by Sam Mariano
Without another word, he bends to retrieve the phone and storms down the hall, leaving me by myself, sobbing on the floor and gasping for breath.
Chapter Eighteen
I go between wanting Mateo to come back and hoping he stays away about a million times from the moment he leaves until I fall asleep on the cold, hard floor.
“Meg.”
My eyes open, puffy from crying and not enough sleep. It takes me a second to figure out where I am, and another few blessed seconds before I remember why.
It all comes crashing down on top of me like an ocean of bad, but I resist drowning in it. I have to have hope. Hope that this will all get sorted out soon and the next time I see Mateo, he’ll be wrapping me in a hug and tenderly touching my neck in silent apology for the moment of brutality.
This is all a big mistake, and Mateo has to see that eventually.
Right?
“Meg.”
I turn my head toward the bars, easing up to a sitting position. My back is killing me now, a weird sore spot on my left shoulder blade. This sucks.
It’s Francesca on the other side of the bars this time.
“Sorry,” she says, glancing away from me, then back. “I didn’t mean to wake you, I just…” She steps forward, sliding her hand between the slot in the door that’s big enough to fit a plate, should the warden decide you deserve food.
I stand, walking over to retrieve the wrapped cloth napkin she offers. She slides a bottle of water through next, then a banana.
“I made you a sandwich. I thought you might be hungry,” she tells me.
I’m starving, but so sick with anxiety that I can’t imagine eating. “Thank you,” I tell her.
She nods, tucking her dark hair behind her ear and looking anywhere but at me. “I didn’t think he’d put you down here.”
“He didn’t. Adrian did.”
For a few seconds, she doesn’t say anything. Then piercing the silence—and my optimism—she says, “Adrian gave him the key.”
The implications of that are staggering.
Adrian has determined I’m guilty.
I sink to the floor, setting aside the food and dropping my head between my knees, focusing on breathing. I feel like I’m going to be sick, but there’s nothing in my stomach, so it’s just an impotent heave trying to work its way up my throat and out of my body.
Voice a little shaky, Francesca adds, “But he’s had it since before dinner and he hasn’t come down yet.”
“He thinks I’m fucking someone else. He thinks I’m here trying to kill him for my fucking rival mob boyfriend, Francesca. He thinks I’m Beth; he’s going to kill me.”
“He’s not going to kill you,” she says firmly, needing to believe it. “He’s not. Just… hang in there, okay?”
“How did this happen?” It’s not like I expect her to have an answer, but I just need to share the injustice of my situation with someone else. I’m Anne Boleyn, and he’s sulking around the castle, about to take my head off.
Finally Francesca asks, “Were you going to kill him for Antonio?”
My eyes close at the only accusation I’ve heard lately that has any merit. “He threatened to kill Lily if I didn’t.”
“Are you still planning to?”
Looking up at her in vague disbelief, I shake my head. “God, no. I’m not here under some veil of deception, Francesca. Everything I’m guilty of ended the night Mateo brought me here. I’ve been completely earnest ever since. And this fucking Salvatore person—I’ve never seen him before in my life. I don’t even know who he is; I’m certainly not some spy for him.”
Francesca nods, seeming to believe me. If only her brother was so easily convinced.
“I’m really sorry for all this, Meg. I can’t imagine he’ll keep you down here long. Just… I don’t know. Is there anything I can bring you? A blanket, a pillow?”
“I’m not really in a position to say no to either of those things,” I murmur, glancing around my empty cell.
Francesca nods. “I’ll go get them.”
“Where’s Lily?” I ask, before she can leave. “Is Lily—is she okay?” I ask, my voice breaking in the middle.
Francesca nods, her face a mask of sympathy. “Lily’s fine. She’s still in with Isabella at night. Ju’s taking care of her like normal. She just thinks you’re at work.”
My chest feels just a little bit lighter. I’ve tried hard not to imagine Mateo would ever hurt her, but all I have to do down here is stew. In the darkest moments, I’ve recalled Mateo’s original assurance that Lily would be fine as long as her mother didn’t do anything stupid.
