Fina hasn’t said a word about her experience. All we know is that she suffered no lasting physical harm. But psychologically? The jury is still out on that one.
I watch as Fina clutches Matteo’s hand like it’s a life raft, the only thing preventing her from spiraling into an abyss of panic.
“What happened in that place?” I ask in a low voice. Bottling it up isn’t helping her.
Fina says nothing for ages, but just as I’m about to stand and ask if she wants a hot drink, she speaks.
“I’d fallen asleep after we arrived at the hotel. Matteo had gone for a shower. I woke to find a man standing over me with a syringe in his hand. He wore a black mask. When I screamed, Matteo came running out of the bathroom. A second man shot him.” She swallows hard, and a tear slides down her cheek as she squeezes Matteo’s hand so tight I worry for his fingers.
“They must have knocked me out because when I next woke up, I was in a small room. Still wearing my PJs thankfully. Nobody came for ages, but eventually a man appeared. He said something about an auction and then disappeared. Some time after that, Tim Remington arrived. He told me Santini was dead, and that Dad was angry.”
“Boo hoo.” She smiles.
“Then he told me I had to repay the debt. When I asked what the fuck he was talking about, he just laughed and left.”
“You must have been terrified.” A mental snapshot of the broken women in the rooms, too traumatized to even acknowledge the men leering at them, makes me shudder.
“I was terrified for my baby.” She rests her hand on her belly. Angelo knows about the baby; apparently Dr. Cliff told him after Fina fainted.
“The baby is healthy,” I remind her. Thank god. Losing her baby as well as Matteo would have been too much.
“The baby is why I’m still here,” she admits. “I have to be strong for her. She needs me even more now.” Sad eyes gaze at Matteo, and I fight against the tears that want to escape.
This is the first time she’s admitted out loud she knows he might not recover. My heart breaks for her, but she’s right. She needs to prioritize her baby. And sitting here day after day isn’t good for her.
“You and the baby are safe now,” I remind her. “No more arranged marriages to worry about.”
“Thank god,” she mutters.
“And guess what: Santini died knowing what a loser he was.” I grin at the memory of his face when I called him a sad loser. Served the bastard right.
Fina chuckles before wiping her eyes. “I’ve decided to focus on the foundation once we find someone more suitable as our PR person. Vanessa can stay as their assistant.”
She tells me about her plans to expand the Di Rossi Foundation’s good work with abused women and children, and as she talks, her face lights up.
Having something else to focus on will be good for her. Fina’s the perfect figurehead for such an important charity, and as a woman who grew up under the thumb of a misogynistic man, she understands what many of the women have dealt with.
“I’m proud of you,” I tell her when she’s finished outlining her plans for a new fundraising drive.
Her eyes sparkle with excitement. “It’s going to be—” Then she freezes and turns to look at Matteo. “His hand,” she gasps. “I felt him move!”
I stare at Matteo, wondering if perhaps she’s delusional. He looks no different to me.
“Maybe it was—”
“No, he’s coming round. Look, his eyes twitched!”
The machine connected to his body by a million wires beeps louder when his heart rate spikes. Fina bursts into tears as Matteo’s eyelids flutter before they crack open and he gags on the tube in his throat.
Fina slams her hand down on the call button next to his bed, and a nurse comes running in.
“He’s waking up!”
50
Chiara
The office is quiet. Cecelia is on a break, so I wander past her desk and into my husband’s office. He’s on the phone. He glances up and smiles before frowning at what the person on the end of the line says.
