Chapter 34
Annamaria
With a loud yawn, I stretch my arms above my head, then freeze midway when I notice my husband sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, his eyes trained on me.
For a second, it feels like déjà vu. Like the first day I woke up here.
However, it’s been nearly a month now, so I should be used to Matteo lingering in the shadows, watching me sleep.
When I don’t say anything and only stare back at him, he tilts his head slightly to the side, as if studying me were his favorite pastime. It becomes harder to keep my expression completely neutral when he rises from his seat.
Today he’s dressed in a dark navy suit, sharp and perfectly tailored. His black hair is slicked back, still wet from his shower, and his smile is sinful in its flawlessness.
He looks…unfairly breathtaking. But then again, my husband always does.
I don’t move an inch as eats the distance between us and then sits beside me on the bed.
“Good morning,” he greets.
“For who?”
The faint smile on his lips falters immediately. It always does when I’m cold to him.
“Don’t you mean for whom, wife?” he asks, trying to lighten the mood. When I don’t so much as crack a smile, he continues. “Anyway…” He clears his throat. “What do you have planned for today?”
“Nothing much. Spend some time with Paolina. Work on my escape plan. You know, the usual.” I smile sweetly.
“Fair enough,” he retorts, sounding almost amused. “When that doesn’t work out for you, maybe you’d like to visit the library instead. I left you a gift there. Something I think you might enjoy.”
“You’re bribing me now?” I arch a brow.
“It’s a gift, wife,” he corrects with a calm voice. “Not a bribe. If you don’t like it, I can always return it.”
“I’ll think about it,” I reply, hoping it’s enough to end our little conversation.
Unfortunately for me, Matteo doesn’t seem in a hurry to leave this morning. My breath hitches instinctively when he reaches for me, his fingers sliding into my hair. I should pull away. I should tell him to stop. But I don’t. Not when something so small makes my heart stumble so violently.
“This short hair is growing on me,” he murmurs.
“Don’t get used to it,” I shoot back. “I’m thinking of shaving it all off.”
His lips curve again, a soft sparkle back in his eyes.”Then I’m sure I’ll learn to love that too.”
My pulse races loudly in my ears, as neither of us speaks, content to simply stare into each other’s eyes.
Matteo’s my sworn enemy, but sometimes, the enemy looks at me as if I were his salvation.
After another long, pregnant pause, he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead.
My eyes betray me, closing on instinct as I savor the fleeting warmth of his lips on my skin.
“I’ll be home late tonight,” he says.
“Why?” The question slips out before I can stop it.
“Do you really want to know?” he asks, surprised.
“Shouldn’t a wife know where her husband spends his time? Especially on a Saturday night?”
His gaze sharpens, as if offended by my insinuation. Still, his honest reply takes me aback.
“We’ve learned that Outfit soldiers slipped into New York last night. We lost track of them, but I’m certain they’ve already made contact with your brother and sister.”
Marcello. Stella.
They’re still here.
They’re still in New York.
Hope surges through me, and it’s impossible to hide.
“You’re smiling,” he says sullenly, his gaze fixed on my lips.
“Shouldn’t I be?”
“I don’t think you fully understand what I just explained to you. The implications of having your father’s men sneak into my city are not to be taken lightly.”
“I know exactly what it means. It means Marcello and Stella are that much closer to rescuing me.”
“Is that how you feel? That you need rescuing? From me?”
My throat tightens at how his dark eyes have lost their light, but I push through it.
“I just want to go home.”
Though he looks hurt to hear me say such things, I don’t take it back. He inhales slowly, misery passing over his face, then stands and walks out without another word.
I push myself off the bed and lean back against the headboard. I should enjoy making Matteo suffer, but instead, all I feel is guilt for causing him pain. He’s the one who kidnapped me, and yet I’m the one who feels guilty every time I hurt his feelings.
Ugh.
I really need to get out of here sooner rather than later. Matteo is slowly chipping away at my resolve, and I don’t like it. Not one bit. Not when he is so cavalier about inflicting all kinds of misery on me and everyone I love.
Three days ago, someone left a newspaper on my nightstand.
Inside was an article tearing my family apart for the whole world to see.
Everyone now knows that my mother isn’t just married to my father, but is also in a relationship with my other two dads.
That all four of them have been in a polyamorous relationship for over twenty-five years.
And because of it, children my father Vincent once claimed as his own were never his to begin with.
Learning that Dominic is my biological father didn’t change anything for me. It never could. I love all three of them the same. They’re all my dads, whether by blood or not. And like my mother and siblings, I have loved them equally.
However, the world doesn’t see it that way.
To them, this scandal changes everything.
What was once an implacable family, the pride of all Chicago, is now a joke.
If even a passing stranger on the street thinks this way, I can only imagine the hardship my family must be facing when it comes to the Outfit.
