Matteo: A Dark Mafia Hate Story

by Talbot, Ginger

  I’ve been here for a week now. I know this because every morning when I wake up, I check the day off in my head. I’ve been here three days. Four days. Five days. A week.

  I can’t let myself think about my parents and what they must be going through. They must be tearing up the planet looking for me. A missing senator’s daughter…that’s got to be huge news. Matteo has taken me into his entertainment room, with a giant TV, to watch the news several times – trying to convince me that they aren’t actually looking for me, because there’s no mention of it anywhere. Please. Like I’ve never heard of video editing.

  The malicious, hovering presence of Concetta doesn’t help at all. Concetta is a constant, prickly annoyance. She never speaks to me these days, just stands there and watches me with hate in her eyes. She also speaks glowingly to Matteo whenever we’re all in the same room together, cooing at him and sneaking sly glances at me to check my reaction.

  But these days, I’m too tired even to look upset when she does that.

  I realize that I actually prefer Alonza, even though she constantly pinches at me and jabs me with her sharp, bony fingers every time I forget an ingredient or don’t move fast enough for her.

  At least with Alonza, as with Matteo, I have a little bit of control. If I do as I am told, my punishments will be less painful. Alonza can see that I’m trying to keep the house clean and I’m trying to memorize all those recipes, I really am, and the harder I try, the less harsh her pinches and pokes.

  Concetta keeps leaving long, smeary fingermarks on windows that are very hard to clean, and knocking things over, and spilling drinks that I have to mop up. One day when I’m sweeping a hallway, Concetta walks by swinging her purse and knocks over a plant. The pot falls to the floor and shatters, spilling dirt everywhere, and I burst into tears. I can’t stop crying; I sink to my knees and sob. I can’t do this. I can’t, I can’t. That makes her laugh so hard she doubles over.

  Alonza comes flying into the room, takes one look at me and Concetta, and bursts into a stream of what are probably obscenities. She grabs me by the arm and pulls me to my feet, then drags me through the house to Matteo’s office. Matteo is sitting there with Nico, his head of security, who I’ve only seen from a distance a few times, and they both seem very upset about something on his computer.

  She yells furiously at Matteo in Italian. I understand some of the words, and she’s berating him horribly. To my surprise, he just sits there and takes it.

  Matteo looks frazzled. “I should have addressed this sooner,” he says to me shortly. “Concetta will clean for the rest of the day, and you will spend the additional free time practicing your wedding vows. Go to your room for now. You may rest until the tutor arrives.”

  As I am heading upstairs to my room, I hear a scream of pain, then loud crying. I am too exhausted to bother checking; I’m sure it’s something to do with Concetta. I collapse onto my bed and sleep for two hours before Alonza comes to fetch me.

  Alonza leads me triumphantly past Concetta, who is on her hands and knees in the hallway, scrubbing. Concetta’s right eye is swollen shut. As Alonza walks by her, she kicks over the bucket of sudsy water and sends it spilling across the floor.

  She says something in Italian that I recognize. “Clean that up.”

  Concetta’s look of bitter hate would scorch a lesser woman, but Alonza has an enormous smile on her face as she leads me to my tutoring lesson in the parlor. It occurs to me that I have literally never seen Alonza smile before. God help me if that’s my future.

  That afternoon, I spend hours going over my wedding vows, repeating the phrases again and again. After dinner, Matteo has me repeat them, and my heart is in my throat.

  When he nods with approval and says, “Much, much better,” I almost weep with gratitude. “Thank you,” I say, with tears in my eyes. Then I lower my gaze, feeling suddenly shy. “Do you want to…spend some time with me?”

  “Always,” he says promptly. And he means that – I can see that in his eyes. It’s an oddly wonderful feeling. Nobody has ever always wanted to spend time with me before. My parents were perpetually so busy that I felt as if I was interrupting them when I asked for anything, and Lauren and I hated each other. I liked my friends, but the way Matteo makes me feel when he’s happy with me – so intense, so passionate, so possessive – nobody’s ever made me feel that way before.

