Mamma. Mamma.
Papa slides his mouth off the muzzle and staggers toward us. He kneels before Mamma and scoops her lifeless body into his arms.
I’m back in the room with Massimo. Trembling. Weeping.
I blink away the tears. “There was so much blood. So much. I… I’ve been afraid of guns ever since. And I can’t watch horror movies where people have masks.”
“I’m so sorry,” Massimo says. “For kidnapping you the way I did. With guns and balaclavas. Actually, I’m sorry for kidnapping you, period.”
“Strangely, balaclavas don’t really bother me all that much…” I tell him. “It’s white masks that do it for me. And guns, as I said. I can still clearly recall the weapon that killed Mamma. The way the muzzle smoked. The way her killer held it. I don’t know the exact make and model, but I’d recognize that sleek, wicked design if I ever saw it again. I’ve never spotted anything like it among my father’s men. Well, the rare times I’ve caught them with weapons in view, anyway—Papa orders his men to keep their guns concealed in my presence as much as possible.”
I sigh and hold Massimo’s gaze. “So you see, it truly was my fault. I should have been the one to die that day, not my mother. I should have moved first. Done something to draw my captor’s attention away from her, and make him shoot me. But instead I was petrified.”
“Your mother wouldn’t have wanted you to do that,” Massimo tells me. “She would have wanted you to live. Believe me.”
“Even my father wanted her to live,” I insist. “He told me, the instant before she died, that he couldn’t live without her.”
“He tried to give his life for the both of you,” Massimo says. “Because he couldn’t stand the thought of losing either of you. I’d probably make the same choice he did. Because there is no choice. You can’t choose between your wife and your daughter. It’s not possible.”
I caress Massimo’s sweet face for a moment, but then look away. “I still can’t help but wonder: maybe she’d be alive if I’d fought a little harder during my capture. Maybe if I carried a knife with me, orsomething, I could have saved her. But I didn’t. I failed her. I failed Papa, too.”
Massimo reaches across and plants his hand firmly on my cheek, then turns my head toward his. “Don’t ever talk like that. You didn’t fail anyone. It was out of your hands. You have to stop blaming yourself. Shit, your father’s more culpable in this than anyone. He’s the one who fucked up, ignoring their warnings, and then allowing those assholes into your house. What the hell, did he give security the morning off that day or something?”
“I don’t remember much else about that day,” I admit. “But you know… this is why I told you I didn’t believe in love and marriage. Papa loved Mamma, and look where it got him? Love didn’t save her, in the end. Nothing did. It’s like you said… love is just a fiction we invent to convince us the people we care for won’t ever die. But they do, anyway. Lust is the only thing that exists. We confuse it for love.”
“Do we?” Massimo asks.
I sigh. “I don’t know anymore. All I know is, I’ve always been afraid that what happened to my mother would happen to me someday: that I’d be shot down in front of my own children. This is why I never wanted to love or to marry, or even have children. But I think… I don’t have to fear that anymore. It would never happen, not if I was with you. I know you’d find a way to protect me, no matter what.”
He combs a strand of hair from my face. “I would. That you can be assured of.”
I smile and snuggle against him.
“Do you forgive yourself, then?” he asks.
I hesitate, saying nothing.
“Angela,” he continues. “If someone as damaged as me is able to forgive himself, you can do it, too. You have to. You’re not to blame for your mother’s death.”
He’s right. It wasn’t my fault.
I’ve been hitting myself over the head all these years, but in truth, I didn’t kill her. Neither did my father. The intruders did. They’re to blame.
I throw an arm around Massimo’s chest and squeeze him tight. “I forgive myself. I do. Mamma died, and it wasn’t because of me.”
All the knots I didn’t even know I had in my stomach unravel. I’ve been living with them all these years, these invisible strings twisting and pulling me with their guilt.
I feel lighter somehow. Freer.
I’ve finally let go of my pain.
I nuzzle this gorgeous man’s neck. He kidnapped me, yes. But he also saved me.
I notice he’s gazing at my pendant again.
“You’re always looking at my necklace,” I tell him.
He nods slowly.
