3. Adriana #3
Next time, it might be more. Next time, Gio might make good on his threat to send me to one of his men in person and let them use me as a reward, turn me into the whore he's been implying I am since the night my father caught me with Lachlan.
I don't know what I'll do then. But I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.
For now, I just need to get through today.
—
Matteo is in the library when I find him after I give the phone back to Gio, curled up in one of the oversized armchairs with a book in his lap.
He looks so small in that chair, so young, and my heart clenches at the sight of him.
He has Lachlan's bright blue eyes, full of intelligence and curiosity.
Every time I look at him, I see the man I loved.
The man who saved my life and then disappeared from it.
And I also see my son, the most precious thing in my life. The one person I would die to protect.
One day, I might have to. But I'll do whatever I can to put it off as long as possible, because once I'm gone, there won't be anyone else to do it.
"Mama!" He looks up when I come in, his face lighting up with a smile that makes everything worth it. "Look, I'm almost done with this one. Can we go to the bookstore and get the next one in the series?"
The bookstore. As if we're allowed to leave the estate. As if Gio would ever let us have that kind of freedom.
"Maybe," I say, because I can't bear to tell him the truth and see the disappointment in his eyes. "We'll see. But for now, what if we see if the next one is in here somewhere? You might even find something you want to read more. There are so many books."
He accepts this with the resignation of a child who's heard "we'll see" too many times to believe it means yes, and then lights up a little when I suggest hunting through the shelves. "Okay," he chirps. "As soon as I'm done."
I sit down on the arm of his chair, running my fingers through his dark hair.
He leans into the touch, still young enough to want his mother's affection, and I memorize the feeling—the weight of him against me and the warmth of his small body, the absolute trust he has in me.
Someday, he'll be too old for this, to want his mother's comfort.
And eventually, he'll be too old to be protected from the darkness that surrounds us.
Someday, Gio will make good on his threats, and I won't be able to stop him. But not today. Today, my son is still innocent and safe. Still mine.
"What are you reading?" I ask, even though I can see the cover.
He launches into an enthusiastic explanation of the plot, his hands gesturing wildly as he describes the characters and their adventures.
I listen, nodding in the right places and asking questions that make him light up with excitement.
This is what I live for, these moments, these small pockets of normalcy in a life that's anything but normal.
For a little while, I can pretend we're just a mother and son spending time together. That we're not trapped in this house and that there's no threat hanging over our heads. For a little while, I can pretend we're free.
We spend the afternoon together, reading and talking and playing the card games I've taught him.
He beats me at Go Fish three times in a row, crowing with delight each time, and I let myself laugh.
Dinner is quiet, just the two of us in the small dining room off the kitchen, eating the pasta that the cook made for us, separate from the elaborate meals Gio typically eats every night.
Matteo chatters about his book some more and about whether he thinks it might snow this winter, even though winter is still a ways off.
I listen and try not to think about the photos on Gio's phone.
After dinner, I tuck Matteo into bed, reading him one more chapter even though he's probably too old for bedtime stories. He falls asleep halfway through, and I sit there for a long time, watching him.
He looks so peaceful and innocent. I would do anything to keep him that way. Anything.
Eventually, I force myself to leave, pulling his door closed behind me. My own room is at the end of the hall, isolated from the rest of the house. Gio's doing. He likes to keep me separate, where he can control my comings and goings.
I get ready for bed mechanically, going through the motions without really thinking about them. I lie there in the dark after, and I try not to think. I close my eyes and will myself to sleep, even though I know the nightmares are waiting.
—
The sound of gunfire jerks me awake. For a moment, I lie there in the dark, disoriented, my heart pounding. Did I dream it? Was it—
Crack. Crack. Crack.
No. Not a dream. Those are gunshots, coming from somewhere on the property.
I'm out of bed before I fully process the thought, my feet hitting the cold floor as I run to the window. Outside, the estate is lit up with floodlights, and I can see figures moving in the darkness. Men running. I can hear shouting. There's more gunfire, making me shrink back from the window.
What on earth is happening?