Chapter 27
MARA
Isit in the back of the car, Sylvie in my lap. She’s twisted toward me, her face buried in my chest. All that bravery, drama, and vicious threats have sapped the energy from her. She feels deflated now, like she wants to sleep for a million years. Livia sits next to me, her hands in her lap.
Ettore drives us out of the city, wearing nothing but his undershirt.
He’s tried to quickly clean the blood from his hands and face, but specks remain.
I’ve never seen him like this, furious to the point of looking as if he’s ready to blow steam out of his ears.
He stares at the road like he wishes he could fight it somehow.
“You did well back there,” Livia says softly, reaching over and squeezing my hand. She gently caresses Sylvie’s hair. “And you did, angel. So well.”
“Thank you,” I say, voice hoarse.
“Thank you, Livia,” Sylvie murmurs into my chest, so polite even in the circumstances.
“You all did well,” Ettore says, his voice hard. “But that never should have happened. You never should’ve seen any of that.”
“She did more than see,” Livia murmurs. “She saved Sylvie.”
Ettore looks in the rearview, eyes glistening with emotion. “Yeah?”
“There was a man, Daddy,” Sylvie murmurs. “He had a chef’s uniform and he said he was going to help me do the maze but then he had a knife and he threw me on the ground and Mara punched him really hard in the face and carried me away.”
Ettore looks on the verge of tears at Sylvie’s words. I want to hold him so badly.
“Thank you,” he says, voice husky. “Mara, thank you so much.”
“You don’t have to thank me. There was no way I was going to let anybody hurt her. You should’ve seen her, Ettore. She was so brave.”
“Was I?” Sylvie looks up at me with glistening eyes.
I kiss her on the forehead. “You were amazing.”
He takes us to a picturesque cottage in the middle of a forest, down a winding three-mile-long road.
I struggle to believe that anyone would be able to find us here.
Livia airs it out while I take Sylvie into the bathroom and sit on the toilet seat as she takes a shower.
She doesn’t want to be away from me, even for a moment.
After, we switch places, then I shower. She’s sleeping once she’s in fresh PJs. Ettore has clothes here, so perhaps they’ve been here before. Or perhaps he always anticipated something like this would happen.
I wear some older woman’s clothes, obviously for Livia, a floral shirt and trousers a little fancier than I’d usually choose.
Sylvie is sleeping on the bed, over the covers, when I emerge from the walk-in closet.
I don’t have the heart to wake her, so I pull a blanket over her, then sit on the bed beside her.
Ettore is elsewhere in the house. I hear him barking down the phone, using his Don voice, issuing orders. He sounds furious. I lie next to Sylvie, my hands moving over my belly, my gut twisted with anxiety.
From the attack, the brush with death… but also, perhaps from the fact that I told Sylvie about me and her father. I had to. I didn’t have any other choice. But the fact she now knows means there’s a lot more pressure on this, on us. I can’t just be her nanny anymore.
What am I even thinking?
I lie back, my head on the pillow, close my eyes and try not to obsess. Livia is cooking some kind of stew, loudly moving around the kitchen, as if she needs to keep moving or she’ll be forced to confront what just happened.
A few minutes later, I hear a creak from the door. I open my eyes and look up. Ettore is there, still in his undershirt, blood dotting his neck. Despite the darkness shrouding him – just like that drawing – a smile touches his lips. He takes out his phone and texts me.
Ettore: Is she sleeping or just pretending to be asleep? I don’t want to scare her.
Mara: Sleeping.
I reply, looking over at him. It’s a miracle, but I’m smiling too.
He walks into the room quietly, then gently lowers himself onto the bed. He tenderly brushes his hand over Sylvie’s hair, then returns to his phone.
Ettore: I have to be careful about how I phrase this over text, but I’m so, so sorry, Mara. I’m sorry you had to be part of this. But I’m also relieved you were there. You saved me from myself, from the idea that I had to be miserable all the time. And now you’ve saved my daughter.
Tears prick my eyes, my breath catching.
Mara: She knows about us.
His face registers this, stunned. But then his smile returns.
Ettore: Good.
Mara: Good? Just good? Aren’t you going to ask why? I used our relationship to make that awful man let me switch places with her.
Ettore: I love that you called it a relationship.
He texts, looking at me seriously.
Mara: We need to be serious about this.
I reply, looking at him in what I hope is a serious way.
He types for a long time. I watch his knitted eyebrows, his tense jaw, the speed with which he taps at the screen.
I never knew texting could provoke so much in me before I came to his estate.
Now, with all the emotions bubbling up, it’s so clear that texting is some kind of superpower.
A shield we can use to say things we otherwise couldn’t. Or maybe even shouldn’t, sometimes.
Finally, his text arrives.
Ettore: We’re together. That’s what counts.
Things are messy, and there’s a chance they might get even messier, but I’m committed to making this work.
Sylvie has fallen in love with you already.
Perhaps that’s a good thing or maybe it’s a bad thing.
Maybe it will scar her or maybe it will be the best thing that ever happened to her.
But I’m done living my life expecting the worst. I’m done living in the shadows.
You’ve changed me, Mara, made me realize I have to make a stand.
In my work, yes, but in my personal life too.
I can’t make any concrete claims or requests or anything, but know this…
I am going to make this work. You, Sylvie, Livia, you’re what matters to me.
We have the potential to be a family. Not some perfect, storybook thing, but a collection of people doing their best.
I sob quietly, tears sliding down my cheeks. He walks around the bed and pulls me into a hug. I cling to him tightly, sobbing as the raw emotion punches out of me.
He brushes the tears from my cheeks, still with blood clinging to him, yet his eyes are soft.
“She called me mommy,” I murmur.
“She did?” He’s still smiling.
“I’m not sure she even remembers. I was shocked after I hit that man. Stupid—”
“You’re not stupid,” he says fiercely.
“She snapped me out of it.”
“That’s because she knows,” he says huskily. “You could be her—”
I throw myself at him for a passionate kiss. He catches me, kissing me hard at first. I feel the need in him rise up, his focus honing in on me. He softens the kiss a moment later, undoubtedly aware of his sleeping daughter.
I step back slightly, placing my hand on his rock-hard chest. “You can’t say things like that,” I murmur. “This is a stressful time. Life and death… we still have to be smart.”
“You’re the mature one,” he says, kissing me on the cheek gently. “And you’re right. When this is done…” He glances at his daughter, then leans close, whispering in my ear. “When the man responsible for your parents’ deaths is dead, then we can choose what life we want to have.”
I swallow, knowing a different woman would be disgusted, scared. But I’m filled with vengeance… and a desperate need to move on, to be somebody else. Could I be his woman and a parental figure to Sylvie?
Standing on my tiptoes, I whisper, “Where do you stand on that? What’s the next step? I heard you on the phone.”
He moves to my ear again. “I’ve taken steps. They should work.”
“Should?” I ask anxiously.
“If they don’t, I’ve got men waiting in the forest. They’ll come for you. They’ll take you someplace safe.”
“Where will you be?” I ask.
He pulls away, looks at me, his eyes getting that intense, primal look he had when the vault first opened, when I told Sylvie not to look and stepped over the dead bodies, when a piece of me screamed I shouldn’t be here, near him. He’s too hot. Too dangerous.
I don’t have to ask.
If his plan doesn’t work, he’ll be dead.