by Sienna Mynx
“How small?”
“Small, I was a very small boy.” Dominic tossed down the contents of the whiskey, and then got up from his seat to pour another. She observed with disappointment. It was clear to her she was witnessing how he dealt with his pain. The alcohol may prevent her from getting any closer. “To avoid the beatings, I would hide in a chicken coop. The hens would peck me mercilessly. It was far better than what my Papa had for me with his fists.” Dominic took another swig of whiskey. “I hate fucking talking about him. I hate thinking about him. I hate him.”
“But you can’t stop remembering?” she asked.
“Never. Time, love, separation, none of it makes the memory fade. He’s always there.”
“That’s tough.”
“No shit,” Dominic sighed.
“When did it change? When did you become a Battaglia?”
“I was rescued by the most powerful man in my father’s world. A giant of a man. My sperm-donor was punished before my eyes. The nightmare was over. The end.”
“But that’s not how the story ends?” she asked.
He didn’t respond. He drank some more.
“That must have been awful for you.”
“It was fantastic,” he said pouring the amber liquid into the bottom of his glass. A beautiful smile of evil spread across his lips. It chilled her. “Patri Tomosino... actually chose that date during my adoption to be my official birthday, s I would never forget the gift of life he gave me. And I never have.”
From that moment forward there was certainly no doubt in Sera’s mind who Dominic was, and who was responsible for making him that man. The hard and soft edges to his personality she considered his charm were more his shields of armor that he carried through life. It was in the golden-brown beauty in his eyes, that were ringed with heavy dark lashes, that she caught glimpses of the little boy trapped inside. The mind often found ways to heal, and when it didn’t, alcohol could be used as a good substitute. It was of no wonder that Mirabella had reached out for her help. Any woman who spent more than five minutes with Dominic Battaglia would want to rescue him. Each time he took a drink, she felt her breath hitch in her throat.
“So, you were adopted? Saved by the Battaglias. They raised you?”
“I was brought into a new life. Don Tomosino Battaglia was my father, and Madre Eve was my new mother. Giovanni, Mirabella’s husband, he was just a teenager back then. He became my big brother, immediately. He took care of me from the very first moment he met me. The minute he didn’t, the minute he left me alone, the shadows... started coming.”
“Describe them?”
Dominic leaned against the bar. She started to join him, but decided to give him space. His silence was unnerving. She felt like she walked through a minefield with him. That control of his was becoming shaky at best with each passing question. He dispelled her fear of the silence when he spoke in a weary voice. “It’s hard to say. It was only two shadows at first, and they’d appear when Giovanni and Lorenzo went to school. I’d sit all day by the window and wait for him, keep my eyes away from the shadows, focus on the time of day he’d return. But, I’d see them from the corners of my eye. Glimpses of them when I turned my head or left a room. And then...” He sighed. “Catalina was born. Things changed. She, felt like a new beginning. A tiny baby who was so sweet, so innocent. She needed protection more than me. And I was the one in charge.”
“Wait... Catalina? You and she...?”
“Brother and sister, yes, then we grew up and had an affair. We became something else. Something we shouldn’t have.”
Sera thought he was engaged, but never understood the connection until now. Dominic drank another glass of whiskey. He slammed the glass down on the bar. He cast her a look. One with strange concern edging the corners of his eyes. Was he concerned for her? Why? Because he was bringing her into his world, making her want to become one of his protectors? Because it was true. She was drawn, completely, to him. The shadow of self loathing covered his features, and the look was gone. He turned back to the bottle.
“And what happened to the shadows?”
Dominic gave a sardonic laugh. “Nothing. Over the years they appeared and they disappeared. Each time they returned they multiplied. Now, I see many.”
“Every day?”
Dominic shook his head. “Not every day, and mostly when I’ve been drinking. Giovanni told me once that I needed glasses when I was a kid, and insisted that Patri had me tested. I was. My eyesight was fine. Then he’d tell me it was my drinking. I started drinking young, we all did. But Giovanni took the bottle from me. I didn’t take another drink until I was of age. The shadows went away, and then came back. Giovanni said it was in my head. I had to get over it. And I thought I did. I tried. It worked until Flavio, died, and then Franco died, and then Santo... That’s when the nightmares returned. The hard ones. The ones I would have of my father. The ones I would have of a mother I barely knew. Bad nightmares.”
“Do you see them now?” she asked.
Dominic glanced to her. “Not now. No. But soon. A few more drinks and the gang’s all here.” He reached for the whiskey bottle and poured some more.
“The drinking? Is it because Giovanni was shot?”
“No. Yes. No. I drink. I have before he was shot... things got complicated with me and my... fiancée. After he was shot things got darker. I saw so many shadows I had to drink to live with them. Alcohol is my solution and my curse I guess.”
“Do they speak to you? The shadow people?”
“Fuck no! I’m not crazy! It’s just a thing I had since a kid. Vaffanculo. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”
“Signor... er, I...”
“Call me Dominic.”
“Okay,” she said, unable to keep up with his shifting mood. “Dominic, I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s my profession to inquire about the things you may not want to discuss.”
