Minutes pass, I'm running around, and still no sign of her. I even check outside the hotel and in the parking lot, and she's not there.
"No luck?" Enzo looks as grim as I feel. I nod, and we enter the ballroom again. I'm ready to jump on Franco, convinced he's done something. After the aggression he'd displayed earlier....
I make a beeline for him, ready to shed blood.
But that's when I hear the whispers.
"What did you expect? She willingly gave birth to a bastard."
"Of course she'd lift her skirts for anyone."
"But can you believe she'd actually try to seduce Michele? Such a slut."
"Whore!"
"Slut!
The words were being thrown around so carelessly. A group of women is gathered around the other end of the ballroom, and everyone is busy gossiping.
Some are commenting on her lack of morals, others are just repeating what they'd heard or seen.
I block it all out.
All I see is Lina. My beautiful Lina is alone in a corner, her cheeks tear stained. Her dress had been torn at the hem, and she's trying her best to stay strong.
Catalina's eyes meet mine, and a sob escapes her lips.
In two strides I have her in my arms. I hold on to her, trying my best to comfort her.
"What happened?" I croak, barely in control of myself.
"He... He tried..." She starts, in between hiccups. Lina tries to explain how Michele had caught her in the bathroom and she'd fought him off. My hand is on her hair, caressing her lightly and trying to assure her she's safe now.
But I failed her.
It's like someone's squeezing my heart with an iron fist. I'd promised myself to never fail her again.
It's all my fault.
I hold tighter, hoping she'll tune out the vicious tongues wagging all around us.
"Don't listen to them." I whisper, ready to take her home. I quickly remove my blazer and place it around her shoulders, turning her towards the exit.
But then the loudest voice of them all has the gall to intervene.
Franco, preening like a peacock, steps forward, bringing new accusations with him.
"You see, everyone? You see how she's trying to ruin men? She's a Jezebel, I tell you. Driving good men to their doom!" He points his finger at her.
I place Lina behind me, intent on shielding her.
Franco continues.
"That's what you did to my son too, didn't you? You seduced him and then you fucking killed him. She's a murderess everyone! A murderess Jezebel!" His voice gains in decibels, and more people join in, denigrating Lina with every word.
"I didn't!" Lina's voice surprises me as she responds. At first she's timid, but she steels her tone and continues. "He was a pedophile... He was touching my daughter." I look at her with awe in my eyes. What must it have taken for her to be able to make this claim?
Franco laughs ironically. "Aw, really? Like mother like daughter then. She's starting young."
Catalina gasps next to me, and I lose it.
No one. Absolutely no one speaks like that about Catalina or Claudia and gets away with it.
Before I know it, I grab a fork off the table.
Chapter Eighteen
COSIMA TAKES ME TO A nearby table where a few other women in their thirties and forties are. They don't seem too pleased to see me. I become a little self-conscious when they just ignore me and start talking with one another.
I purse my lips and paint a pleasant smile on my face. I'd wanted to come here, so now I have to be strong and show them they can't bully me.
"Is that your son?" One of the women asks Cosima, pointing towards a drunk man.
"He's my step-son" Cosima grits her teeth.
"Oh, I forgot about that. What, with them being so close in age." Another woman joins in and jokes. I remember reading on their family, and that Benedicto Guerra has two sons by two different mothers. I'm assuming they are alluding to the fact that Benedicto had married Cosima barely a few days after his first wife had died.
"If only he saw me as his mother." Cosima feigns a sigh and proceeds to recount how hard she's tried to be a mother for Michele. "But he just hates me."
The other women start comforting her in an obviously fake manner, and I have to ask myself what I'm doing here.
"If you'll excuse me, I need to go to the restroom." I give them a tight smile and go towards the exit.
Inside the restroom, I turn on the faucet and splash some water on my face.
"I can do this." I look in the mirror and tell myself. I need to be strong...
Hard to do when I've never been in a situation like this before.
I take a deep breath, and I'm about to leave when the door bangs open, the drunk man from before striding inside.
"This is the women's restroom." I tell him, thinking he's just made a mistake.
"Is it?" His lip curls in a cruel smile. He advances inside, closing the door behind him.
"You should leave." I say with a little more conviction. I don't have a good feeling about this.
When I see that he's not moving, I decide to get out myself.
"Easy, there." He says mockingly, his fingers digging in my flesh.
"Let me go!"
"Now, why would I do that?" His manner is casual, but I can't help the shudder going through my body.
"Let go!" I try to get my arm out of his grasp, but he shoves me into the wall, crowding me.
"You know who I am, don't you?" His mouth is too close to me and I can smell the alcohol on his breath.
"Michele Guerra." I answer, moving my head to the side.
"Hmm," He pinches my chin between his fingers and turns it forcefully towards him.
I try not to show the fear I'm feeling. Instead, I look him in the eyes, all the while searching for the panic button Marcello had given me. It's a small device that will release a deafening noise if activated. He'd been so worried about our presence here that he'd thought about everything, bless his heart.
His fingers are rough and bruising on my face, but I try not to cry out. My hand is in my bag, searching for the panic button.
"Is this how you got my cousin? With this innocent look of yours?"
