A married couple.
One year ago, after the beta capo Anzo divorced his previous husband,Moon Larsen, he married me.
Me.
I stare, blink, then keep staring, trying to process, swallowing hard.
A mafia bride?
Is that really me?
Kidnapped and forced.
The moment my eyes land on this line, I stop scrolling. I sway left, then right, fighting to stay upright for a second.
The information just doesn’t register. The blog outright suggests I was there not of my own free will, but nobody cared. Well, that much I know; I feel it just under my skin.Forced.
I was brought there by the capo himself, in place of my older brother, who escaped the fortress.
The hell…
No, no more!
I don’t want any details!
As I raise the mouse pointer to close the page, one more picture catches my attention.
It shows Anzo and me and one more guy at some charity event.
I’m dressed in gray, in an elegant suit, my hair in a bun, my face looks pale in the glare of the flash. However, that is not the focal point of this picture.
It’s the man with a diagonal scar across his cheek. He stands next to me, towering over me and Anzo.
Rocco Ferro.
Immediately I close the browser and jump back to my bed.
Funny, I blocked out Snow’s music, which offered me a small, safe glimpse into my past, and now I’ve stumbled upon abombshellon my own, poisoning my mind and making me shiver like a birch tree.
Desperate to claw my way out of all these problems that are swarming me, I decide to go swimming again. I pick a time whennobody is in the garden and sneak through it unseen and just… plunge into the lake’s cool water.
I think I swim for a good hour before my agitated state dissipates. For exactly…the same time!
Then it’s back with a vengeance.
That night I crawl into bed wearing one of Lake’s old T-shirts, but the anxiety has settled back into me and seems ready to stay. So I toss and turn, restless.
I need something.
I need a nest.
Yes. NEST.
A place to hide, to soothe myself. Layers of comfort, walls to wrap around me.
But it isn’t there: no pillows, no extra blankets, no ribbons. No clothes. Just my comforter, which falls short.
In the end I can’t take it anymore; an important part of me is absent. Wrapping myself in one piece of… anything just isn’t enough. There’s no trace of my energy woven in, no scent of mine, no structure. I need to build my own safe zone.
