men, they would have attacked already.
No sooner than I thought that, a pain exploded in my side. Something crunched against my ribcage.
At first, I stared at the blood stain growing while frozen, not sure what happened. When I looked up, I recognized the shadow.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Santiago and The Mistress stood there, watching me, while one of my husband’s men pulled a knife from my ribs. Blood spurted from the wound and dripped onto the dirt.
To keep myself from stumbling, my fingers dug into The Mistress’s red dress, my nails ripping into her skin.
She hit my hand and the flashlight slipped from my trembling fingers. I fell backward, my head hitting the dirt. A metallic taste filled my mouth before blood gurgled out from it.
I struggled for breath when I felt the weight on top of me.
With the last of my strength, I fought and fought, but pain from the knife wound was too intense. My eyes rolled back, slowly closing. Her manic laughter crackled through the air.
The last words I heard were Santiago’s. “Run again and I’ll kill you.”
I jolted awake, and for a moment, I was frozen in place. It took several heartbeats to become aware of a set of strong arms wrapped around me. I peeled my face away from a strong chest and met the forest-like gaze that I’d grown so fond of.
I was trembling all over, my teeth clattering and my nails digging into his chest as if I was searching for an anchor.
“Shhh, I’ve got you,” Giovanni’s voice soothed. “I’m going to make all those nightmares vanish, wildflower. You just wait and see.”
The sense of relief hit me and I closed my eyes, sinking into the soothing feeling of comfort and safety for the first time in a decade.
Tap, tap, tap.
Some might’ve found the measured rhythm of the tapping pen soothing, but it set me on edge. Maybe seeing a psychiatrist wasn’t the best course of action for me, especially considering my family’s history of psychos.
“Tell me something about yourself.”
My hands lay unmoving in my lap, appearing relaxed all the while invisible blood stained them. What a conversation it would be if I told her the truth about myself. The idea was tempting, albeit stupid.
Instead, I crossed my legs, my cream-colored Chanel skirt immaculate, and narrowed my eyes on the clock hanging on the wall, watching the long hand tick slowly.
We’d arrived in Boston mere hours ago. Giovanni’s yacht docked at the harbor, and the first stop we made was to meet with this therapist. If that wasn’t an indication of how this marriage—and our relationship—was going, I didn’t know what was.
The silence must have stretched too long because Dr. Freud spoke up again. “It can be anything. As simple or as complicated as you want it to be.”
This was a bad idea. I didn’t like strangers, talking to them even less so. It wasn’t as if I could tell her who and what I was, what I’d done.
The good doctor’s office had a nice ambiance, the space decorated in warm colors and a couch that tempted any lost soul to sink into it, confessing all their sins. Too bad it probably rarely worked—all our sins recognizing the need to remain secret for all eternity.
“My favorite singer is Eminem,” I said. She did say anything , after all. “Of course, it depends on my mood.”
Running a thoughtful hand across her jaw, she asked, “And what are your moods usually?”
I shrugged. “Happy, sad, angry, glad… You know, standard ones.”
Dr. Freud’s Ph.D. from Harvard hung behind her, the evidence of her accomplishments—but also of a fairly normal life—undeniable.
“There’s nothing standard about feelings, Liana.”
“You don’t say,” I said, sarcasm lacing my tone.
I met her eyes, studying the woman who looked my age, but polished and put together. There wasn’t a single piece of hair out of place, and her natural makeup accentuated her features. Dr. Freud came from old money, had had a carefree childhood, and likely still got along with her family. So what I was more interested in understanding was why, one day, she decided to work exclusively with criminals.
“We can do this two ways,” she stated calmly. “You drop the sarcasm and tell me how I can help you. Or we end this session, both of us going our separate ways.”
My head almost reared back in surprise. The woman had balls, and I was reluctant to admit I admired it. I liked a no-nonsense, straight-to-the-point attitude.
“That’s not very… doctor-like,” I pointed out. “I thought a doctor’s purpose was to never give up on a patient.”