My parents have loved each other since they were kids and managed to keep it a secret for decades. Their exposure now feels far too convenient, coming just as the Outfit prepares to go to war with the Cosa Nostra.
This isn’t just bad luck. It’s a calculated move by a man who would do just about anything to destroy my family.
It was Matteo who leaked this information to the press. I’d bet my life on it.
I didn’t bother confronting him about it. I just left the article on his bedside table, so he’d know I was aware of what he had done. He never defended himself. Nor did he lie and tell me he wasn’t responsible. I guess he’s still keeping his word. As long as we’re married, he won’t lie to me.
Bribery, though? Well, that seems to be fair game.
Lies, bad. Bribery, good.
I swear my husband’s moral compass is beyond messed up.
And when did I start referring to Matteo as my husband all of a sudden? Argh!
Not wanting to think about Matteo for another second, I jump out of bed and go through my usual morning routine, stepping into the shower and getting dressed for the day.
My morning unfolds as it always does, helping Paolina with whatever new project she’s conjured up. This time, she’s embroidering pieces for grandchildren that will never come. I don’t have the heart to tell her to put the materials away, that nothing she makes will ever be used.
When she offers to teach me how to make something for my firstborn, I tell her Matteo left something for me in the library that I’m eager to see. It’s a lie, but right now it’s the only distraction I have, the only thing keeping the guilt from gnawing me hollow.
Truth be told, I haven’t even been in the library yet.
It’s surprising, since books are my life, apart from music.
Maybe I’ve avoided it because I don’t want to find even a speck of joy in this house.
It would be easier to leave if I hated every moment I spent here. But that plan has already fallen apart.
I love spending time with Paolina. I love putting a smile on her face.
Like me, she prefers quiet over noise. The only exception is music.
Maybe that’s why I feel a certain kind of kinship between us.
And after Matteo told me how she survived all the horrors she faced in her life, she’s become something close to a hero in my mind.
Even when she grows quiet out of nowhere, or her blue eyes turn distant and vacant, I know her strength still lingers beneath the surface.
Her resilience forbids her to truly disappear.
I can only hope I’m as strong as she is. Though my husband would never hurt me the way hers did. Matteo would never lay a hand on me. He would never say a cruel word or intentionally hurt me in that way. I don’t know much, but I know that.
Sometimes I almost let myself believe that he loves me—truly and irrevocably. Not that believing such things helps. If anything, they might make things worse. Because if Matteo loves me like he says he does, he’ll never let me go.
Maybe it would be easier if he hated me the way he used to. But even as I think it, my stomach churns at the idea. There’s a part of me—one that I’m constantly refusing to acknowledge—that wouldn’t survive in a world where Matteo hated me.
I try not to dwell on that thought as I make my way to the library.
As I walk inside, I am met with rows upon rows of shelves lined with books, but it’s the grand piano sitting proudly in the room that captures my attention first. It’s an exact replica of the piano my Caro Mio gifted me for Christmas.
No. Not Caro Mio. Matteo. It was always Matteo.
I take a step toward it, my body trembling with each one that follows.
Up close, there’s no denying how similar it is to the one back home.
The polished, white surface and the same delicate carvings along the legs.
Even the faint scent of varnish is identical.
God, how I missed it. My fingers hover over the keys hesitantly, as if touching would make something inside me unravel.
“This changes nothing,” I whisper to myself, even as I lower onto the bench.
The seat creaks softly beneath me, familiar in a way that makes my chest ache. I place my hands on the keys and for a moment, and don’t move. I just sit there, eyes closed, breathing the moment in.
I then press my index finger down, the first note ringing out, clear and full, echoing through the vastness of the room.
It settles into the walls, into the silence, into me.
A shaky breath leaves my lips as I play another.
Then another. And just like that, the music takes over.
My fingers move on their own, slipping into a melody I’ve known my entire life.
One that always reminds me of home. The notes blur together, rising and falling, filling every empty space inside me.
My vision begins to sting with unshed tears. I try to blink them away, but it’s useless. A tear slips down my cheek. Then another. But I don’t stop playing. And I don’t stop smiling. I can’t. Because for the first time since I’ve been here, I don’t feel trapped. I feel free.
The realization hits me all at once, intense and disorienting.
This piano. This room. This moment.
It was never a bribe. It’s a gift, just like Matteo said it was.
My chest tightens as the music swells, my fingers pressing harder into the keys, pouring everything I refuse to say into every note. My Anger. My confusion. My longing. And something far more dangerous.
When the final note fades, the silence that follows feels like someone breathed life back into me.
My hands remain on the keys, trembling. My breathing uneven.
I stare down at them, as if they belonged to someone else.
But they don’t. They belong to me. This is my power.
Me sitting at a piano, playing songs I alone birthed into existence.
This is my peace, and Matteo just made sure that I didn’t spend another day without it.
“This doesn’t change anything,” I murmur again, weaker this time.
Even as I say it, I know I don’t mean it.
I don’t mean a word of it.