I don't reply.
"Answer me!"
I purse my lips.
"Bitch!" His movement is so sudden I can barely react. His hand shoots out and wraps itself around my throat. Instinctively, my arms go around his hold, trying to loosen the grip. My purse drops to the floor, all the contents spilling out.
No!
"Let go!" I groan, my hands kicking at his chest and face. He seems amused by my efforts, and he smirks.
"You poor thing," He coos derisively. "I wonder if one night between your thighs is really worth dying for."
Still chocking me with one hand, he starts pulling at my gown with the other.
No! Not this! Not again!
My heart is racing, my mind almost blanking. Tears gather around the corner of my eyes.
"No, please. Don't do this to me!" I beg him, trying to push him off me.
He doesn't budge.
The back of his hand connects with my cheek so hard I'm seeing stars. I struggle to keep my balance, and he's once again tearing at my dress, his fingers skimming the inside of my thigh.
No!
I don't know what happens next. I start yelling like a banshee, limbs flailing and kicking.
I won't go down! I'm not letting him do this to me!
He seems momentarily surprised by me fighting back, but it's short lived. He thrusts me towards the sinks, and my back hits the steel.
I reel from the pain.
He's struggling with his belt when the door opens, and some women gawk at us.
"Help..." My voice is hoarse as I try to call out, but they just giggle and leave.
No!
"You really think anyone's going to help you?" He mocks me as he holds me down.
He's trying to pull the dress over my hips when I see my cha
nce. With as much force as I can muster, I bring my knee up and hit him. He groans, stumbling back and releasing me. I don't waste any time running out of the bathroom.
I need to find Marcello. I need him.
Just thinking about the what-if has me hysterical, tears running down my face.
I reach the ballroom and I desperately look around, trying to spot my husband.
And then I hear them.
Slut
Whore
Tart
My hands are trembling, but I try to hold my head high.
Everyone's talking about me, and what those women think they saw in the bathroom. How I'm so cheap I'm willing to lift my skirts for any man.
So many feelings threaten to overwhelm me – panic, embarrassment, fear.
But then I see him.
We make eye-contact and I can finally breathe again.
He's here.
His eyes move around my body and I can only imagine what he's seeing... the state I'm in.
Marcello runs towards me and tugs me to his chest, holding me tight.
"What happened?" His voice is low and gruff.
"He... He tried..." I start. I can barely speak, but I tell him everything.
His hands tighten in my hair. The warmth emanating from his body makes me relax... He's here, that's all I need to know. When I'm with Marcello, I just know I'm safe. As he holds me, people continue to run their mouths, calling me all types of names.
I'm so embarrassed for Marcello. What must he think of me?
"Don't listen to them." His voice is for my ears only, and the pain in his eyes mirrors my own.
He drapes his blazer over my ruined dress, and takes my hand, ready to leave.
But it's far from over.
Like the red sea, the crowd parts to reveal Franco, looking extremely smug.
"You see, everyone? You see how she's trying to ruin men? She's a Jezebel, I tell you. Driving good men to their doom!" Franco targets me directly, almost shoving his finger in my face.
Marcello places me behind him in a protective gesture.
"That's what you did to my son too, didn't you? You seduced him and then you fucking killed him. She's a murderess everyone! A murderess Jezebel!" Why is everyone so against me? What did I ever do to them? I look around and all I can see is accusing faces... hear derogatory words.
I close my eyes briefly, trying to escape the pressure building inside of me. But why do I bother? They've already branded me a whore and a murderess.
"I didn't!" I find my voice, surprising even myself. If they want a scandal, they will have one. I'll just state the truth.
"He was a pedophile... He was touching my daughter." People are quiet all around at my confession, but then Franco laughs.
"Aw, really? Like mother like daughter then. She's starting young."
I take a step back, my mouth hanging open in shock. He... Did he just... Tears are running down my face at this point. How can he say that?
I'm so shocked I barely register Marcello leaving my side. I immediately look for him, needing his presence.
He's maybe two steps away, his hand on a fork.
With inhuman speed, he flings the fork towards Franco, sharp side forward. Both the aim and the force must have been incredible because the fork embeds itself into Franco's right eye.
Everyone is staring in horror at the unfolding scene.
Franco is wailing in pain, clutching his bleeding eye. His knees give out and he's on the floor, his body quivering.
Marcello looks at him without an ounce of empathy in his gaze. The change is so sudden, I can hardly believe my eyes.
I've never seen that expression on his face before. He turns slightly towards me and gives me a comforting nod.
What is he doing?
Marcello casually takes a glass of red wine from a nearby waiter, and swirls the liquid inside.
"What did you say? I didn't hear you?" He plants himself in front of Franco and stoops down so he's on the same level.
"What did you say about my wife?" He asks again, his voice hard and unyielding.
Franco, like a fool, doesn't know when to stop.
"That she's a lying whore. And I bet her daughter's the same."
"Is that so..." Marcello narrows his eyes at him. "Should I remind you that the daughter in question is also my daughter?" Him claiming my daughter as his warms my heart in a way I'd never thought possible.
