Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
Violetta
The blissful bubble Damiano and I have enclosed ourselves in for the last few weeks was never going to last. Stefano is driving us to one of Damiano's restaurants so I can advise him on raising its social media profile, when a car veers into our lane from the other side of the road.
Stefano brakes hard, throwing me forward. My seatbelt digs into my chest and my phone slides off my lap. At first I think it's just an accident. I haven't been part of this world long enough for my mind to go straight to ambush, but unfortunately that's what this is.
I'm still processing our sudden stop when a black SUV swings out of a side street to our left and cuts across the road, completely blocking our path ahead. The hairs at the back of my neck stand on end as Damiano tells Stefano to back up. There's something eerie about the cold command in his voice.
Stefano starts to reverse, then slams on the brakes again. As I frantically scan our surroundings I realize we're trapped. Damiano is already on the phone calling for backup when something hits the rear window.
On instinct, I turn to see what happened. The glass hasn't broken but a spiderweb spreads out across it from a central point. I stare at it and realize the window must be bulletproof. It doesn't calm me. I have no idea whether it will hold.
Damiano's eyes scan our surroundings, taking stock of the situation.
"Get down and stay down." He doesn't yell. This is something he's faced before, something he's prepared for. His unruffled demeanor should be soothing but it's not. I see the man I married in a whole new light and I'm not sure I like what I see.
Unbuckling my seatbelt, I slide to the floor. I press myself down as flat as I can and put my hands over my head. Whatever happens I don't want to hear it. I hum quietly to myself, trying to steady my breath, but there's no way to slow my racing pulse.
The doors open and the next thing I hear is rapid gunfire. I don't dare look up to find out what weapons they have. I don't want to know.
I don't know how long it goes on for — the shouting, the squeal of tires on asphalt as other cars arrive on the scene, the sharp deafening cracks of gunfire that sound nothing like they do in the movies.
I recite a monologue I learned at school when I played Rosalind in As You Like It. My mind snags on umber-colored coat, or is it cloak? Why does it bother me that I can’t remember?
As suddenly as the chaos erupted, it screeches to a halt. An unnerving silence settles over everything. I stay on the floor, hands pressed over my head. Then the door behind me opens.
A hand grabs me and I'm pulled out of the car. I spin around, mouth open, ready to scream. Relief swamps me when I recognize Tomasz. He has a gun in his hand, pointed at the ground. It looks like something soldiers use in a combat zone.
He holds a hand out to me.
"Signora Volante. We need to move you. Can you walk?"
It's not until he asks that I realize I'm shaking.
"Signora, can you hear me?"
When I don't answer, he curses, picks me up and drops me over his shoulder. Outraged, I thump his back but it makes no impact. I push myself up to survey the scene around us.
There are several bullet-riddled cars. I don't know whether they belong to Damiano's men or his enemies.
We pass Elio who's yelling at someone, telling them to keep their noses out until all their people are clear. Is he talking to the police? We're in a quiet area but that ruckus must have been heard for miles around.
I scan for Damiano, wondering why he sent Tomasz for me instead of coming himself. Perhaps he's hurt. It takes me a moment to find him. He isn't injured from what I can see.
There's a man on his knees in front of him, hands raised, saying something I can't hear over the strange whooshing in my ears.
It's obvious from the frantic movement of his lips that he's begging. Damiano's face is a blank. No anger, no fear, no hesitation. I’ve seen him cold before but this is different. He’s toying with his victim, listening to his pleas but he already knows what he’s doing to do.
The air of brutal calculation in him sends a shiver down my spine.
Without hesitation, he raises his gun and pulls the trigger. The man jerks violently, his whole body going rigid for a fraction of a second, hands still raised, frozen. Then he drops heavily to the ground all at once, and doesn't move again. Damiano turns. His eyes meet mine and his jaw twitches.
"Get her out of here." He’s angry. It’s the first time he’s shown emotion since the ambush began.
Tomasz strides to a waiting SUV and drops me onto the back seat. He gets in next to me, his gun across his lap. A man I don't recognize drives us away.
The whole way back to the palazzo, Tomasz watches me with caution, as if he thinks I might throw myself out of the moving car. I'm tempted. Right now I want to run and never stop.
