Chapter 7

SEVEN

Sabella

Long after my shower, I still lie on my back and stare at the ceiling while playing the last few hours over in my mind. So much happened since yesterday—catching lice, discovering a boy who slipped into the house, and now Angelo's irrational talk about wanting a baby.

I don't know why I didn't tell him about the boy who helped himself to cereal and milk. Some deeper instinct prevented me. I didn't want him to go after the child and punish or scare him. I'm not sure what to do about the situation. I want to help the boy without getting him into trouble. My heart softens anew when I recall what that poor child had chosen. Of all the things he could've taken, he'd settled on a box of honey-glazed rice puffs. It's not the most nutritious breakfast in the world, but it's such a typical choice for a child.

I toss and turn as troubled thoughts keep me awake. At the center of that turmoil is one man—my husband.

When Heidi locked me in the bedroom with an embarrassed apology, the animated sounds of the dinner party that reached me through the door kept me up. I lay on the bed, hearing every happy giggle and boisterous laugh. Through it all, I heard his voice—each inclination and rumble of that baritone timbre. I couldn't make out the words, but I understood their meaning, the appreciation and happiness he expressed for other people, anyone but me.

I tried not to listen, but my ears were tuned to his voice and my mind subconsciously searching for it. Like a golden thread that held the conversation together, his voice rose and dipped, sometimes disappearing only to resurface with a soft murmur or a delighted chuckle. It was always there, even when it faded for a few seconds, both disturbing and hurtful but a constant no less. At least to me. A constant in my life now. Yet I'll never be graced with his blessing or experience the warmth of his pride. I'll never know what it feels like to make my husband happy. I'll never be the recipient of his approval or the lucky woman who evokes his laughter at a dinner party.

That's not my fate.

My destiny is his wrath. It's the price I'm paying for my family's sins. It's the price Angelo has to extract for his losses. Maybe tormenting me makes dealing with his pain easier. Heaven knows, he's perfected the art of torture. He's a master at it. He doesn't even need a whip.

Hearing Angelo entertain his friends while I was closed in here left my heart aching. It inexplicably hurt when I noticed his fancy dress pants and waistcoat as he stood so tall and proud in the hallway. It was impossible to miss how well the tailored clothes hugged his strong frame and how handsome he looked. The pain that throbbed in the hollow of my ribcage couldn't have been a product of envy. I have no desire to sit at Angelo's dinner table or meet his friends. Angelo's action only burned like a red-hot spear through my stomach because he humiliated me when he dismissed me in front of his friends. As I was forced to listen to them laughing and having fun until the early hours of the morning, that ache bled inside me until my chest felt like one big bruise.

I thought that was bad.

What he did after hurts even worse.

What he said and how he behaved, I can't forgive him for that.

Angelo made it clear he doesn't trust me. He doesn't believe me, so there's no point in trying to convince him of the truth. He'll always question my motives. Let him believe I'm looking for information to get him arrested. He can think what he wants. I don't care. However, I don't have the luxury of not caring about falling pregnant. I can't not take to heart the threat he made after fucking me and leaving me cold. Because I can't have his baby. I refuse to bring an innocent life into this mess.

No child deserves this.

Scrubbing a hand over my face, I take a shaky breath. I'm on birth control. The pills were in my toilet bag that Heidi brought to the empty house. I'll keep on taking them. If Angelo is evil enough to confiscate them, I'll buy some at the pharmacy, but for that, I'll need money. I have to figure out a way of earning a few euros without my husband's knowledge.

I work myself up about finding solutions, but it's no use. Everything feels hopeless. There's no point in tiring myself in the hamster wheel of my mind. I'm just mashing my brain by regurgitating the same problems. It will be wiser to save my energy. I'll take my uncertain and scary future one day at a time. It's the only way to survive.

A sound next-door pierces my turbulent thoughts. The creaking of bedsprings? Unable to help myself, I get out of bed and tiptoe to the adjoining door. I put my ear against the wood and listen, but not another chirp comes from his room. He's probably sleeping a sound, drunken sleep after using my body to sate his needs. I smelled the alcohol on his breath.

What am I doing anyway, listening at his door? What am I hoping to discover? That his guilty conscience is keeping him awake?

I scoff and crawl back under the warm covers. For the remainder of the night, I drift in and out of sleep. By sunrise, I'm awake. After taking care of my grooming, I dress in a warm sweater, a pair of jeans, and sneakers. Before going out onto the balcony, I pull on my coat.

