I tried not to think about what she would ask of me if I were ever to make it out of here.
I didn’t want to think on it.
Now, as Daniele worked on the last window, right by the kitchen, I knew it would be my only chance to speak to him. I got up off the couch, made my way to the fridge and filled a glass of water. I leant against the counter, putting the cool rim of the glass to my mouth, asking, “How is he?” before sipping on the iced water.
Daniele did not spare a glance as he fitted the bars on the outside of the window and was aloof as they come when he uttered nonchalantly, “He’s good. He’s great. He’s busy running the streets and raising his kids.” My silence caused him to glimpse at me a second before saying, “What? You thought he’d be wrecked? Please. You were nothing but a blip on his radar. Don’t flatter yourself, honey.”
I set my glass down. “I wasn’t insinuating he was distraught or anything.”
He drilled on one side and when he was done, he muttered, “So, what is it you want to know?” The other side was then secured and the high-pitched squeal the drill gave off was excruciating. “Oh. I get ya.” There was that smirk again and his brow rose. “His bed ain’t cold, if that’s what you’re gettin’ at.”
Right.
Numbness spread through my chest.
Ettore was grown. He was a purely sexual male. Did I expect him to wait? Wait for what? He hated me.
As I suffered through the beginnings of a mental breakdown, it was only polite to ask, “And the kids?”
“Don’t even remember your name,” he said dispassionately.
I know what he was up to. Daniele was trying to hurt me, and succeeding.
“Good,” I said with a straight face, which was pretty hard to do when your insides were melting away.
My retreat to the master bedroom was swift. I don’t know how long I stayed there, sitting on the edge of the bed, but darkness fell and swallowed me whole. I heard heavy footsteps approach but paid no mind to them. It was only when the bedroom light switched on that I lifted my head from my upturned knees that I blinked rapidly, adjusting to the brightness, that I saw Marco standing in the open doorway.
I hugged my knees tighter and my eyes followed him as he walked into the room, reaching for his earpiece. I didn’t know what he was up to, but I kept a careful eye on him as he removed the black receiver from the waist of his pants and made a show of placing the device onto the vanity before taking a seat on the dainty stool that shouldn’t have supported his massive frame.
He watched me rock gently and said, “I heard what he said to you. I probably shouldn’t interfere, but you should know better than to believe anything Daniele says.”
I didn’t respond for a long moment. My voice was hoarse when I queried, “So, he’s lying?”
“I don’t know if he’s lying, but I do know he hates you and will say anything to make you hurt.”
Thank you, Marco.
I struggled with the panic that insisted it be felt as I uttered quietly, “I don’t know how to make this right.”
“You can’t,” was his firm response.
My voice quavered. “There has to be a way.” I rocked harder, back and forth, whispering, “Therehasto be.”
And, right then, Marco was done being nice. “Jesus Christ, Vittoria. I think I have observed long enough to know you aren’t a murderer but,fuck. Be reasonable. Do you know how lucky you are to be here, in this place, after what you did?”
Part of me did know. It didn’t change the fact that the solitude was killing me. I must have sounded pathetic when I confessed, “I’m so lonely.”
Marco was not sympathetic. He rested his elbows onto his knees, leaning closer to me. “You’re sitting in luxury, living in a gold-plated prison. You’re not in chains. You’re not being starved or abused. You get to live a semi-normal life. Can you see how this attitude might come across as ungrateful?”
My lashes were wet as I scrambled to sit up. “If he doesn’t want me, that’s fine. I’ll go away. I’ll leave and never come back.”
But Marco shook his head. “That’s not gonna happen.” He paused a second, and from where I sat, it looked as though he was thinking very hard about what he was about to say next. “Everyone answers to somebody. You know that, right? Everybody, even Ettore Scala. And when they demanded blood, when they called for your head, he refused to give it to them.”
My shoulders drooped.
He did?
A somber look settled over his features. “Ask yourself why.” I was, but the answer wasn’t clear. “Look, he needs time. What kind of father would he be if he let you into his home, close to his kids after-”