Dominic poured another drink. Sera scooted her chair back and left the half-eaten soup and glass of wine behind. She walked over to the bar and read the label of the bottle. She was right. It was whiskey. “None of what you are experiencing is surprising.”
“Why isn’t it?” he asked.
“Trauma can do things to the mind.”
“No shit.”
“It’s really simple. We are born into this world with a clean slate. There are a few critical years of development for a child. If a child is subjected to constant abuse, neglect, terror, the mind has to find a way to heal itself. Compartmentalize the things it doesn’t understand.”
Dominic stared down at his drink. “Seeing shadow men isn’t compartmentalizing trauma. It’s manifesting it. The shadows are real to me.”
“It’s PTSD.”
Dominic laughed. “I forgot. That’s your specialty, right? Mirabella has PTSD. Not me. I already told you I’ve dealt with this for years.”
“No, Domi, it’s not like that. I’m not explaining this the right way. Let me try again. The shadow men are a form of PTSD. And sometimes it’s a permanent thing for people. Phantoms are what we call them. And you right. It’s a manifestation of guilt, hurt, insecurity that surfaces from the part of your brain you’ve learned to shut off. The memories you black out take shape. The faces you don’t want to remember take form. The questions you never want to know the answers to haunt you.”
“Interesting diagnosis.”
“I’m not diagnosing you, Dominic. I’m only giving up an explanation to things in summary. It could also just be a form of alcoholism. You said you started drinking young? How young?”
“Lorenzo gave me my first taste at eleven or ten, I forget. Been drinking pretty much since then, until Giovanni put a stop to it.”
“Are you an alcoholic?”
Dominic froze. He looked at the bottle and then to her. “Fuck no.”
“Maybe you are, or maybe you’re not, either way the alcohol isn’t helping.”
“I don’t need to drink, cara, I like to drink.”
>
“If you say so.”
“I do... say so.”
“Understood. I’d like to try therapy. Nothing formal.”
“What’s informal therapy?” Dominic smirked and stared at her from over the brim of his glass. She felt that warm tingle again in the pit of her stomach. A mixture of flattery and desire. She forced herself to ignore it.
“This is informal therapy. Active listening. You talk and I do nothing but listen as a friend would. Seems to me you are short on those right now.”
Dominic chuckled. “Men like me don’t need friends. I need family. And a woman. In that order.”
“Your fiancée? What about her? Do you share these shadow men stories with her?” she asked.
“Don’t ask me about her again.” There was a soft, unspoken threat, laced beneath his words. Dominic came off his lean against the bar and stepped forward. There was now barely enough space between them for air to pass. He brushed his knuckles across her cheek. The touch was barely there, gentle. The contact faded and she missed the impropriety of her desire for his touch to return. She was too spun by the honey and amber swirls of lust in his hazel brown eyes.
“You are so beautiful,” he said.
“Maybe we should finish this discussion over dinner?” Sera tried to turn away. Dominic’s hand reached for hers. He kissed her knuckles while staring into her eyes. What did he think would happen? No. That was not going to happen. She’d never been that brazen.
“Dominic, I think this has gone far enough.”
The kiss was soft and respectful. His lips pressed to hers. If she left it at a kiss, then all could be forgotten. Maybe as a gesture of thanks for listening to him. Or an offer of comfort she could provide him. Five minutes. That’s what her mind told her. Give him five minutes of comfort, and then be the professional you are trained to be. In between that time, she slipped into his arms. Dominic lifted her up and carried her across the private dining room. He whispered in her ear.
“You want to be my friend. I’ll show you how to be a friend to me,” he said as he carried her to the sofa in the room. There she gave him what he wanted, over and over again.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The Unfiltered Truth
Sorrento, Italy
Mirabella sat in the chair with the side of her face resting between her pointer finger and thumb. She stared at her husband until all her tears had dried up. To her feet, and splayed out across the floor were the pictures of his betrayal. Giovanni slept. Physically he was lost to her. Mirabella wondered again, when had she lost him emotionally as well.
“Scusi, Donna Mirabella?” Dr. Singh walked in. He seemed surprised to find her seated. Two of his nurses collided with him when he stopped. He was forced to come inside with the staff following. She sat up and immediately bent over to pick up the photographs that had scattered. No one should know her shame.
“There has been no change,” Mirabella said in a feeble attempt to mask her despair and recover her dignity. She stuffed the pictures back in the envelope. “He hasn’t even moved his eyelids.”
“Unfortunately, his test results say the same,” the doctor said.
“Why?” Mirabella stood and faced him and the staff. “You have what you need. He’s off the ventilators. He’s got brain activity and his body is healing. Why is he still in a coma?”
“Signora, it is something we can’t explain right now. But we are trying.”
“Is he faking?” She turned on him. “Is that it, Gio? You’re laying there faking, making me think you need me when you really don’t!”
“Signora... no, no, he’s not pretending. He’s in a coma. The good news is he is healing. Sometimes the mind works mysteriously.”
“I don’t pay you for mysteries,” Mirabella said. “Find out what is wrong with my husband and wake him the hell up. Do you understand me?”
“Sì, Signora. Sì.”
