23. Catalina

Catalina

A n overwhelming sense of dread churns in my stomach, causing me to toss and turn in bed. I know what's coming—I can feel it in the air, even in my half-asleep state.

My fingers grip the sheets tightly as I try to push away the inevitable. But no matter how hard I try, I am transported back to that room. The room where I am always face down, strapped to a cold metal table.

My heart pounds loudly in my ears, drowning out any other sound. I strain to hear voices, but they are muffled and distant. All I can focus on is the searing pain ripping through my backside. It's a pain that has become all too familiar, one that never seems to go away.

I thrash against my restraints, a desperate attempt to escape the agony. But it's no use.

Then suddenly, there is someone by my side. A gentle hand strokes my hair and offers me water. Even in my hazy state, I can see his eyes—a piercing amber, like a flicker of hope amidst the darkness. The liquid soothes my parched throat, but most of it ends up spilling on my face and in my hair due to my position.

As I take deep gulps of water, struggling not to choke, everything around me starts to blur together. It feels like the world is spinning with me.

What did they give me?

In a daze, I feel someone unbinding my restraints and pulling me off the table. My dress is lifted over my hips and someone touches me intimately—a violation of my body that leaves me feeling vulnerable and helpless.

My body feels like a heavy weight, too sluggish to move. I barely struggle when something invades my body, tearing me apart. The pain is sharp, so sharp that it slices through my foggy mental state. My eyes sting with unshed tears, my mouth opens in a silent scream of agony.

And then it stops.

A wave of relief washes over me, but it's fleeting. Cold metal presses against my skin under my chin, and I try to make sense of what's happening around me. But the metal keeps digging into my flesh, a threatening reminder.

Is this how I die?

Amidst my internal panic and hyperventilation, I can't even muster the strength to move a finger. The gun remains trained on me, its cold presence never wavering.

And then the pain returns.

In and out.

I jolt awake, gasping for air as beads of sweat coat my trembling body. It was just another nightmare... the same one that has haunted me since that fateful night. Tears blur my vision as I realize I haven't truly moved past it; it still lingers in the depths of my mind.

"Lina?" Marcello asks groggily, sitting up on the bed. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." I shake my head and attempt a placating smile. He frowns, not quite buying my explanation. His hand goes to my neck, feeling the moisture clinging to my skin.

"Lina, what happened?" He tugs me closer to him, his arms wrapping around me.

"I dreamed about that night again." A soft whisper escapes my lips as I lie next to Marcello, the memories of that fateful night flooding back in fragments. He stiffens beside me, sensing my unease. His warm lips brush over my forehead, trying to comfort me.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks gently.

I hesitate, the pain and hazy memories still fresh in my mind. But then I feel his comforting presence and snuggle closer to him, seeking solace in his embrace.

"I don't remember much. Just some impressions and... pain." I shudder at the memory of the agony I endured. Marcello doesn't press for more information, understanding my need for silence.

I am grateful that he has never asked me about what happened or about Claudia's father. Enzo must have told him the abbreviated version, and Marcello has been kind enough not to bring it up. He has never once made me feel ashamed for what occurred.

"You are safe now. I will always protect you," he assures me with unwavering sincerity. His words send a shiver down my spine, and I turn to kiss him, wanting to forget everything else.

He senses my need for escape and lays me on my back, covering me with his body. "Make me yours," I plead with him, surrendering myself completely.

"You already are mine, Lina," he whispers against my lips before claiming them in a passionate kiss. His hand caresses my face tenderly, his eyes gazing at me with an intensity that both scares and excites me. "You will always be mine."

"And you really think Sisi will go with it?" I frown and start pacing. Marcello had suddenly gotten a call from Benedicto, who invited himself over.

"I had a brief talk with her and I explained that we need to monitor the Guerras to see if they had anything to do with the nun's murder. She wasn't too against it and said she would be on her best behavior."

"Did you also warn her about their son?"

"I told her to be kind to him," Marcello says and moves over to put on his tie.

"I'm still worried. I don't want Claudia around when they get here."

"Agreed. We'll see if Mrs. Evans can stay for a while longer."

"Signor Lastra, Signor Guerra and his family are here," Amelia knocks to announce.

Marcello gives a tight nod and offers me his arm.

