Chapter 32
Annamaria
After spending most of the morning watering, pruning, repotting plants, and arranging flower vases to be placed throughout the house, I’ve gotten to know a little more about my new mother-in-law.
I’ve learned that with each task she does, she likes to hum, sometimes even sing to herself.
I’ve learned that she’s affectionate, touching my hand or shoulder every so often.
I’ve also learned that when Matteo’s soldiers come in for lunch, she already has a plate fixed for them, but she never stays in the same room with them for more than a few seconds.
I’ve learned a lot just by watching her move, but it’s the way she talks about her sons that tells me everything I need to know—she loves each and every one of them, which means her loyalty will always be to them, not me.
By the time we finish making the necessary preparations for tonight’s family dinner, the sun is higher in the sky, and Paolina insists we take a break out on the terrace.
We sit on plush patio furniture beneath a large umbrella, glasses of lemonade she made from scratch in hand, the mid-June sky clear above us. The distant hum of traffic below barely registers, softened by the gentle music drifting from her phone.
When my gaze lingers a little too long on her phone, Paolina seems to sense where my thoughts have wandered. She carefully pulls it closer to her, placing a protective arm around it on the table.
“You must be missing your family a great deal.”
“Yes. Very much,” I reply, my shoulders slumping.
She reaches for my hand and gives it a gentle pat. “I’m sure Matteo will let you talk to them… when it’s safe enough to.”
I don’t ask what she means by that. Matteo hinted at something similar this morning. Once he’s sure I won’t leave him, then he’ll give me back my freedom. Until then, like Lucky would say, I’m shit out of luck.
“I just wish I could tell them that I’m okay. Especially my mother. She must be so worried,” I utter, not wanting to give up on my plan.
Paolina’s empathetic smile falls from her face at my words.
“She must be out of her mind with worry,” I add sullenly. “We’ve never spent a day apart. Her not knowing where I am or how I’ve been, must be killing her.”
“But she knows where you are,” Paolina stammers. “You’re here… with us… with your husband.”
“No.” I shake my head. “I’m with my captor. That’s what Matteo is. My kidnapper. Nothing more.”
Paolina pushes her chair back and rises to her feet.
“The boys should be home soon. I should… yes… I should start making dinner.”
“It’s not even three in the afternoon,” I protest. “Please,” I beg, scrambling to my feet. “Please help me. All I need is a phone. Just one call. Just one to tell my family I’m okay.”
I reach for her, but Paolina instinctively pulls back, fear flashing across her face.
“I can’t. I’m sorry… I just… I can’t,” she says hurriedly, turning her back to me as she rushes inside.
Before she can get far, I grab her by the arm, stopping her. “You must know how it feels to marry a man you hate,” I plead, stepping in front of her, blocking her escape. “I know you do.”
“Matteo is not Carlo. He’s not. He’s not. He’s not,” she repeats, shaking her head almost violently. “He wouldn’t hurt you. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t.”
“You don’t know that. Once I’ve served whatever purpose he has for me, then he might.”
“Not Matteo. Not Matteo. He loves you. I can tell. I can tell. He wouldn’t hurt you. Not like Carlo. Never like Carlo. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t.”
My eyes widen as she unravels right before my very eyes.
“Paolina, it’s okay. It’s okay,” I rush out, pulling her into an embrace, hoping my arms can erase whatever nightmarish memory I’ve just stirred.
I must have pushed too hard, and now this poor, sweet woman is coming apart in my arms because of it.
If I thought my mother-in-law could help me, I see now that I was wrong. She can barely fight off the demons in her own mind, much less help me face mine.
No. Paolina won’t be of any use to me, and I’m ashamed to have even tried. I’ll just have to find another way out of this. Right now, my biggest concern is talking her down and restoring her trademark bright smile.
“Shh, Paolina. It’s okay. You’re safe here.
You’re safe,” I whisper, rubbing slow, soothing circles against her back.
Her body continues to shake against mine, and it takes a few minutes for her to calm down.
“How about I take you up to your room so you can lie down for a bit?” I smile softly at her.
“A nap might do you a world of good. And when you wake up, you’ll feel like yourself again. ”
I hope.
Paolina’s only response is a small nod. I keep hold of her as we make our way to her room, on the second floor. When we get there, I help her onto the bed and pull a light blanket over her.