He doesn't wait for an answer as his hand grips the end of the fork and pulls hard. In one fluid motion, the fork comes off, together with Franco's eye. The blood pools down his face, and his screams echo in the room.
Marcello swirls the fork up in the air, looking at it with a bored expression.
"Anyone else have anything to say about my family?" He turns to face the crowd and dares anyone to say something.
There's shushed voices in the background, but no one outrightly intervenes. In a shocking gesture, Marcello drops the eye into his wine glass. He tips the glass up.
"Cheers." He says before downing the contents.
Some women are passing out, others are heaving and emptying the contents of their stomachs. Even some men look a little bit yellow in the face.
But no one says anything.
Marcello stops again in front of a bawling Franco and tells him something that I can't quite make out. Whatever it is, it's making Franco look even more ill than before.
"Did you say anything? I didn't hear you." Marcello says out loud.
A bloody Franco, still on his knees, does his best to crawl towards me.
"I'm sorry." His head is hung low, his voice laced with pain.
"Still didn't hear you." Marcello echoes, and Franco grits his teeth.
"I'm sorry." This time it's loud enough for everyone to hear.
Benedicto emerges from the back of the crowd, clapping.
"Bravo!" He shakes his head in admiration. "Bravo!"
He takes the glass still housing the eye from Marcello, and comes towards his brother.
"What did I tell you, fratello?" He does a tsk sound.
"How... how can you let him do this to me?" Franco stammers, his face taut with shock.
"I didn't. You did." He shrugs, and then flips the glass so that the eyeball falls out on the ground.
Franco immediately makes a go for it, but Marcello is one step ahead of him – literally. There's a soft sound as the eye gets squished under Marcello's shoe, and Franco becomes hysterical.
I don't even have time to process as I'm being whisked away by my husband.
"What was that?" I whisper in confusion. The entire episode had been... I'm simply shocked.
"I may have implied that he can get his eye reattached, if some conditions are met."
"He can?" I ask in wonder.
"Not anymore."
We get inside the car and the entire ride home; Marcello doesn't let go of my hand.
As he drives, I sneak glances at his profile, and I fall for him a little more.
For some people, his actions may seem too cruel, but for me they meant the world. No one's publicly stood up for me before.
Marcello doesn't know it yet.
But he's just become my guardian angel.
THE MOMENT WE MAKE it home, he swoops me in his arms and takes me to my room.
"Shh, don't speak." He whispers in my hair as he lays me down on my bed, his wild eyes assessing my torn dress and my bruised flesh.
He turns his back to me and goes into the bathroom. I can hear the sound of water, and I think he's drawing me a bath.
"Marcello?" I ask tentatively.
He reemerges, coming towards me slowly. With an anguished look he falls at my feet and puts his head on my lap.
"I'm so sorry. You have no idea how sorry... It's all my fault." He cries, his voice full of emotion.
My hand goes to his hair, and I slowly run my fingers through it.
"It's not your fault, love. It's not." How could he have prevented that man from a
ssaulting me? In the women's restroom of all places.
"What you did for me... how you defended me." I shake my head, my eyes sparkling with unshed tears. "No one's ever done that before. No one's stood up for me like that. And because of that, you're my hero." I tell him tenderly.
"I'm no one's hero." He speaks after a brief pause. "Hero... me," he gives a dry laugh. "if you only knew..."
His hands come around my middle and he hugs me.
"So sorry," he keeps mumbling.
We stay like that for a while, and I revel in the warmth of his body next to mine. I feel safe... so safe. Taking me in his arms once again, he enters the bathroom, placing me next to the almost-filled tub. Marcello looks conflicted as his gaze moves from me to the tub and back to me.
"I..." he starts but shakes his head. "I'll be outside." He visibly swallows before turning to leave.
"Wait, please!" The words are out of my mouth before I can overthink it.
"Stay." I don't know where this courage is coming from, but as I look into his eyes, I know I can do this. I can show him my most vulnerable self.
With shaky fingers, I pull at the side zipper of my dress and shimmy out of it. I'm now standing only in my bra and underwear. Marcello's gaze darkens as it moves over my form and a shiver goes up my spine.
I can do this!
Before I chicken out, I stretch my arms behind me and snap the clasp of my bra, letting it fall.
"Lina," Marcello groans, and my cheeks heat up in embarrassment.
With what courage I have left I quickly take off my underwear and climb inside the tub.
The scorching temperature of the water gives me goosebumps, and I grit my teeth at the painful heat.
It doesn't take me long to get accustomed to the water. I gaze up and see that Marcello is still standing in the doorway, his eyes fixed on me.
"Can you help me?" I lift up a sponge and hold it to him. I don't know where this is coming from... this forwardness... but I don't want him to leave.
He comes towards me, folding the sleeves of his shirt. When he's next to the tub, he kneels down and takes the sponge from my hands.
He lathers a good amount of liquid soap on to the sponge and then starts to tend to my arm. His movements are slow, the feel of the sponge soft on my skin.
He moves up to my collarbone and I have to swallow hard at the sensation. I sneak a glance at him and he's not unaffected either. Marcello tends to both of my arms before getting ready to move to my back.
Morally Blasphemous (Morally Questionable Book 2) Page 20