It's a sunny but cold day. The air is fresh with a hint of saltiness drifting in from the sea. The view is just as spectacular as the one at the other house, but with the cultivated garden that frames the cliff, it's tamer. The nature is wilder at the abandoned house. The beach is wider and longer here. The cliffs form a half moon that embraces the jetty in the center.

The sliding door on Angelo's side of the balcony opens. I turn my face away from the view. My back goes stiff when he walks out, dressed in dark jeans that hug his lean hips and a black rollneck cashmere sweater that stretches over his broad chest. His thick hair is damp. Stubble darkens his jaw. He showered, but he didn't shave.

He carries two steaming mugs and half a smile to my side of the balcony. The deliciously spicy and woodsy smell of his cologne reaches me before the rich aroma of the coffee.

"Morning," he says, placing a mug in my hand. "I thought you could do with some caffeine. I made it the way you like it." He sips his coffee, studying me from over the rim. "One sugar and lots of cream."

I eye him with suspicion, inhaling the welcome aroma of the brew.

His lips quirk when he lowers his mug. "Don't worry. It's not poisoned."

"Do you expect me to take your word for that?"

"No," he drawls, not breaking our eye contact as he takes the mug from me.

Our fingers brush. The light touch contracts my skin. I try to hide my reaction, but he's too perceptive. Too clever. He smirks, letting me know he's aware of how he affects me. He watches me as he drinks from my mug before putting it in my hand again. If I didn't know better, I would've said the light in his dark gaze is teasing. He's probably just mocking me.

Two can play this game. Turning the mug, I place my lips exactly on the spot where his have been as I sip the strong, creamy brew. It's a subtle act, easy to miss, but the way in which his eyes heat and his jaw flexes gives him away. He noticed. He's not unaffected either. I suppose that's something. We may hate each other, but our chemistry has always been strong.

He surprises me by hooking my hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering there in a tender caress.

"You're very beautiful, Sabella," he says in a deep, soft voice, staring down at me.

I'm not sure what to say. What do I make of this sudden change from last night?

My mind drifts back to when Heidi and I arrived, to when Angelo stood formidably at the end of the hallway in his classy suit. When he walked toward me, he looked proud and arrogant. But when he apologized for my discomfort, I could've sworn there was genuine remorse in his expression. As if he truly regretted it. As if he had a heart.

Spearing his fingers through my hair, he cups my head. "I have to go away for business." He brushes his thumb over my jaw. "A week at the most." Up, down. "I need to take care of things in Marseille." Up, down. "If there's something you need to tell me, now's your chance."

My stomach draws tight. "Take care of things? What does that mean?"

"Let me worry about the details."

"Are you going to kill someone?" I ask, hating how my voice trembles. "That lieutenant?"

"Why? Are you worried I'll eliminate your ally?"

A sigh catches in my throat. "Are we back to that again? I told you the truth."

His gaze drills into mine. "Are you sure about that?"

"I don't know why you even bother to ask. You're just going to believe what you want to."

He drops his hand, disappointment creeping into his features. I don't know why that makes me so angry. So sad. Whether he believes me or not shouldn't matter.

"This is how it's going to be," he says, his manner resigned.

I swallow. "Like what?"

He stares at me for a beat before he delivers his verdict. "We'll never be on the same side."

I also don't know why that hits me so hard, why I feel like he's stolen my breath when he turns around and walks away.

For a week.

For however long he chooses.

And there's nothing I can do about anything.

He goes inside and closes the door behind him, leaving me in the brilliant, cold sun, letting me stand here alone and wish for something I can't name, only knowing I feel like crying.

Yes, I suppose we are who we are. No matter what I say or do, he'll never be able to look at me and not hate me. I'll never be able to look at him and not see my dad's killer.

It's that damn hamster wheel again.

Turning my back to the doors, I catch the tears that slip free with my fingers. I swallow them with my morning coffee, pushing everything down and locking my feelings away with the storms in my chest. It's a coping mechanism, the only way I know how to exist.

When my mug is empty and I go back inside, my features are schooled, and my back is straight. Not a trace of the turmoil inside me is visible on my face. I keep that part to myself, because I won't give Angelo my pain. Monsters feed on pain. It only makes them stronger. Happier.

Heidi enters with a tray just as I'm taking off my coat.

"Good morning." She places the tray on the coffee table and offloads a plate heaped with bacon and eggs. "I made you an English breakfast. You can do with the protein."

"Thank you, but you shouldn't have gone to so much trouble. Croissants would've been fine."

