Chapter 17

Serena

A s we arrive home, I feel the nerves eating away at me. Salvatore goes to his office, leaving me by myself in the living room. I bite at my nails, a habit I picked up with my mother no longer around to swat my hand away from my mouth.

He returns from his office with a box of USBs and his laptop. My hands become clammy as he sets everything up. He holds my sweaty hand and leads me to the couch to sit.

He sits down next to me, and places a delicate kiss on my shoulder. "These," he begins, his voice rough , "are the recordings of my therapy sessions back when I was fourteen. I need you to listen to them."

I nod, not feeling like I’m capable of speaking. He plays the first one for me, and I steel myself for what I’m about to hear.

The screen flickers to life, showing a younger Salvatore, his face pale. Even then, he was handsome, but anyone could tell he was going through something traumatic, he looked unwell.

"She used to always tell me she loves me, that I’m her favorite person in the whole world." the young Salvatore says, his voice barely above a whisper.

"What did she do, Salvatore?" The therapist asks.

There is a long pause, and then the young Salvatore begins to speak, and I wish he hadn’t. "She... she would come into my room at night. She’d say she wanted to talk to me. She used to tell me that my father didn’t love her enough, and that she needs me."

I feel my heart drop to my stomach, feeling so protective over the boy he once was.

"But then it got worse," he continues, "She started touching me, saying it was okay because she was my mother. She would... she would force me to touch her too. I remember her getting so angry if I told her I didn’t like it, that I didn’t want to do it with her."

I glance at Salvatore, his face contorted with pain as he listens to his own words. I reach out, taking his hand in mine. This must be so hard for him, yet here he is, doing it for me.

"I tried to stop her countless times," the young Salvatore says. "She would go crazy if I refused, only kissing me harder, touching me more. She would tell me that I should be grateful for her, that she was showing me how love feels."

Salvatore’s grip on my hand tightens.

"Salvatore, what about your father? How did he react to all this?" the therapist probes.

The young Salvatore hesitates. "He blamed me," he grunts, a tear escaping him which he quickly wipes. Even back then, he hated appearing weak. "He always told me that I was disgusting for seducing her. One time, he slapped me so hard because I forgot to close the door when I was peeing, he said that I wanted her to look, to come touch me."

I gasp, horrified. Salvatore's eyes are fixed on the screen, his knuckles white from the intensity of his grip on my hand. It hurts a little, but I relish in it. I want something to distract me from the pain in my chest.

He was just a boy, he didn’t know any better. He’s innocent of the claims Antonio was throwing at him. His father was delusional.

"Did your father ever try to make her stop?" the therapist asks.

Young Salvatore shakes his head. "No. He said it was my fault, that I deserved it. He would just... watch, pissed and angry at me. He would tell me not to seduce her next time. "

Tears stream down my face as I listen. I can’t believe the cruelty Salvatore had to go through, the betrayal from both his parents. He’s just so strong, I never once imagined his past can be this awful.

Salvatore pauses the recording, there is a slight tremor in his hands. "I want you to understand," he says. "To know why I am the way I am. Why I struggle with love, with trust."

I reach out to cup his face, my thumb caressing his cheek. "You did nothing to deserve this, Salvatore," I whisper.

He closes his eyes, leaning into my touch. I feel so hollow inside, I can’t even imagine what he feels.

He opens his eyes, the vulnerability in his gaze taking my breath away. "Thank you," he tells me. "Thank you for listening."

I nod, pulling him into a tight hug. Salvatore clings to me, and for a moment, I close my eyes and imagine I’m hugging the young Salvatore. The little boy who desperately needed this hug.

He pulls back slightly, his eyes red. "There are more recordings," he says quietly. "I want you to hear them, to understand everything."

I nod, my heart heavy.

He plugs in another USB, and the screen flickers to life again.

The young Salvatore appears, looking even more fragile than before. The therapist’s voice is low. "Salvatore, can you tell about a memory with your mother that you especially hate?"

