25. Amelia
Pacing up and down the living room, late in the evening, I keep churning and churning through the facts. My mind is in complete chaos at this point.
The bottom line though is that Stefano must know. Of course, he knows. If he knows what Alagille Syndrome is - then he knows it's rare and genetically inherited.
He knows Elle is his daughter.
Shit.
It's bad. It's so bad because I am not the one who told him.
He knows and I've been keeping it from him for years. I would rather have had the chance to tell him myself if I knew about Merelda and what he went through with her.
My heart is aching for him and the pain of his loss. I still can't believe he lost his daughter - and now he is going through the whole same process again.
My mind is in full panic mode.
How am I going to explain all of this to him? Why I kept her away.
I should have spoken to him about Elle being his child the moment he found us, and I should have spoken to him about the cost of her surgery as soon as I knew. Why would I trust Matteo and not him?
I guess I know the answer to that. I didn't have any choice but to trust Matteo because he was the one getting tested. He is a positive match. I had to trust him.
I sigh and run both hands through my hair, tilting my head back and trying to force myself to calm down. I'm really struggling right now. I have no one to turn to for help or to calm me down because the one person who I need to speak to - well, he can be a massive asshole at the best of times.
I should be celebrating the fact that Elle has a donor and she's going to get the surgery she needs. Elle is going to live. She's going to be ok.
But all I feel is stress and nausea with worry.
I hear the front door open and slam shut loudly. The sound echoes through the house and I hope it doesn't wake up Elle.
Stefano is home.
There is no better time than now to try and make things right.
I rush over to him. I desperately want to sit down and have a conversation with him.
I want a chance to explain myself. To apologize.
He looks like he's ready to punch a wall though. His face is tight; his shoulders are tense and raised. His fist is clenching and unclenching as he stares down at me, with his jacket off, slung over his shoulder.
His sleeves are rolled up and I can see the tendons of his forearms flexing in agitation.
"Can we talk?" I ask nervously.
He snorts loudly. "Now you want to talk. Isn't that amusing?"
He places his hand on my shoulder and shoves me out of the way, walking past me towards the liquor cabinet, discarding his jacket over the back of a chair on the way there.
"Stefano please, give me a chance to explain."
"You've had your chance. In fact, you've had six years' worth of chances and at any point in those years you could have had a little chat with me. But you stayed quiet. You kept that pretty little mouth of yours shut. Why the fuck would I want to listen to you now?"
"So - you know - I - obviously you know. With her disease it's…" I'm mumbling, falling over my words.
"Yes, I fucking know she's my daughter, Amelia. I knew the moment I saw her medical reports, the first day she moved in here. I gave you all this time to come forward and talk to me then too - but what? You didn't. And now you expect me to sit and listen to whatever bullshit you are going to spew."
He pours himself a double shot of whiskey and downs it.
"Will you just turn around and look at me? Will you just talk to me for fuck's sake? I get it; you're angry. You have a right to be angry. But shutting me out doesn't change anything." I shout, annoyed, stressed beyond what I think I can handle, and reaching my tipping point.
He does turn around to look at me, but the smirk on his face says we aren't going to have a decent conversation. He's also past his tipping point apparently.
Can I blame him for being this angry with me? What if someone hid my child from me for six years? A beautiful child with a pure heart who loves easily. A child who makes me smile every moment I'm with her. What if I found out that someone stole six years of that from me - and then when I did finally meet her - I find out she's really sick. Really close to death.
I'd be livid.
Nothing in the world can give Stefano that lost time back with Elle.
I am heavy with guilt.
But all I was ever doing was trying to keep her safe.
I sigh and, in my frustration, I'm fighting tears.
Stefano notices my internal battle and steps close to me. He grabs my jaw in his massive hand and pulls my face towards his. A dark sneer spreads across his lips.
"Why are you crying? Did someone keep secrets from you, Amelia? Did someone hide the truth from you?"
He shoves me away again, but this time I run straight back towards him. I can't give up. I have to get him to understand.
I grab the front of his shirt. "Stefano, I am so sorry. I am so, so sorry. Please, forgive me. I thought I was doing the right thing. I wanted what was best for her."
"Taking her father away from her is good for her? How the fuck do you assume that?" he snarls.
"It wasn't just you." I bite my lip, knowing I'm going to say the wrong thing. "It wasn't you - it was everything - I was trying to protect her from everything. The entire world you live in. Anything and everything to do with the mafia - I didn't want that for her."
He looks down at me and hisses his words into my face.
"But that world includes me, Amelia. Her father. You had no right to make that choice. We could've figured something out. We could've found a way to keep her safe together."
"I'm sorry," I say again, feeling hopeless and helpless.
I let go of his shirt, but my hands are still resting on his massive, solid chest. How can I make him see? How can I get him to understand?