When Francesca returns, it takes a minute to get the blanket and pillow passed through the bars, and she looks really sad. I’m too drained emotionally and physically to put up any kind of brave face for her benefit.
“This’ll all be over soon, okay?” It sounds like a lie, like she knows it’s a lie, but she wants to reassure me anyway. I guess it’s a kindness. Tell the dying woman what she needs to believe.
“I would never hurt him, Francesca.”
With a pained look on her face, she nods. “I believe you.”
At least someone does.
---
Mia visits me next.
I’m happy to see her, even if that means it’s Sunday, and I’ve been down here for two straight days. She’s wearing a pretty dress and the new shoes we picked out when we went shopping with the girls. It doesn’t seem like it was long ago, but considering I’ve gone from that to an actual prisoner, it also feels like a lifetime ago.
I’m more than a little surprised to see she has the key. Without speaking, she unlocks the door and sets down two plates—one dinner, the other a slice of cassata cake. She reaches into her bag and pulls out a box, holding it out for me to take.
“Adrian wanted me to give this to you,” she says.
I take the box. It’s barely taped shut, so I have it open in just a few seconds. I’m a little confused when I pull out a portable CD player with a black and white tin the size of a CD case—Sinatra. He gave me music?
I glance up at her questioningly and she shrugs. “I guess he thought you’d get bored down here.”
I nod, glancing down at the present. “How’d Mateo seem at dinner?”
“There was no dinner. Dinners are cancelled for the time being.”
Dread moves through me at that.
“I didn’t know,” she adds, indicating her dress and shoes. “Keeping people updated isn’t really at the top of his priority list right now.”
“Well, have you seen him?”
“I’m trying not to,” she says, avoiding my gaze.
I don’t want to ask, but I do. “Why?”
Finally, her gaze snaps to mine, faintly accusing. “Because he probably wants to hurt you.”
I wish I didn’t understand, but I do. Mateo’s story about his father replays in my mind, how his father tried to use his mother to hurt his first wife. A bad strategy, he declared, since the first wife didn’t love him. Not a bad strategy because it’s inhumane and not the kind of thing you would ever do to a person you cared about, but because it wouldn’t have accomplished what he set out to do—it wouldn’t have hurt her.
“Did you do it?” Mia asks, crossing her arms and looking in at me.
“No,” I say quietly.
“None of it?” she asks sharply.
I don’t know if Francesca filled her in or not, but I’m too tired to rehash the same story. “He thinks I’m fucking someone I’ve never even met, Mia. This is… all in his head.”
Whatever shield of anger she brought down with her slips at that, and she seems to sag. “He’s so goddamn paranoid. I told you it wasn’t cute.”
I don’t say anything for a moment, trying to organize my thoughts. I don’t know what to say to her. I don’t know what to do. I need Mateo to talk to me, but he won’t believe anything I say. Apparently, he’s too busy even to come down and see me again, since now it�
��s been two whole days.
“Come eat,” she says, nodding at the plates.
“I’ll eat it later.”
“Eat it now. I have to take the dishes back up, and I’m going to bring you to see Lily for a minute.”
The first spike of excitement hits me then. I don’t hesitate, grabbing the plates and scarfing down the food. My stomach roils in protest, but I don’t care. Once it’s done, I follow Mia upstairs, trying to fight down a surge of adrenaline.
The light above stairs actually hurts my eyes. I squint as they struggle to adjust, following Mia into the servants’ quarters. Cherie is in there too, her face pitying as soon as she sees me. She rushes over to Mia, though, addressing her instead of me. “What are you doing, Mia?”
“Adrian said I could. It’s just for a few minutes,” she assures the other girl.
“Adrian’s leaving. You should’ve asked Mateo,” she says.
Mia stares at Cherie like she’s lost her mind. “Yeah, okay, let me go pry him out of his madman’s surveillance cave and ask permission. Good idea.”