In the drawing room, we greet the guests, and I watch awkwardly as we try to engage in conversation. The topics are very mundane, but I can't help but feel out of my element. The only thing I can think of is the finger I'd found in the soup and the threats... to have these people in my house is a little unsettling, to say the least.

Marcello doesn't seem too enthusiastic about this either, as he listens to Benedicto talk with half an ear.

A short while later, and after some more tedious discourse, Sisi comes down.

"Good afternoon," she says, and Marcello proceeds with the introductions.

"My son, Rafaelo, is a little shy. But I hope you can get along," Cosima chimes in, giving her son a pat on the back. The poor boy seems to shrink away at the contact, focusing his attention on Sisi instead.

"P-p-pleas... pleased t-t-to m... m-meet you," he extends his hand, and Sisi shakes it with a kind smile.

"Lastra, why don't we let the women and the children do their thing and we can discuss some business," Benedicto interjects, rising to his feet.

Marcello reluctantly nods, but he doesn't seem too happy about the notion. He gives me a brief, sad smile before leaving.

"Assisi, what a lovely name you have," Cosima starts, her voice a grating, saccharine tone. She looks Sisi up and down, a little frown marring her features. She quickly schools her expression and continues with pleasantries.

"Thank you," Sisi replies, her pose and manners without reproach. Still, this is not the Sisi I know.

"Now, tell me, what are your thoughts on marriage?" Cosima probes further.

"M-M-mother," her son interrupts, "S... stop."

"Nonsense, Raf," she waves her hand and turns again to Sisi.

"I haven't thought about it since I was supposed to take my vows before I left Sacre Coeur," she replies cordially, even though I see she's not pleased with this line of interrogation.

"There's enough time for that, dear," Cosima glibly remarks. "Why don't you two go over there and get to know each other better." She fakes a smile as she points to the other couch at the end of the room.

"But—" I'm about to intervene, not liking this. Cosima, though, speaks again.

"Don't worry, Catalina, they will still be within our sight. Nothing improper will happen." She tries to joke, but I'm not amused. Mostly because I don't trust anyone in their family.

I reluctantly agree and Sisi and Rafaelo take a seat in a farther corner.

"Now we can also talk uninterrupted, no?" She smiles knowingly, as if this was what she intended from the very beginning.

"Right," I say, wariness in my tone.

"I have to ask. I've been curious ever since I met you. Why did you marry Marcello? Couldn't you have found yourself someone else? I mean," she studies me. "You're a pretty girl. I'm sure you could have found someone else to disregard," she pauses, as if she's looking for the right words. "Whatever they needed to disregard." She smiles awkwardly. Yeah, that is definitely the best euphemism I've heard so far.

"I wanted to marry him," I answer with as much confidence as possible. Truth be told, I don't know if there were any other options. But the moment Enzo had mentioned Marcello, I'd jumped at the chance. I don't know why I'd wanted him so much, but I think he left a deep impression on me when I'd seen him at Sacre Coeur.

"Really?" She leans back, horrified.

"Yes, why?" Now it's my turn to frown. What would she have against Marcello? Any woman with two good eyes could see what a catch he is.

"Well, aside from his looks, which granted are quite superior, his reputation is one of the most stained I've ever heard of."

"What do you mean?"

"You haven't heard?" She tilts her head, an eyebrow raised.

"I don't know what you mean. I'm aware he's been living outside the famiglia for the last ten years," I start, but she cuts me off.

"Oh dear, I mean before that. Marcello and his father had the worst type of reputations. No self-respecting woman would have been caught having any connection to them."

"Why?" I'm confused. On the one hand, I am curious to hear what she's talking about, but on the other, I don't know whether to believe a word she says.

"Oh my," She raises a hand to her mouth. Then, she quickly looks around, as if what she's about to impart is of utmost secrecy.

"You didn't find this out from me but," she leans in to whisper, "they used to attend brothels and engage in the most despicable acts." She looks towards the door again, before adding, clearly scandalized, "In groups!"

"I don't understand." My brows furrow in confusion.

Cosima looks frustrated at my question.

"They went to orgies. Everyone knew. They were the most debauched events; the things people would say about what went on inside those events..." She shakes her head.

Orgies? I don't think I've heard that term before. I'd ask her what it means, but I don't think my question would be received well, so I just nod and let her continue.