The same thought keeps repeating itself. I knew what Damiano was and I chose to ignore it. I let him get close, even though I understood his world was dangerous. Does that make me a bad person? To care for a man who can kill without blinking? Does it make me complicit?
A coldness spreads through me so intense I fear I'll never be warm again. What happened on that street will weigh on me forever.
When we get to the house, I scramble out of the car before Tomasz can manhandle me again.
I walk inside, aware of him at my back, and meet Lina in the hallway.
She opens her arms and though I don't want closeness right now, I step into her embrace, allowing her to whisper words that don't penetrate the numbness I feel.
"I'll take care of her," Lina tells Tomasz as she steers me toward the stairs.
"Not his room," I murmur as we walk along the corridor.
She takes me instead to the room next to his, the one that was mine before. The soft femininity of it soothes me a little.
"What can I do?" Lina asks. "A brandy, perhaps?"
"No. Thank you." It's better to keep a clear head. "A bath, maybe."
"Let me run it for you."
Though I'd rather be on my own I nod. She disappears into the bathroom. A moment later the water is running and the scent of lavender fills the air. When Lina emerges a few minutes later, I offer a weak smile.
"I'll be fine." She looks unsure. "But I'd love a hot chocolate, if you could make me one."
She nods. When she leaves I feel like I can breathe again. I'm grateful that she cares but I need space to think. I strip off my clothes and get into the bathtub. It's large enough for me to stretch out. The warm water laps over my skin and I close my eyes.
An image of the spiderweb on the rear window enters my mind.
I've been in that car a dozen times and it never once occurred to me it was a moving fortress.
I think about the man on his knees, that moment where he seemed neither alive nor dead, suspended between two worlds.
I'm not sure I'll ever stop seeing it. It’s clear to me now.
Understanding Damiano’s world was impossible before I witnessed its harsh reality for myself. I’ve been kidding myself until now that I knew how it worked.
I lie in the bath until the water grows cold around me. Lina comes with the hot chocolate and leaves it on the floor next to the tub. The next set of footsteps that disturb my silence are heavier and I know even before I open my eyes that Damiano is standing over me.
His jacket is gone. He's wearing a fresh shirt and trousers, no tie. I almost laugh at the absurdity of noticing something so trivial at a time like this. I just watched a man die and I’m thinking about my husband’s clothes.
"Are you all right?" he asks.
"No."
He reaches for me and I pull back sharply, splashing water over the edge of the tub. His shoulders sag. He’s never given in to me so easily before.
"You need to get out of the tub, dolcezza. Lina says you've been in there for more than an hour."
"Fine. Pass me a towel."
He does as I ask. I stand and take the white fluffy towel from him and wrap it around myself.
"I saw what you did," I say as he reaches for another towel to dry the ends of my hair. "On the street. I saw your face. You didn't even blink."
He looks at me for a moment as if trying to work out what the problem is, then nods.
"I did what was necessary."
"I know." It's not what he did but how he did it, and I'm not in the mood to explain that to him. "I need a minute."
He steps out of my way and I return to the bedroom. None of my things are here. I want to lie down but I'd prefer not to sleep naked.
"Could you fetch me some pajamas?" I ask.
Damiano nods and leaves the room. I sink onto the edge of the bed.
I don't know how I feel. The dominant emotion is sadness, I think.
Not for the people who attacked us. They tried to kill us and we fought back.
Not even entirely for myself, for witnessing something nobody should ever have to see.
I'm sad because the illusion has been shattered.
Somehow I convinced myself there was a sort of heroism in what Damiano does, a code that made it bearable.
I romanticized it. Today I looked behind the veil and I didn't like what I saw. That's as much my fault as anyone's.
I look up when Damiano comes into the room. He holds out my pink pajamas and a pair of white cotton underwear I didn't ask for.
It's that small thoughtfulness that finally cracks me open. Tears rack my body. I cry until it hurts and Damiano holds me through all of it, saying nothing, which is exactly right.
When I'm done, he helps me dress and get into bed. He tucks me in and takes the seat by the window.
"Sleep," he says. "I'll keep you safe."
Despite everything I’ve seen today, I believe him. He’d burn the world for me. I’m just not sure I want him to.