She gave her head a shake. “Maybe, but me giving up on you wouldn’t be a matter of life or death for you, and I’d rather spend my time with someone who wants to be helped.”
I smiled. “Fair enough.”
Her gaze wavered. “So… what’s it going to be?”
She tapped a pen against the pad in front of her… Tap, tap, tap … in even stretches as she waited for my decision. I focused my stare on the shiny degree hanging behind her and released a tired sigh.
“I have nightmares.” There was a barely noticeable delay in her tapping before she resumed it. “Vivid ones that sometimes make me violent.”
She stopped her tapping.
“Violent?” she repeated slowly.
“I wake up with my hands around someone’s neck.” It was the reason I never allowed Amara to crawl into my bed at night. No matter what. “Or ready to fight someone.”
“I see.” I didn’t really think she did. “And how does that make you feel?”
I let out a sardonic breath. That question must be woven into every graduate thesis.
“Maybe you should ask how the person sleeping next to me feels about it,” I retorted dryly.
“You’re married, right?” I was about to shake my head when I paused. It was instinctive for me to keep parts of my life hidden, but Dr. Freud probably knew about my marital status, considering Giovanni was the one who called her.
“Yes.”
“Does that concern you for the safety of your husband?” she asked.
“No.” Yes.
She paused.
“You do understand caring for someone isn’t a weakness?” I gave her a blank look. She was so wrong, because it was a weakness. Your enemy could take it and manipulate it—use it to fuel their power over you. “Actually, one might argue it makes you stronger.”
The woman was so clueless living in her safe and insulated bubble.
“Let’s agree to disagree,” I muttered.
She raised a brow. “Funny, you don’t strike me as a woman who’d just give up.”
I shot her a glare. “I’m not.”
“Then don’t,” she stated. “Trust me, and most importantly, trust yourself. You can beat your demons or whatever is plaguing you, but not if you give up.”
Damn this woman.
“So what do I have to do?” I asked, crossing and uncrossing my legs, trying to appear unbothered.
“Be honest. If not with me, then with yourself.” Her gaze held mine. “Do it for the people you love. Do it for yourself because you deserve it.” She raised a brow, as if she expected me to say something, and when I didn’t, she added, “Revenge can sometimes bring you more chaos than peace, Liana. Moving on is sweeter.”
Her words doubled the pace of my heart, making my hands tremble in my lap. The statement seemed irrelevant, out of place at this moment.
“What’s your biggest fear, doctor?” I asked.
She didn’t hesitate. “Spiders.”
“Mine is becoming like my mother.”
Her eyes lowered to whatever notes she had in my file. It couldn’t have been much because Sofia Volkov was somehow still a bit of an enigma to the outside world.
“Why is that?”
There were so many reasons, but none of them could be said out loud. Not here. Not ever.
“Because men made her into a monster.” Just like they’d made me into one. They’d stolen her beloved first-born child. They’d murdered mine. “I don’t want to become her, yet I can see that I am.” Every bad thing that happened to her, she returned it to the world tenfold. She didn’t care if she hurt innocent people in the process. Apparently neither did I.
She waited for me to continue, and when I didn’t, she commented, “You’re not your mother. You can change the trajectory of your life by healing yourself.”
Pain cut through my chest and I inhaled deeply to steady my breathing. I lowered my eyes to my clenched hands. Maybe she was right. Maybe if I got all the darkness out into the open, I could find a way to move on.
“I thought I was okay, that I was getting better. But then something as simple as a thunderstorm triggers me, and I feel that familiar tremor return.” I twisted my fingers in my lap, wondering if she saw how desperate I was to be normal. For Giovanni. For my twin. For myself. “I’m starting to think that the past will never truly remain in the past.”
“The memories will hurt,” Dr. Freud stated calmly. “The pain will be there, but you have to let go of the past, let it be part of you but not who you are, and then you can start to heal. Then you can win.”
I just wanted a win, healing or not.