The nurses busied themselves with Giovanni’s care, but she could tell by their hurried manner they got the message as well. Mirabella shook her head and walked out. As she headed to the stairs Mirabella’s eyes lifted to the door at the far end of the hall. One would have to pass the stairs and continue along the hall to it as a single destination. It was a destination she never ventured towards. From the moment she moved into Melanzana, that door remained locked and closed. Giovanni asked her to keep it off limits to everyone in the house. Later, Catalina explained it housed all of his mother’s things.
Mirabella stared at the door for a moment. Secrets were part of his life, but now the pictures in her hand proved there were secrets between them as well. And it made her sick with resentment. Was she a bad person to be angry with her husband while he lay fighting for his life?
She went downstairs to find her children. She was afraid of the answer to that question.
***
The rest of Mirabella’s day was uneventful. She found emotional strength in being a mother. And spent her energy on tending to the needs of her kids. She even gave them baths herself without the assistance of family. Once they were tucked in bed, the part of her brain she had switched off to deal with her pain flipped back on. She found herself sitting in her room staring at the photos once more. And then staring at the note that came with them.
Mirabella pushed herself up from the bed and walked over to her phone. She sat in the chair next to the nightstand and dialed.
“Ciao, may I speak to Don Tacchini. Please tell him that Donna Mirabella Battaglia is calling.”
Mirabella waited.
“Donna Mirabella?” a deep voice spoke her name.
“Piero, thank you for taking my call.”
“I’ve been looking forward to it.”
“I got your package,” she said and ignored the affection she heard in his tone.
“I suppose you will be willing to reconsider my offer for dinner?”
“How long has this been going on between this woman and my husband?”
“If you have dinner with me I will explain everything.”
“Explain it now!” Mirabella demanded.
The Don did not respond. That only made her heart seize in her chest. She felt that swell of desperation in her again, and had to forcefully calm her rage. She was no fool. This man, like all the rest, wanted something from her. Giovanni was the only man whose demands she gave into without hesitation. It felt obscene to do this now, even if her husband had broken his vow to her. She blinked away her tears.
“I know the woman in the photographs. Her name is... Arielle?”
“Interesting. You know Arielle?” he asked in a tone that mocked her.
“One my enforcers, Carlo, he had a visit from her. She said she was a friend. So... you tell me what you know, or I’ll pay her a visit and get it out of her myself.”
“These are delicate times,” the Don began. “Information in our world is not given freely over a telephone. You want a confession out of a terrified woman with your man’s gun to her head, or the entire story of who she is to your husband? And what Giovanni and I were working on?”
Mirabella wiped her tears in frustration.
“Dinner with me. That’s the price for the truth. Bring an army if you want.”
She closed her eyes. The truth was, there were many messages left for her. Men calling and requesting time. The clan bosses, rival criminals, business men, politicians, men, men, men, they all called and she hated the idea of speaking to any of them. But Piero Tacchini was different. She wanted the truth, and her instincts told her he’d give her the closest version to it.
“When?” she asked.
“Tomorrow, my place.”
“Naples?”
“Is that a problem?”
She sighed. “No. But we won’t have dinner. I’ll be there in the morning. First thing in the morning.”
“Grazie, Donna.”
She hung up the phone. A bout of nausea hit her. A wave of dizziness followed. It was almost like the start of a fainting spell that passed
over her and faded away. The constant stress and erratic schedule she’d been keeping had her barely eating or sleeping. No wonder she felt light headed.
Mirabella went downstairs to the kitchen. She had fed her children, but was too upset to eat with them. She’d fix herself something now. As she descended the stairs she thought of the prisoner she kept in villa Rosso. Several of the staff said that her sister demanded to see her and refused to eat her food. That couldn’t be good for the baby. As much as she liked the idea of Marietta suffering, she didn’t want any harm to come to the unborn niece or nephew her sister carried. At some point, she would have that discussion, but right now her sister could not be a priority.
The front door to her home opened and Mirabella stopped on the stairs. She watched Dominic with Sera, the therapist she hired. They didn’t see her at first. They were laughing, and he stopped to make sure she was steady on her feet because she walked with one shoe. And then the doctor sneaked a kiss. Dominic returned the passion. Mirabella frowned. She observed them for a few seconds, and waited for the flirting to end before she continued down the stairs.
“I see you two are getting better acquainted,” she said.
The doctor’s gaze flew to her first. The smile to her face frozen. Dominic, however, barely glanced Mirabella’s way. He started to walk off without addressing her.
“Domi?” Mirabella said.
He stopped.
“In the morning, I have a meeting with Don Tacchini in Naples. Make sure Umberto and Leo are ready.”
“The morning?” Dominic frowned.
“I want to be there before eight.”
Dominic looked as if he wanted to question her. She waited for him to dare to do so. She itched to flex her power on him, on anyone. Possibly because she felt so weak and useless. Instead of the usual banter, he shook his head. Mirabella’s gaze swung back to the doctor.
“Ah, I waited to see you this afternoon. And when you didn’t show I...” the doctor stammered.
“You’ve accepted my offer? You’ve moved in.” Mirabella came down the final stair. “Looks like you and Dominic have gotten better acquainted?”