"It's no trouble at all." She sets a glass of orange juice and a basket of toast on the coffee table. "Come sit down. Eat before it gets cold."

Grateful for her effort, I sit down in the chair she pulls out.

"Do you feel like anything special for lunch?" she asks, leaving the tray on the mantlepiece.

"No, thank you."

She sighs. "Your appetite will return." Fluffing out one of the sofa cushions, she continues, "Traveling always messes up the metabolism. If you have any cravings, you just have to shout."

"Thanks," I say again. "I appreciate that." Picking up the fork, I ask carefully, "Has he left?"

"Yes." Her smile is soft. "Don't worry. He'll be back as soon as he can. The business is always demanding."

I want to say I didn't ask because I'll miss him, but I don't want to make her uncomfortable. She knows how things are between us. There's no point in reminding her.

Popping a piece of bacon into my mouth, I enjoy the crispy texture and salty taste. After the sandwiches in the house that lacks a stove or microwave, a warm meal on such a cold morning is welcome. I didn't realize how hungry I was until I took the first bite.

Heidi rearranges the cushions, not seeming in a hurry to leave. I welcome her presence, but I don't want to keep her from her work.

I load my fork with the fluffy eggs. "I appreciate the company, but you don't have to worry about me. I'm sure you have better things to do."

She shifts her weight. "That's all right. I'll wait. That way, I can take the tray back when you're done."

Her discomfort gives me pause. Then it clicks. She's not hanging around to make conversation or to take back the empty tray.

The delicious food turns sour in my stomach. "Did he tell you to check that I eat?"

A flush works its way up her neck. "Mr. Russo is just worried about your health. He wants to make sure you eat enough to sustain you." She doesn't meet my eyes when she adds, "These last few days have been strenuous. He's worried you're losing weight."

He's no doubt only worried that the breeding machine won't be effective.

Having lost my appetite, I put down the fork.

"Sabella," she says in a beseeching tone, sitting opposite me. "Don't let that spoil your hunger. You need your strength. His intentions are good."

If only she knew.

"I can't leave until you've eaten at least half of that," she says, waving at my plate. "So, please try."

"I'm sorry." I push the plate away. "If I eat another bite, I'll vomit what I've already eaten. You can just scrape it in the trashcan and say I cleaned my plate."

"I'm not going to lie about something that impacts your health. It's not in your best interest. At least try to drink the juice. Stress lowers the immune system. You need to boost your vitamin C intake."

To appease her, I pick up the glass. "You're very loyal to him." And I can't figure out why. Why would anyone be faithful to such a monster?

"I've been working for his family for a long time."

"How long?"

She says with a note of pride, "The late Mr. Russo employed me when he married Mrs. Russo."

"That's a long time indeed. You must be happy here if you're still staying on."

"I like the job." She folds her hands in her lap and shrugs. "I like taking care of people. Plus, the salary and fringe benefits are excellent. I won't earn the same money elsewhere, not even if I decided to become a heart surgeon."

"Did you want to? Become a heart surgeon?"

"Oh, no." She laughs. "But the idea of a general practitioner did appeal to me when I was younger."

I think about Mom, about what she said that day at my sister, Mattie's, house about wanting to be a doctor, and my heart squeezes. I miss them so much—Mom, Mattie, my little nephew on my brother's side, Brad, and my best friend, Colin. And Benjamin, Mattie's and Jared's baby, whose face I've never seen. Everyone.

Heidi takes her phone from her pocket, swipes across the screen, and shows me a photo of a stunning three-story mansion with Greek columns carved in pink marble. "With the money I earn here, I could buy my dream house."

I gasp. "Heidi, it's beautiful."

"Thank you," she says with a tilt of her chin. "I just had it remodeled."

"Where is it?"

"Saint-Tropez. That's where I plan to retire." She winks. "A famous movie star wanted to buy the house, but my offer was higher."

"Good for you," I say with a laugh. "Is the plan to live there alone, or do you have a secret family stashed away somewhere?"

She irons out her skirt. "It's just me."

"By choice or because your job keeps you too busy?" I add quickly, "If you don't mind me asking such a personal question."

"Not at all. It's no secret that my job has disadvantages, but I don't mind. I never saw myself married. How am I going to have fun with all the wealthy widowers on their yachts if I'm shackled to one man?"

She says it jokingly, but I can't help the sharp sting of regret her statement invites. A free will and choices aren't in the cards for me. I am very much shackled to one man, and he's not kind or good.

Her smile slips as she seems to realize her mistake. "That didn't come out right."