  “What would you like to do?”

  I think he’s going to suggest something sexual, but he surprises me. “I’d like for us to take a walk outside.”

  “Oh. I’d love that.”

  His smile is glorious, and as he leads me outside into the gardens behind the house, I feel some of the tension inside me unknot.

  We could be like this all the time if only I didn’t have to clean this house by myself! I want to shout the words out loud. But they’re not even true, are they? We can’t be like this all the time, because I am a kidnap victim and I am going to find a way to escape and go home and tell everyone what Matteo did to me, and he will go to prison.

  I find the thought jarring. That’s ridiculous. He deserves prison for what he’s done to me…but the thought of putting him behind bars makes me ache inside.

  We’re walking down a manicured walkway, and the velvety sky is twinkling with stars. I see his men patrolling the perimeter of the house, and I wonder if part of the reason he brought me out here is to remind me of that. Now my thoughts are turning darker again, and I’m afraid he’ll ask me what I’m thinking. He’s so hard to lie to that I’m worried I’d blurt out the truth, so I quickly ask a question before he can start quizzing me.

  “How long have you lived here?”

  For some reason that makes him frown. “Let’s talk about other things. My family owns a private island. It’s near Italy. That’s where we’ll go for our honeymoon, I think. Would you enjoy that?”

  “Oh, yes. Tell me about it. What is it like?”

  And for a little while we talk like lovers. He tells me about the turquoise sea, and how when he looks into my eyes he feels as if he’s swimming in that ocean. He talks about the white sands, and how walking on it barefoot feels like walking on silk. Beautiful shells wash up on the beaches. We’ll make love all day and all night, and he’ll hand-feed me the most delicious seafood I’ve ever tasted.

  All too soon, he takes me back inside. “I have some work I need to do in my office,” he says. “And I do want to be with you – so much it hurts. But I also want you to know that I enjoy just spending time with you. It’s not just about sex for me, although I love that, so for tonight, I am going to deny myself the exquisite pleasure of your body, just to show you that you are more to me than a sexual object.” He bends down to give me a sweet, lingering kiss. “Thank you for trying so hard and not complaining. You are an excellent cook – an absolute natural – and your Italian is coming along quite nicely.”

  I return to my room in a daze. Who is this man – this achingly sweet, romantic, charming man – and why can’t he be like that all the time?

  Chapter 13

  Natasha

  The next morning, Matteo tells me that I will be cooking dinner for a group of his friends who will be visiting that evening. Because of that, he is bringing in maids to clean the house so I can concentrate on cooking.

  There are six of them. Six maids to clean the house. I’m incredibly, pathetically grateful to have a second day in a row off, but I also want to scream at the unfairness of the impossible task he’s saddled me with – he’s bringing in six women to make sure this house is clean enough to impress his friends, but I’m expected to do it all by myself the rest of the time, on top of all my other tasks?

  Even if I were tempted to give in and accept being married to Matteo, even if it weren’t for the horrible threat of having my child taken from me, the impossible expectations that he places on me would doom us. He’s an intelligent man. How can he not see that?

  As the maids move around Alonza and me in the kitchen, I wo
nder where they came from and why they’d work for such an evil family. I guess some people will do literally anything for money. It disgusts me. There’s a jagged chunk of ice where their hearts should be. I am confident that if I told them I’ve been kidnapped, they wouldn’t care less.

  I spend the day with Alonza, preparing various traditional dishes and desserts. Matteo selects a blue Versace gown for me.

  Right before dinner, Matteo has me come from the kitchen into the dining room, and I am introduced to three couples who are sipping glasses of wine. The men are all in their crisp, formalwear, as is Matteo. They look to be in their mid-twenties, and one of them bears a startling resemblance to me.

  Matteo introduces her as a distant cousin of mine, Tania. The other two women are Evalina and Feodora. They are exquisitely dressed and they seem genuinely happy – smiling and exchanging affectionate glances with their husbands, who beam lovingly at their wives. If they’re acting, they’re amazingly good at it.