“I just don’t want you to get—” She pauses, glancing at me, then back to Mia. “In trouble,” she finishes, a bit lamely.
“Yeah, I don’t want to get in trouble either, but she has a kid, Cherie. This isn’t right. He could’ve kept her in his wing with someone guarding the door. He doesn’t have to treat her like an animal. I didn’t even know there was an actual dungeon, though…” She trails off, laughing a little crazily. “Honestly, I don’t know why. I should’ve assumed.”
My old bedroom is empty when Mia takes me inside. She’s letting me have a shower before she takes me to Lily, and I understand why when I get a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror. Ugh. Gross.
When I get out, she has clean clothes set out for me on the edge of the sink. They’re not mine, but I don’t blame her for not wanting to go to my bedroom to retrieve them for me.
Mateo’s bedroom.
Rolling my shoulders, I try to shake out some of the dread, but I realize that’s the mood in the whole house. It reminds me of the last Disney movie I watched with the girls—Beauty and the Beast. The beautiful, opulent castle transformed into something dark and dreary, the sun gone, shrouded in a heavy fog. Cursed.
Ju is there with Lily now, and emotion rolls over me like a bus. Tears clog my throat as Lily lights up, running over to give me a hug.
“Momma! I missed you.”
“I know, baby,” I say, kissing the top of her head a million times, not letting go. “I missed you, too.”
“You shouldn’t work so much,” she tells me, still hugging me.
I sort of laugh, sort of cry. I don’t know. I’m glad she can’t see me. “I know, I’m sorry.”
“Mateo got us jammies for Bora and Audrey,” she announces.
“New names again?” I say, petting her head, because I just can’t stop touching her. I’m relieved to hear that. It gives me hope. Maybe he won’t speak to me, maybe he doesn’t even want to see my face, but if he’s keeping things normal for Lily, he hasn’t made up his mind to kill me.
I don’t know what happens to Lily if that changes. Does he just keep her? Will she grow up to be Cherie, sort of a maid, sort of a family member? I don’t think he’d hurt her, I really don’t. Although I now understand he’s capable of darker deeds than I originally wanted to believe, there’s no part of me that genuinely thinks he would hurt my daughter.
Cherie pops around the corner, her brown eyes darting to mine. “Time to go.”
“Already?” I ask, staring at her in disbelief. “I’ve only just—”
She interrupts, “He’s heading this way.”
My heart stalls, and my gaze drops to Lily. If he’s coming for me, Cherie’s right—she shouldn’t see that. Forcing a smile, I give her another hug. “Mommy has to go back to work for a little bit.”
“Will you read me a bedtime story tonight?” she asks.
My heart aches. “I want to. I don’t know if I’ll be done working yet, though.”
Ju comes over and takes Lily’s hand, urging her out of the room. Mia flutters—there’s no other word for it, she flutters, moving nervously, jerking her head for me to follow her.
We don’t make it. Before we can get to the basement door, Mateo is there, glaring daggers at both of us.
For all that Mia defended her actions to Cherie, she’s by no means holding her ground now that he’s standing here in front of her. “I just let her see Lily. I was taking her right back.”
He moves forward slowly, eyes narrowed on me, then moving to Mia. “You should’ve asked,” he states.
“I asked Adrian,” she says.
“Adrian doesn’t work for me anymore.”
She nods her understanding. “I’m sorry.”
Without another word, he holds his hand out to her, palm up. She extracts the key and hands it to him.
“I’ll take her back down,” he says, his eyes snapping to mine.
Mia shuffles, dismissed but uncertain. Finally, she comes to a decision and bolts, leaving me there alone with him.
I’m fine with that. Relieved, really. I don’t even mind when he claims my arm, dragging me down the steps with far more force than is necessary.
When we get back to the cell, he looks at the new additions and scoffs bitterly. “They’re trying to make you comfortable.”
“They understand I’m not the enemy,” I say carefully.
“You come here to kill me for the rival family—how does that not make you the enemy?” he snaps.
My eyes search his face, noting unfamiliar dark smudges under his eyes. “Are you sleeping?”