"You can sleep in the guest room." He says coldly. "You can have your wish. You no longer have to share a bed with me." He steps away from me.
"No. Wait. That's not -" My heart is shattering into a million pieces. "That isn't what I want anymore."
"I don't care what you want at this point, Amelia. You should count yourself lucky that I don't forbid you from seeing Elle for six years so that you can know what that feels like."
"Stefano." Would he do that? Would he take her from me?
My heart is breaking in ways I can't even imagine.
He gently pushes me away from himself and walks out of the living room.
I'm left standing alone, again, as my world begins to crumble and break apart.
I drop to my knees on the soft carpet and cry for ages before I can pick myself up and go to the guest room. Cold, empty, void of warmth or life - the guest room.
At three in the morning, my phone begins to buzz against the wooden bedside table. I squint at it, thinking it's my alarm and I have to go to work, but it's too early.
Then I think it's the hospital calling about Elle, but Elle is here at home.
I sit up, confusion fogging my mind.
I grab my phone and answer.
"Amelia, it's Matteo. I'm outside. I'm here to fetch you and Elle."
"What?" I mumble, rubbing my eyes.
"Let me in. We have to get going. Everything is set up."
"Tonight? Now?"
"Tonight. Hurry up. I don't want to wake Stefano."
I hang up and rush to get dressed.
Then I tip-toe downstairs, exhausted, but pumped full of adrenalin, I open the front door to let Matteo in.
"I need help with Elle," I whisper.
"I know. I'll carry her. The car is running downstairs. We have to hurry. Everyone's waiting." He says, walking upstairs towards her bedroom.
Carefully and quietly, we wake Elle up and carry her to his car outside.
I sit in the back with her as we drive through the very dark night towards where Matteo is taking us.
I hardly speak at all. At this point, I have more questions that there could possibly be answers for - and at this point, only one thing actually matters.
Elle.
Elle is all that matters.
I hold her close to me as she quietly watches the streetlights flash past our window.
Outside a decrepit and abandoned building, Matteo pulls the car to a stop.
I stare at it, wondering if we're lost. He must be. I glance towards him sitting in the driver's seat, getting ready to climb out of the car. We're not lost. He is exactly where he means to be.
It's dark around us, most of the street lights don't even work anymore.
I want to reach out and check if my car door is locked.
"What are we doing here?" I ask, nervously.
"We're here. This is where they've set up. They're inside waiting for us. Give me your phone. These people don't take risks and they won't let outsiders bring phones in."
"Here?" I ask in shock as my anxiety begins to skyrocket.
"Come on, Amelia; we don't have a lot of time. Do you want help or not?" Matteo snaps, reaching inside the car to pull my arm and get me out.
"Ok, ok give me a second. I'm coming. I just didn't expect - um - this place."
"Give me your phone." He says again, holding his hand out. Reluctantly I place my phone in his hand and the minute he pushes it into his back pocket I get a heavy feeling of regret.
Without another word, he lifts Elle into his arms, and we walk into the dark building. It stinks. It's musty and old and I have to watch where I step to avoid breaking my ankle on some fallen pieces of rubble or a rusted trolley abandoned here by one of the street people.
"Matteo - " I say nervously. But he is far ahead of me, and when I realize this, I am scared and jog to catch up. We walk up three flights of stairs, avoiding dark dirty stains on the floor that could be vomit or blood or - I don't even really want to know.
I want to grab Elle and run. This was a mistake. We shouldn't be here. Whatever they are offering here I don't want it. This isn't right. It can't be right.
Why would he bring us here?
I watch Matteo's back as I walk behind him. I could never fight him. Maybe if I tried to explain that I want to leave - maybe he'd let me? I don't think so. There's something about his demeanor that tells me he's not in a listening mood.
I'll have to wait for the right moment to take her and get away from here.
Finally, when we get into the room he's headed for, I do breathe a small sigh of relief.
Somehow, in this hole of a building, they've created a clean space.
A section of the room is cornered off with massive plastic sheeting; inside it, they've set up what looks like an operating room. My stomach churns at the sight of it. I'm used to such a sterile surgery environment. Nothing about this feels or looks right.
Matteo carries Elle over to the wheeled bed and lays her down on it, talking to one of the doctors. I look around, wondering what the hell all of this is for - what his other business is.
He must offer surgeries to people like me - probably charging them a decent amount, but something more affordable than the hospital.
I sigh deeply. Without his help, Elle can't get what she needs.
I have to relax and let him do his thing.
He's still talking to one of the other doctors.
He comes over to me, looking calm. At least he knows what's going on here.
"Amelia, it won't be long now. The main surgeon is on his way. He'll be here soon. Sorry, I thought he was here already."
"Ok," I say softly. I'm exhausted. I don't like this place, but I need to have patience.