Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 87704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
“Aemelia,” Antonio says in a voice that’s soft, coaxing.
“I thought I wasn’t Aemelia anymore. I thought I was nameless. A kitten. Stupid gattina. Nothing else.”
“I’ll give you my mother’s recipe,” he says as he lifts the tray from the bed. When he leaves the room, I let the tears flood out of me until I’m wrung out and I slip into a fitful sleep.
***
I wake with a gasp, heart hammering, the nightmare still clinging to me like cobwebs. Fire, the sound of screaming, of gunfire, of my mother crying out my name—
I bolt upright, breath coming fast and ragged, fingers clutching the comforter like it’s the only thing keeping me grounded. My throat is tight, and my skin is damp with sweat.
And then I realize I’m not alone.
Antonio is sitting at the edge of the bed, watching me.
For a second, I can’t move. He’s too close, the shadows cloaking him in unreadable darkness. His hands rest on his knees, broad and strong, fingers curled loosely. He doesn’t look surprised that I woke up.
“What—” My voice cracks. I swallow hard. “What are you doing here?”
His eyes flick over my face, and then, to my shock, he reaches out, fingertips brushing against my hair, smoothing it away from my damp forehead. It’s such a small, unexpectedly gentle gesture that I freeze completely.
“I used to have nightmares,” he says, his voice low, almost thoughtful. “When I was a kid. My mother used to sit with me until they passed.”
I stare at him, still caught between fear and something else, something softer.
Antonio’s mother.
I remember her. When I knew her, she was a sweet woman who didn’t say much but smiled a lot. She was proud of her sons and her daughter was the light of her life. I wonder what she’d think of them now, tying up a helpless woman and sending her pictures into the world like a maggot on a hook.
Would she be proud that they’re set on avenging their brother? Would she respect the means they were taking?
Women in this underground world play mixed roles. Ambivalence is common. They ignore their husbands’ criminal activities, sometimes even their infidelity. Sometimes, they’re open in their support and vicious in their attitudes. I can’t imagine marrying into this world. I think of the sweet all-American boys I grew up with, and how distant that life feels to me now. Even when I was there, living an ordinary life—trips to the mall with friends, going to the movies, bowling, working shitty low paid jobs—I felt like a fish out of water.
In the dim glow of the bedside lamp, Antonio doesn’t look like a bad man. It’s not that he’s kind—none of them are. But he doesn’t gloat, doesn’t sneer, doesn’t treat me like a problem to be solved or a prize to be bartered. He just watches me. He looks... human. And somehow, that unsettles me more than anything.
“What kind of nightmares?” I ask, my voice quieter now, afraid speaking too loudly will shatter this strange moment between us.
His fingers pause in my hair. He exhales slowly, as if debating whether to answer.
“Monsters,” he finally says.
A humorless laugh escapes me. “And now you are one.”
His gaze sharpens, but he doesn’t deny it. “Maybe.” A beat of silence, then: “But monsters don’t comfort scared little girls in the dark.”
I don’t know why that sentence makes something ache in my chest.
I turn my head slightly, just enough to see his face more clearly. There's a softness in his expression, a quiet understanding, like he knows what it’s like to wake up drowning in fear. Like he recognizes something in me that he doesn’t want to name, the same as I’m starting to with him. His eyes are so light grey that it gives him an otherworldly air that makes it harder for me to read him, but staring into them makes me lose myself just a little.
I should push his hand away. I should tell him I don’t need his comfort, that I don’t want it.
But instead, I let him stroke my hair, let the warmth of his palm against my temple lull me back down from the edge of panic.
He doesn’t say anything else.
And somehow, it’s enough.
8
ALEXIS
FIND SOMEONE TO LOVE
“Mio bello.” Mama reaches out to embrace me, pulling me into her warm, soft arms. I stoop to wrap my arms around her, inhaling her familiar scent of jasmine and tomatoes.
“Mama.” I kiss her cheek a little too hard, just how she likes it, and she cups my face with her rough hands, looking me over like she has the power to weigh the value of my soul. I don’t know how she does it, but she always knows when something is wrong.
“Why have you and your brothers been staying at that posto stupido?”
She hates it when we use the city penthouse rather than staying at our estate. I guess she’s lonely now Rosita’s married and on her honeymoon. The last of her babies to fly the nest.