  Concetta is nowhere in sight, thank God.

  I return to the kitchen, and Alonza and I start bringing out the dishes we’ve been slaving over all day. We start with the aperitivo of olives, nuts, and sliced cheeses in chunky, heavy silver dishes.

  Then we move on to the antipasti, with trays of sliced meats. And then there is the primi, the first course. We serve risotto and gnocchi.

  The secondi dishes are lamb and pork and lobster, alongside the contorni, which consists of vegetable dishes.

  For every course, I wait until everyone else starts eating before I allow myself to eat. I am actually enjoying learning to cook, and being able to eat a lot without sharp, judgmental glances. I have to remind myself that I’d trade all this in an instant to be back home. A tense, rushed, exasperated dinner where I was free to live my own life and make my own choices would be better than a luxurious feast as a prisoner – wouldn’t it?

  Throughout the whole meal, the men chat with each other across the table, as do the women. They praise my cooking to the heavens.

  I say in Italian, “Alonza should get all the credit.”

  Matteo smiles – I’ve said the right thing for once – and Alonza flaps her hand in dismissal, but I think she looks less annoyed than usual. Although it’s hard to tell.

  After dinner comes the formaggie frutta, a selection of cheese and fruits. And then the dolce – sorbetto, gelato, cannoli, and tiramisu. With each course, as soon as I see that everyone else is eating, I dive in with gusto. I’ve never been able to eat in front of other people before without being chastised for my hearty appetite.

  After dinner, to my utter shock, Matteo sends me and the three women to the parlor, telling me that he and the men will be playing poker.

  We settle down onto the velvety, overstuffed couch. Tania puts her hand sympathetically on mine. “We know what happened,” she says. “And I imagine that you know that I am a Peredyshka, and so are Evalina and Feodora.”

  “I sort of guessed,” I said. I do a mental calculation. They must be around twenty-five. And I’ll be twenty in a few months. That means that if I had a daughter this year…and the hideous baby lottery happens every five years…I’d be at risk of having her taken from me.

  I screw my smile on tightly as she continues. “It must have been a huge shock to you. And having to adjust so fast, with the wedding coming right up... I just wanted to tell you that if you need anything at all, you can talk to us. And if you have any questions, fire away.”

  A flare of hope ignites in me. Would she help me escape? But I meet her eyes and she reads the question there and gives the tiniest head-shake.

  “We wanted to tell you that this is actually a wonderful life that we live. I know that must seem strange to an outsider who doesn’t know our ways, but it’s true. I have three children,” she says, “And a husband who adores me. He treats me like gold.” I pick up on the hidden message. Even if she could, she wouldn’t betray the family – for her children’s sake. If even some of the things that Matteo has been telling me are true, there’s nowhere in the world you could hide from these people.

  “That’s lovely. Congratulations,” I murmur politely, but my smile slips a notch.

  Feodora leans forward. “I know this has to be hard for you,” she says. “And it’s completely understandable. I can see that Matteo adores you, though. The way he looks at you? Like you’re an absolute treasure. He’s obviously doing everything he can to help you adjust. You’ll be fine. You must have questions for us?”

  Honestly, if they won’t help me escape, I can’t think of anything else I want to discuss with them, but I know Matteo will expect me to sit here and play the gracious hostess. “What do you do all day?” I blurt out.

  Feodora smiles. “I’m an artist. I have a gallery.” At my look of surprise, she laughs. “We’re not prisoners, Natasha. Our husbands encourage us to have our own interests. As my husband always says, happy wife, happy life. I have been taking art classes since I was a little girl, and my husband lets me continue with private lessons.”

  Oh, he lets you? I bite back the words.

  “Yes, and I design jewelry,” Tania says. “I sell it at her gallery, and a bunch of shops in town, and online. I mean, I don’t have as much time as I used to because I have a four-, three-, and two-year-old, but my husband makes sure I have a couple of hours a day all to myself and he brought in people to take care of the business side of things because he knows how much I enjoy it. He’s very thoughtful.” The smile on her face seems so genuine. I don’t think she’s lying. I think she really loves him.

