42. Matilde
Matilde
“Thank you for coming with us today, Zeta,” I say on our way back from a pediatrician’s appointment a week later.
“Thank you for inviting me. I was going out of my mind at home.” Between her husband’s deteriorating condition and having Cosima and Vera Barzetti still living as pampered captives under her roof, it’s been stressful.
“Maybe Nico will let them go before long.”
Zeta quickly shakes her head. “Not likely. I don’t believe Vera was involved, and nothing has been found directly tying Cosima to anything, but better safe than sorry."
It seems wrong for the women to suffer for the actions of their husbands, but I value Zeta's opinion. "I never thought to ask Nico, but what happened to Cosima's bodyguards?"
"I imagine the same thing that happened to any of Antonio's men when Nico came for them," she replies. He wiped out almost all of Antonio's crew except for Bobo from Spice who proved himself on Christmas Eve and several occasions since then.
"Cosima mentioned her bodyguards were men her father trusted and that Antonio accepted them as part of their arrangement."
"What arrangement?"
"I don't know. My English may have failed me. I just remember it sounded odd the way she said it."
"Well, even if Cosima wasn’t a traitor before, my son killed hers. A mother won’t forget that.”
Wincing, I glance down at the sleeping twins, knowing Zeta definitely has a point when it comes to that.
I invite her to join us for dinner which she gladly accepts. Like Zeta, I’ve felt confined at home lately, other than the couple of times Nico had me flown to the farm to visit Leone and his guests.
Thinking back on how wonderful Alessio’s wife, sisters and little brother were with me after my rescue, I want to be there for those girls as much as I can while Nico is pouring his resources into tracking down the girls who weren't lucky enough to be rescued right away.
So many men in the mafia would turn a blind eye if it wasn't an issue immediately under their nose or there was no money in it for them.
That's assuming they weren't the ones pulling the strings in the first place.
Not my husband. Honor isn't just a word to him.
I'm very proud to be his wife. He will be the best Capo Chicago has ever seen.
As for the dangers though, Zeta and I only escaped the house today because the babies developed a cough that had me worried enough to get them seen. “At least it is not serious,” I say, stroking Lucia’s chubby cheek.
“Yes, a little rest and some fluids will see them back to their usual activity.”
For security purposes, Zeta’s bodyguard is driving us in one of the family limos. Enio is riding up front with him while Ugo is riding in the back with the four of us. Nico insisted another car follow us to the appointment and back, too.
“Slow down. You lost our tail when you ran that yellow,” Enio complains from the front seat.
“How can you ‘run’ a yellow light? They’ll catch up to us at the next intersection. You’re almost home sweet home anyway,” the driver replies.
Ugo rolls his eyes at their bickering. It’s impossible to forget we’re not alone. Especially when Zeta says, “So tell me, Matilde, how have things been going between you and Nico… at home?”
Heat blasts my face at my mother-in-law’s unmistakable tone. I love her so much, but she can be a little nosy.
“It is going well. Very, very well,” I admit, the words escaping before I can stop them.
Ever since the night he opened up about his past, there's been a clear difference. I enjoyed sex with him before, but he talks more now and holds me close, staring deep into my eyes. It’s indescribable, even better than I could ever wish for.
And what pleases me just as much is how he’s already become addicted to the eye contact during intimacy he once avoided.
Ugo snorts and then quickly smothers the sound in a cough. Blood drains from my face, knowing Nico and I have probably been overheard by others in the house a time or two. We can get a little carried away at times. But when Zeta starts chuckling under her breath, I decide not to let it bother me.
“We are happier than I hoped to be so early in our marriage,” I admit shyly to Zeta.
I’m grasping for a new topic of conversation when the limousine brakes hard very suddenly.
I bite my tongue from the jolt, my arms thrown out to cover the children who are startled awake from their nap.
There’s a shrill screech from Zeta as an enormous truck rams into us from behind.
The seatbelt digs into my chest and hip roughly.
Thinking it’s a mere traffic accident, I twist my neck around just in time to see a SUV barreling toward us before it smashes into the front passenger’s side.
“FUCK!” Ugo yells. “Enio, are you injured? You need to call-”
His words are cut short by a rapid burst, reminding me of a woodpecker gone berserk.
“Oh fuck.” The panic in Ugo’s gruff voice chills me to the bone.
Desperately, I work to free the children from their infant car seats. They’re both upset from the jostling, but I have to hold them, keep them close. Men are climbing out of the vehicles. Men dressed in jeans and black hoodies, at least eight of them, wearing balaclavas and holding submachine guns.
Another rapid burst, and Enio is shouting into his cell for back-up.
“Get them down! Get them down! The windows won’t hold indefinitely against those!” the driver warns us. He’s trying to ram his way past the SUV, but the fenders seem locked together. The car won’t budge.
It’s a busy city street, but all I can hear is that woodpecker again and an eerie clink-clink noise, like coins hitting the pavement. Shell casings. Then silence. They’re reloading.
With his huge bear-like arms, Ugo shoves me with the children onto the floorboard before covering us with his massive frame.
I feel Zeta’s fingernails raking my scalp as she throws herself on top of us, too.
I can no longer see what’s happening, and I’m only left wondering who and why and when will it end.