"It's all right. I know what you mean."

She blackens the screen of her phone and makes to put it away. I stare at the iPhone with longing, my heart shrinking as it disappears in her pocket. I can't not try.

"Um, Heidi, do you think I can call my family?" I continue hastily, "Just to make sure they're all right."

"I'm sorry, dear." Her expression is regretful. "You should ask Mr. Russo. I'm sure he'll arrange that for you when he gets back."

"I didn't mean to put you on the spot. I just saw your phone and…" I force a smile. "Anyway, tell me more about working here."

"What do you want to know?"

"Were they happy, his parents?"

She seems surprised. "Why do you ask?"

"I'm just trying to get a better understanding of his family dynamic." I admit with some embarrassment, "He doesn't tell me much." Angelo will never discuss his family with me, but like so many other things, I can't tell her that either.

She ponders the question before saying after a while, "They were happy in their way, but I think Mr. Russo loved Mrs. Russo more than she loved him. It was an arranged marriage, you see, and she was very young when they got married."

I take a tiny sip of the juice. "How young?"

"Sixteen."

"Wow." I can't imagine being married at that age. "Why did her father agree?"

"It wasn't uncommon to be married so young back then. There was an agreement between the families, something to do with land, and I'm guessing a lot with the dowry Mr. Russo paid."

"He paid a dowry to marry her?"

"Her father has always been a greedy old man. If you ask me, she was better off with Mr. Russo. I'd just signed my employment contract when he brought his bride home. He wanted everything to be in place when he moved her into his house. Of course, it wasn't this one. It was a much humbler house in the city. He only bought this mansion years later."

"Was she okay with that? With marrying him?"

"It was very difficult to know what Teresa Russo thought or felt. She was kind and generous to the staff, but she kept to herself. She never said anything. Just did as Mr. Russo told her to do." Her voice turns wistful. "I think it was her obedience that made the late Mr. Russo fall so deeply in love with her. She never contested him. Always treated him with consideration and respect. That's how she wore him down and softened his rough edges. In the end, he did everything he did for her. He bought her this house and had it restored at great pains and costs. He showered her with clothes and jewelry and anything her heart could ever desire even though she never asked for anything."

I grow quiet while listening to the story, trying to imagine how it must've been for Teresa to be an obedient wife who bent the knee to her husband. Did she feel victory at being rewarded with his love and wealth? Did she want the affection and gifts? Or did she have different dreams? Did those dreams fade? Did her hopes and plans fizzle out over the years like my mom's until the house and her family became her ambition?

Heidi slaps her hands on her thighs. "Look at the time." She pushes to her feet with another sigh. "I better get the laundry done. Are you sure you won't eat a little more?"

"No, thank you," I say, offering her a weak smile. I would've offered to help, but Heidi has her instructions. She needs to make sure I stay locked up in this room.

"Can I get you something from the library to read?" she asks, collecting the tray.

"That will be kind, thank you."

She stacks the dishes and the untouched toast on the tray. "What kind of reading material do you prefer?"

"Can you get me some recipe books?"

She does a double take.

"I know." I laugh. "Seeing that I'm going to live alone, I better learn."

Her face falls as I so bluntly state the truth, but there's no denying it. Mr. Angelo Russo isn't going to fall in love with me and give me everything my heart desires. This time round, the union isn't going to turn into a fairytale, neither a wanted nor an unwanted one.

"I'll bring you a few books," she says, averting her gaze as she crosses the floor. She closes the door on my, "Thank you."

Long after she's gone, I still consider the story of Teresa and Santino. Was Teresa unspirited for not fighting back, or did she just fight cleverly? Or maybe she wanted to marry Santino. From what Heidi told me about Teresa's family, she could've been happy to escape her circumstances. Whatever the case, her silent obedience won her favors. It won her the heart of her husband. Is that a lesson I could learn? Is that a strategy I should consider? Seeing that I can't change my situation, I may as well stop fighting. It will be so much less tiring. To simply not care. To keep to myself. To give Angelo his due and hide the rest deep down inside me. Because one thing is for sure, if I keep on expending energy on battles I can't win, there will be nothing left of me in the end. Nothing for me. He wants to reduce me to less than the dirt under his shoes. He made that clear when he banished me and told me with a cruel smile on his sensual lips that I'm not worthy of uttering his name. Unless he commands me to say it. Unless I come.

So, I make a decision.

I'll give him obedience. I'll give him my body.

I'll pay that price.

But I'll never give him my heart or a child.

And for as long as I live, I'll never speak his name again.