  Then again, he didn’t rip her away from her entire life and threaten and beat her. So there’s that.

  “I work in my husband’s bakery a couple of days a week,” Evalina says. “And I also cook for our catering business.”

  As they’re talking, I scratch absently at a rash on my arm.

  “What happened to your arm?” Tania asks with sympathy. “Poison ivy?”

  . “Oh, I’m getting a rash from the cleaning products.” They look at me blankly. “I wear gloves, but I still end up splashing the stuff on me sometimes.”

  She looks at me in confusion. “But why are you cleaning at all? You have maids.”

  “Today we did, so I’d have time to cook.” Am I saying something I shouldn’t? It’s too late now, though – they’re all looking at me for an explanation. “Most days, I clean the entire house myself.”

  “The whole house?” Feodora looks horrified. “That’s…” She trails off and exchanges glances of dismay with the other women.

  So they don’t have to spend their days like a modern-day Cinderella. I wonder if they’re forced to have their husband’s mistresses paraded around in front of them all day long. Somehow I sincerely doubt it.

  That actually makes me happy for them. I hate the situation I’m in, but at least I don’t have to feel badly for all the Peredyshka women. I’m glad they’re not living like I do.

  “I’m very surprised to hear that,” Evalina says carefully. “That’s, ah…unusual. I mean, we are all homemakers first and foremost, but with a lot of help. My husband likes certain dishes, so I cook those myself. And I grow herbs and vegetables in the garden, and cut fresh flowers for the vases, and I keep the kids out of his hair when he’s tired. But other than that…ahh…” She looks like she wants to say more. “Maybe, ah, after you have kids, Matteo could bring in some maids.”

  “Well, they’ll be moving to a different house soon enough,” Tania says brightly, and the other women look relieved, and they smile and nod. “My husband told me they’ll be living right near us.”

  “Oh, yes!” Feodora says quickly. “Maybe it will be a smaller house.” She smiles hopefully.

  “I’m sure it is,” Tania chimes in.

  If we’re moving soon, then why are we here? I wish I could ask Matteo. He acted weird when I asked him how long he’d lived here, now that I think of it. In fact, a lot of times I feel like there are things he wants to tell me but won’t
.

  I don’t know if I should be worried or relieved. We couldn’t possibly move to a bigger house, could we? Because as the days drag on, I’m forced to admit that I may not be able to escape any time soon. And I can’t imagine surviving a lifetime of this drudgery.

  “What sort of things do you like to do with your time?” Tania asks, to break the awkward silence. “I’m sure you’ll have time for fun after the wedding.”

  “Well, once upon a time I thought I wanted to be a documentary film-maker.” I sigh heavily at that.

  “I’m sure Matteo will let you take film-making classes…if you play your cards right,” Evalina says, and she winks and makes a blow job motion with her hand, bobbing her head up and down on an imaginary penis. I am so shocked I burst into laughter.

  “Oh, we’re not prudes,” she assures me. “We are all blessed with very healthy sex lives. The term ‘Italian Stallion’ was invented for a reason.”

  The women brighten up at the mention of sex. They all start talking about their favorite sexual escapades, and I actually blush. Apparently their husbands are all pretty kinky and dominant. Evalina’s husband is into spanking and butt play – I can’t believe she’s telling me that! And if her husband hasn’t spanked her in a while, she’ll make sure to misbehave so he has to.

  “Last time I was bad, I had to wear a dildo the size of a horse dong up my butt all day long while he was at work.” She looks as if she relished the experience. “Look at her, she’s blushing!” she crows triumphantly.

  I am – my face is on fire with embarrassment, and the women all laugh sympathetically, and just for a moment I feel more welcome and at home than I ever have.

  Why can’t this be real?

  We drink some wine and chatter about girly stuff – our favorite makeup brands and perfume, where the women like to shop downtown – and they do everything they can to include me in the conversation. We’re laughing when Matteo comes in, and he smiles to see that.