“He’s agreed to go along with the ruse. We’re going to feed them some fake information. Lure the guys into a trap, and then we can interrogate them.”
“It’s a good plan,” Massimo agrees. “I want to be apprised of every step going forward. Run everything by me first.”
“Consider it done,” Fiero says.
The meeting moves on to regular business, finally wrapping up ninety minutes later. Fiero approaches me as we’re all gathering our things, preparing to leave for our respective offices. “Valentina wants you to come to lunch on Sunday. She misses Elio,” he says.
“We’ll be there.”
He clamps his hand on my shoulder and lowers his voice. “You can tell me how the hunt for Cruz’s kids is going.”
“You’re not supposed to know about that,” I coolly reply, slinging my laptop bag over my shoulder.
“They’re your flesh and blood. I know you well enough to know you couldn’t rest easy without confirming they were okay, and I get it. Valentina needs that same peace of mind.”
“We shouldn’t discuss this here,” I say, noticing Massimo frowning as he glances at us from the top of the room.
“Agreed. We’ll talk Sunday. Come around three.” He steps back. “And bring the new nanny. Valentina wants to meet her.”
I’d throw something at his smirking face if I wasn’t in the conference room with President Greco’s suspicious scrutiny already directed at me.
16
SLOANE
Itiptoe out of Elio’s room, careful not to wake my little prince. We had a very busy day, and the little guy is all tuckered out. Stopping in the doorway, I turn and stare at him. He’s so precious. I’ve only been in his life for ten days, but I already love him so much. Quietly closing the door, I head along the hallway and back to the kitchen to clean up. Cristian didn’t join us for dinner tonight. He’s out, and he said he’d be late. He didn’t mention whether he had eaten or not, so I plate the leftover lasagna and cover it with Saran Wrap in case he wants to reheat it later.
It was my first attempt at making it, following the recipe in the cookbook Natalia gave me. The sauce is a little watery, but the flavors are good. Elio seemed to like it anyway.
After I clean the kitchen, I walk toward my bedroom, like usual, but think better of it. While I have my own TV, I’m sick of looking at the four walls in there and I’m not in the mood to sketch tonight. Grabbing an unopened bottle of white wine from the refrigerator and a wineglass from the cupboard, I head into the living room and get settled on the couch.
Kicking my slides off, I snag a blanket from the back of the plush leather sectional and position myself in the corner with a large soft cushion at my back. I pour a large measure of wine into my wineglass and sink into the couch with the blanket covering my lower half.
I flick through the movie options and chooseGoodfellas. It came out way before I was born, and I’ve never seen it. I don’t know if Italian mafia movies are anything like real life, but at least I’ll get to watch a few villains slaughtered in cold blood, and I can imagine it’s Diego, Alvaro, and Pablo getting their just desserts.
Knots twist in my gut, and bile crawls up my throat like every time I think of Sunday. I’ve been really struggling to keep it together this week, hiding from Cristian every night because I don’t trust I won’t crack in front of him. I squeeze my eyes shut, but it doesn’t expel the scene from replaying repeatedly in my mind. It’s a miracle I lasted the journey home without breaking down in front of John Angelo. I spent way too long in the shower that night, trying to scrub Diego’s disgusting dried-in cum from my chest and using the water to shield my cries. Retching repeatedly didn’t soothe my pain either knowing Alvaro’s vile seed was already deeply embedded in my stomach. At least they didn’t strip me down below or force themselves inside my vagina. That is something to be grateful for.
A strangled sound rips from my mouth unbidden as the movie starts. Is this what my life has come to? Being grateful to monsters for not assaulting me in worse ways? Memories of the beating Mom was subjected to because of my failure resurrect in my mind to add to my agony. He’s going to kill her, and it will be all my fault.
Draining half my wine in one go, I wish it would anesthetize me. I want someone to remove my brain and scrub it free of all the hideous memories that keep me up at night.
I’ve taken the melatonin Cristian bought me at bedtime, but it isn’t helping. I still can’t sleep, and I’m running on fumes. I have forced food down my throat each day purely because I need to eat to keep my strength, but it’s challenging when all I want to do is give up. I want to crawl into a black hole, cover myself in a blanket, and block out all the light. I want to retreat inward and numb myself to everything.
But I don’t get to be that selfish.
Mom is counting on me, and I can’t ever forget that.
Wrapping the blanket fully around me, I drink my wine and try to concentrate on the movie. It’s good, and eventually it sucks me in, and I forget reality and lose myself in the violent world exploding on the screen. I’m so immersed I don’t hear Cristian walking toward me until it’s too late.
“Good choice,” he says, and I jump about ten feet in the air, spilling the dregs of my wine over myself and the couch. Good thing it’s leather and it’ll wipe off easily.
“Oh my god, Cristian!” I shriek. “You scared the hell out of me.”
“Shit, sorry. I thought you heard me come in.” His gaze lands on my chest, where the wine has made the material almost see-through.
“I’ll get out of your way.” Putting my glass down, I swing my feet onto the floor.
“Come back after you change,” he says, meeting my eyes. “I haven’t watched this movie in years, and I could do with a drink.”