“I’m sorry I overwhelmed you. It won’t happen again,” I whisper after she’s settled in, running my fingers through her hair. “You’ve shown me nothing but kindness. It was never my intention to cause you pain. I’m so sorry, Paolina.”
I lean in and press a kiss to the top of her head, then try to slip out of the room, not wanting to disturb her any further.
“My Matteo loves you, Anna. I know he does. I know it,” she whispers, drawing me to glance back at her.
I don’t see what good it would do to contradict her delusions, so I offer her a faint smile instead.
“Rest well. If you need me, I’ll be in my room,” I say, then close the door gently behind me.
Once alone in the hallway, my smile falls to my feet. What am I going to do now? With no ally in this house, how can I ever hope to escape it?
Guilt gnaws at me for having distressed the one friend I might have made here, and with it comes the slow, heavy weight of defeat as I realize there may be no way out of this gilded cage.
I walk up to my room and sit by the window, watching the world go on with its life while I remain trapped in mine.
Time slips by, the sun whispering its final goodbyes as I sit by the window, lost in regret over the choices that brought me here, when a quiet knock on my door breaks the silence.
When I open it, Paolina stands in the hallway, looking pale and tense.
Before I have time to ask if she’s alright, she presses something into my hand.
My breath hitches when I realize it’s a phone.
“Thank you.”
She doesn’t meet my eyes and rushes down the hall, away from me and the contraband she’s just gifted me.
My gaze snags on the security camera in the corner of the hall, and I quickly shut my bedroom door, praying it didn’t catch the phone in my hand. I lean against the door for a moment, and when I don’t hear soldiers’ footsteps race up the stairs, I know I’m in the clear.
I walk back to the window and stare at the precious gift in my hand, only to frown a second later. It’s one of those old flip phones, which means no internet. Which is a problem, since I don’t know any of my family’s numbers by heart. Not my sister’s, not my brothers’, and not my parents’.
I can’t call the police either, because my picture—smiling beside my new husband in supposed wedded bliss—is currently front-page news. Even if they believed me, I know better than to trust that half the NYPD isn’t already in Matteo’s pocket.
“Damn it!” I curse, clutching the damn thing in my hand as if it were a brick I’d love nothing more than to throw through the window.
But I don’t. Because there is one number I do know by heart. One number I memorized even after I carefully entered it into my own phone back home under a fake name, just in case my burner got stolen again. And that number belongs to Raffaele.
I perch on the arm of a chair, worrying the corner of my lower lip as I weigh the pros and cons of the choice I’m about to make.
Raffaele betrayed me. Kidnapped me. Stole me from my home, just to hand-deliver me to his brother. However, he didn’t seem happy about me marrying Matteo either. He looked sad, almost angry. Perhaps that anger is exactly what I need. Maybe I can use it to my advantage.
There’s a certain poetic justice in the thought. The manipulator becomes the manipulated. If I can somehow play Raffaele as expertly as he played me, then I might have a chance of going home. It’s a long shot, but it’s all I have.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I dial his number. But as the ringtone sounds in my ear, I hear it echo somewhere inside the bedroom.
I follow the sound with a frown, my pulse quickening when it grows louder as I step toward the other side of the bed, toward Matteo’s nightstand. The ringing appears to be coming from inside one of the drawers. My hand begins to shake as I pull it open, finding a phone ringing neatly inside.
“Looking for something?”
I spin around and find Matteo standing in the doorway. I didn’t hear the door open. I didn’t hear anything. Not a single sound, aside from the phone still ringing.
I end the call, and just as I suspected, the other phone goes silent. Before he has a chance to stop me, I grab it from the drawer and hold it up like evidence.
“Why do you have Rafe’s phone?” Matteo doesn’t answer, but the guilt in his eyes sends me into a tailspin. “Answer me!” Again, I’m met with silence, his dark eyes looking almost sorry for me. “For all that’s holy, Matteo, you’d better start giving me some answers. Now!”
“You’re not ready for answers, wife,” he says calmly, taking a step closer to me.
“Stop!” I shout before he can take another step. “Not twenty-four hours ago, you promised me you’d always tell me the truth.”
“I remember,” he says, his jaw ticking ever so slightly.