The young Salvatore’s eyes are distant. "There was one time... I was about twelve. She came into my room, as usual, but I had locked the door. She was a small woman, but got so angry that she broke down the door that day. She dug her nails into my face, and made me undress. She wanted me... to masturbate in front of her."

Bile rises up my throat, but I swallow it down, struggling not to gag. Images of Salvatore having to touch himself while his psycho mother watches invade my mind, refusing to leave it, and I want to put bleach in my eyes.

Salvatore plays another one, and I almost want to beg him to stop. But I can’t, I need to listen so that I can understand his reaction to me that day, even if it makes me want to crawl into a hole and die.

I wish I could go back in time, and steal him away from all of this.

The therapist is trying to get more information out of him. "Salvatore, can you tell me why your father decided to put you in therapy?"

Young Salvatore shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "He said that if I stopped being a man-whore, he will forgive me. He told me I’m sick in the head, and need someone to fix me." he mutters.

The therapist leans forward slightly. "Forgive you for what, Salvatore?"

"For taking his wife away," he says bitterly.

The therapist's voice remains steady. "Did he ever tell you why he was willing to forgive you despite all the things he accused you of?"

Young Salvatore nods slowly. "He said he needed an heir to his empire, someone who could lead it after he’s gone. And unfortunately, I am his only option."

The therapist nods. "Salvatore, can you tell me more about your mother? What happened to her?"

A shadow crosses young Salvatore's face, and he takes a deep breath before speaking. "She overdosed when I was thirteen," he tell the therapist. "I had finally grown strong enough to stop her, to push her away. She couldn't handle it."

My hand flies to my mouth. Not only did she assault him, but she also put the guilt of her death on his conscience.

How can a mother do this to her own child? What kind of fucked up person was she? I feel like I want to dig up her grave, just so I can give her a piece of my mind. This is making me lose my sanity.

"She started drinking more, taking pills," young Salvatore continues. "One day, I woke up to find her on my bed, dead. Her mouth was foaming, and her eyes were white. It was scary. She left me a note, it said that she will always love me."

The therapist is compassionate. "That must have been so hard for you, Salvatore. How did your father react?"

Young Salvatore's face hardens. "He blamed me again. We moved from Italy to the United States after her death. My dad couldn’t bear to stay there, he said that Italy reminded him of her too much." he utters. That specific recording ends there. So that’s why they moved, I always wondered.

"You were a child," I whisper, my voice thick with emotion. "None of this is your fault, Salvatore."

He looks almost scared, I have never seen him with that expression on his face. I know he’s about to say something that will shake me to my core, that will change the course of our relationship.

"There’s something I need to confess," he says. "The reason I was so scared to admit that I love you is because I know I have obsessive tendencies, just like my mother. I didn’t want to taint you, to harm you. It was easier to pretend I wasn’t obsessed with you, to push you away, than to risk becoming like her."

I look away for a moment, contemplating his words. It’s then that I make a decision. If it’s sick that I want this man obsessed with me, then I’m the sickest person in the world.

When I turn back to him, I see the vulnerability he rarely shows. "I understand, and I forgive you, Salvatore. By God, I forgive you."

His entire being seems to relax. He reaches over and puts his head on my chest. I start playing with his hair, and everything feels right, like we’re the only two people in the world.

If I’d agreed to listen to him sooner, we would have reconciled a long time ago, but I was too stubborn. And maybe, he just wasn’t ready yet.

"I’m so sorry for what you’ve endured," I say. "All this time, how could you stand your father?"

"I didn’t," he chuckles darkly. "I used his wants against him. He wanted me to take over the empire? I did. But it was all under my control since I turned eighteen. Even his guards were loyal to me, not him. He thought he was pulling the strings, but every move he made was dictated by me."

"You’re incredible," I whisper.

He is just so manly, so strong despite everything he went through, that I can’t help but admire him.

He smirks, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "I’ve always been in control, Serena. And now, I want you to know that I’ll use that control to protect you, to love you, to keep you safe from anything and anyone."

"I believe you," I tell him. "And I love you too.”