He doesn’t answer me. If anything, voicing even a hint of concern seems to ignite fresh fury behind the depths of his brown eyes.
“Stop acting like you give a fuck, Meg. Stop lying. Just stop.”
“No,” I shoot back. “I’m not lying. I do care about you. I won’t pretend not to so you can justify this,” I say, gesturing around my cell.
“Justify this?” he asks, his eyebrows rising. “Sweetheart, I don’t need to justify anything.” He steps inside the cage with me, and despite myself, I take a step back. The movement makes him smile. “There’s no point running from me, Meg. Where are you gonna go?”
He has me back up against the cement wall now, and still he advances. Roughly grabbing my chin, he forces me to look at him when I try to look down.
“You think Salvatore will come save you?” he asks lowly. “You think if you just buy yourself enough time, he’ll come riding to your rescue?”
“I’ve already told you,” I say, pausing, furious at the wobble in my voice. Trying again, I open my mouth, but he stops me with a shake of his head. I stop, but I add, “I’m not lying to you, Mateo.”
“Who sent you that first night?”
“Antonio Castellanos,” I reply, without hesitation.
His eyebrows jerk upward, like he didn’t expect me to say that. Confusion registers for a split second, but it’s gone just as quickly, replaced by his cool anger.
I go on. “Rodney owed him money. When he died, Castellanos came to my house, threatened my daughter, told me Rodney’s debt was mine now. Told me he didn’t want money, he wanted a favor. He set all that up for me to meet you. I was supposed to do what I had to do—get a drink, go home with you—to find an opportunity to slip that shit in your drink. I never wanted to, and when we were having such a good time…” I trail off, still holding his gaze. “But then, even though it obviously wasn’t your intention, you solved that problem for me. You brought me and Lily under your protection. He wasn’t going to come after me in your house—he would never have needed me to begin with if he’d do that. And since then I have never misled you. None of it was fake. I wasn’t playing you. I wanted to tell you, just so there were no lies between us, but then you told me about Beth. You gave me this necklace, this warning, and I just couldn’t. I thought since you were planning to kill Antonio anyway, th
e problem would resolve itself and you’d never have to know.”
“Did you tell him that?”
I frown, confused. “Tell who what?”
“Did you tell Salvatore I planned to kill his father?”
I can only gape, searching his face for any sign of softening. There’s none. My truth landed on deaf ears.
“Didn’t you just hear me?” I whisper.
“I did,” he says easily. “I’ve also read the text messages between you and Salvatore Castellanos. Women lie; those text messages don’t. I’ll repeat myself one more time: did you tell him—?”
“No! Of course I didn’t. Mateo, I didn’t.” I’m shaking my head, reeling from my own powerlessness, but terrified he’ll do something impulsive with the wrong information he has. This is bigger than us, if he’s thinking like that. Bigger than me. There’s a whole operation, two families stretched out over this city, and every single one us would be impacted by a wrong action.
Reaching a hand toward him, I touch his face, a tender shadow of his harsh grip on mine. His grip loosens at the brush of my fingers against his jawline, but his expression doesn’t change.
“I don’t think you’re paranoid,” I begin, pausing as I try to consider my next words. “I understand that you have to look over your shoulder, that trust is maybe the most costly thing you can give a person. I get that. But I need you to believe me when I tell you, I told that man nothing about you. Nothing. I didn’t tip him off, I didn’t warn him, I would never do that to you. I would never betray your trust that way. Never.”
He’s silent, but I have to hope he’s weighing my words. I’ve never given him a reason to doubt me before, and he knows that. Deep down, he knows that, because if I had, he would’ve suspected me and he’s already admitted he didn’t.
I don’t expect his next words. “Do you love him?”
My hand drops to his shoulder. This is so exasperating, and no amount of repeating myself is getting through to him. Do I love the stranger? Obviously not. I answer that question, it’s like I’m admitting there was something between us. I tell the truth, he thinks I’m being dishonest and shuts me down. I literally can’t win.