"They would have even ten women in a night. Sex, drugs, alcohol. Every debauched thing in the book. Some rumors say they even had animals." Her face is horrified as she recounts this.

I'm a little disturbed at her descriptions that I even tune out some words.

"Sodomy and the likes." She shudders. "I'm extremely surprised your brother accepted the match. He must have known."

My face is blank at this point, and I remember snippets of Enzo's disapproval of Marcello. At the time, it made little sense... But what if... No! I shake myself. I can't just trust whatever she's saying.

"I see," I simply reply. She continues chatting away, regaling me with more lurid tales about the Lastra family.

"Why, his mother killed herself. The second wife ran away. And then there's that third wife. She killed herself too. I wonder if there might be a curse."

I'm so shocked by what she's saying that I just smile and nod.

Finally, she changes the subject.

"Look at them. Don't they look good together?" Cosima gushes about Sisi and Rafaelo.

I turn in their direction, and they seem cozy. They are sitting a little too close together, and Rafaelo's head is tilted towards Sisi intimately. Sisi, too, is smiling and talking animatedly with him.

I'm stunned by this development. Blocking everything Cosima told me out of my mind, I take a moment to focus on the two of them.

They are around the same age, with Rafaelo only two years older at twenty-two. But considering his problems, I wonder if Sisi isn't just being kind to him.

When the visit draws to a close, I take Sisi aside to ask her how it went.

"I like him. He's sweet," she replies and blushes.

"Sweet," I repeat, a little taken aback. "That's great!"

"I'd like to keep seeing him, if that's possible." She seems enthusiastic about this, and I'm happy for her. If she likes Rafaelo and wants to befriend him or more, why shouldn't she?

"Of course! I'll talk to Marcello."

After I assure her I will put in a kind word for them with Marcello, I retire to my room.

Sitting alone with my laptop, my curiosity gets the better of me and I find myself typing in the word "orgy" on the search bar. I'm not quite sure what to expect, but I definitely wasn't prepared for what came up.

My eyes widen as I read the first definition from an urban dictionary: an orgy is defined as five or more people engaging in sexual acts together. I furrow my brow, trying to wrap my head around how that even works.

Determined to learn more, I continue scrolling through various websites until one catches my eye. Without a second thought, I click on it and a loud moaning sound erupts from my speakers. Panicked, I quickly shut down my laptop, praying that no one heard the explicit noises coming from it.

Feeling embarrassed yet still intrigued, I cautiously open my laptop again and mute the volume this time. The video shows multiple individuals, all passionately entangled in sexual activities together. In a way, it's not too different from what I had witnessed Allegra doing before.

A realization hits me like a ton of bricks—is this what Marcello enjoys? My stomach churns at the thought. The idea of him participating in such acts makes me feel sick to my core. Am I uncomfortable with the actions themselves or just jealous that he has been with others before me? Perhaps it's both. But then again, could I ever bring myself to do something like that for him?

Shaking my head, I scold myself for even entertaining these thoughts. They are dangerous and only serve to fill me with self-doubt and insecurity.

Despite my initial reservations, I continue to browse the web, reading various articles and slowly becoming more familiar with this intimate business. To my surprise, I even stumble upon tutorials for beginners.

Lost in this new world, I'm only faintly aware when Marcello enters my room. I try not to show my interest as I nonchalantly close my laptop.

"Finished?" I ask with a casual smile.

He nods absentmindedly. "I'll go take a shower first."

As he disappears into the bathroom, I quickly return to the tutorial video I had been watching, studying each step intently. Once I feel confident enough, I make my way to the bathroom.

I give a hesitant knock on the door.

"Can I come in?" I ask, hoping for his permission.

"Yes," he responds loudly from inside, and I push open the door.

I cautiously step inside. Marcello is standing in the shower stall, the clear glass leaving nothing to the imagination. His expression is one of surprise at seeing me.

"Is something wrong?" He furrows his brow and starts to step out of the stall.

"No," I reply quickly, fumbling with the zipper of my dress. Damn, why didn't I undress before coming here?

His gaze is fixed on me, watching my every move intently. With determination, I strip off my clothes and walk towards the shower stall, ready to put what I've learned into practice.

I try to maintain the same level of confidence as the girl in the video, even though my nerves are threatening to betray me. The steam from the newly turned on water envelops my body the moment I step into the shower stall.

"Lina, what are you..." Marcello starts to ask, but I interrupt him by standing on my tiptoes and pressing my lips against his. A deep groan escapes him as our mouths meet, and he pulls me closer by wrapping his arms around my waist.

I can feel his arousal, hard against my stomach, which only fuels my plan further.

Breaking away from the kiss, I sink down to my knees. Marcello's eyes darken with desire as he watches me take him in my hand. I mimic his movements, moving up and down his length. His head falls back and a small whimper escapes his lips.

"Lina," his voice is breathy and it only gives me more confidence as I continue to explore his pleasure points with my hands and mouth.

I tilt my head to the side and open my mouth wider, taking him inside without hesitation. He's soft yet firm, and the taste is surprisingly not unpleasant. My tongue glides over the tip of his erection, eliciting a moan from Marcello as he runs his fingers through my hair, urging me on. I stretch my mouth wider to accommodate all of him, but I can't help gagging when I'm only halfway through.

He must have heard me, because he lets go, taking a step back.

"Lina... what are you doing?" His expression is horrified.

Gazing up at him from my knees, I whisper, "I want to please you." His sudden outburst catches me off guard, and I can see the confusion in his eyes.

"Why would you do this?" He shakes his head, water droplets falling from his hair. Turning off the shower, he moves to leave the stall.

"Did I... did I do something wrong?" I ask, feeling a pang of unease. I stay on my knees, afraid that if I attempt to stand, my legs will give out beneath me.

"This isn't like you. You don't have to do this... Damn it." He mutters under his breath, reaching for a towel and wrapping it around his waist. Despite his obvious arousal, he seems agitated.

"But you enjoyed it before." My words spill out before I can stop them, desperate to keep him from leaving.

"What are you talking about?" He stops in his tracks, his eyes narrowing as he looks down at me. Suddenly, I feel exposed and vulnerable.

"It doesn't matter." I mumble, embarrassed that Cosima's words had planted seeds of doubt in my mind, leading me to believe that Marcello wanted this when he clearly didn't.

"No, tell me what you meant." He kneels down beside me.

"Cosima told me about your past," I confess hesitantly. "About the orgies. And I thought..."

"Orgies." He gives a dry laugh. "And what did you think?" He raises an eyebrow.

My head hangs low as I answer him, the weight of my shame dragging me down. "I can't fulfill that desire for you... but perhaps there are other ways I can please you." I try to explain, but he stops me.

"Lina, please look at me." His voice is gentle and coaxing, so I lift my gaze to meet his. "Whatever Cosima may have told you... there are always multiple sides to any truth. Yes, I have done things in the past that I am not proud of, but they are behind me now. It's been over a decade since I have been with anyone else. Does that sound like someone who craves orgies?"

I shake my head in response, but then another thought crosses my mind. "But... what if you were able to touch others? Would you have had those experiences?"

His answer is swift and resolute. "No."

"No?" I press, needing to be sure.

"No," he repeats firmly. "Because they were not the woman I loved." The words strike me with a force that nearly knocks me off balance, and I end up falling on my backside.

"The woman you loved," I echo hollowly. "Who was she?" My question spills out without hesitation, though my heart aches at the thought of him loving someone besides myself.

Do I even stand a chance against such love?

There is a deep sorrow in his eyes as he turns away from me. In an instant, he is standing and preparing to leave.

"Perhaps one day, I will tell you," he says softly before walking.

My mind is still reeling from the sudden revelation. Marcello was in love with someone else, maybe he still is. And I am already in too deep; my feelings for him intensifying with each passing day.

As I rise to speak, I catch a glimpse of his retreating figure. Shock and horror surge through me at the sight. His once smooth skin is now marred by countless scars, crisscrossing his back in a chaotic pattern—some old and faded, others fresh and raw.

I gasp, my hand flying to my mouth in disbelief.

Good Lord! What happened to him?

It dawns on me then that in all our intimate moments, I have never seen his back. He had purposely kept it hidden from me.

But why?

Another realization hits me like a ton of bricks. I know next to nothing about my own husband, do I? The man I thought I knew has become a stranger before my eyes.