by Monica James
Sister Margaret blows out a breath in relief. Her job here is done. However, she stays true to her part of patient and slowly sits. Removing the cloth from her forehead, she places it in the porcelain wash bowl on the bedside table and nods.
“Yes, I’m feeling better. Thank you, Mother Superior, for watching over me.”
Mother Superior looks rather confused by the entire situation but smiles.
Sister Margaret stands and slowly walks toward the door. Her lips tip into a shy grin before she practically runs from the room.
I stand in the doorway with my hands in my pockets while Mother Superior stays seated. A silent hint she wants to know what’s on my mind. I wish I could tell her, but I can’t. I need to speak to Ella first before I figure out what I’m going to do.
“I suppose you’re not going to tell me what’s going on out there?” Mother Superior asks, placing the pen in the crossword book and closing it.
I laugh in response. “Whatever are you talking about?”
She shakes her head but smiles. “Come here, child,” she says in Russian, which means I’m in trouble.
I do as she asks, sitting on the edge of the bed. The paperwork in my back pocket burns a hole through me, but I remain straight-faced.
“What’s troubling you, Aleksei? Lately, you always look like you’re carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders.”
Running a hand through my hair, I reply, “It sometimes feels that way, but it will pass. Just as it always does.”
She ponders over what I shared. “You grapple with your conscience, but in the end, you always do what’s right. Look what you did with Willow.”
This is the first time she’s mentioned Willow. I never speak about her as it’s not a time I wish to relive.
“She called me not long after she left. Did you know that?”
My mouth parts in surprise. “No, I did not.”
“She asked how you were as she’d seen the renovations done to the orphanage online. I told her you were safe.”
“Did she say anything else?” I ask, almost begging she says yes.
“I asked if she wanted me to pass a message to you. She said no.”
I can’t hide my disappointment.
“No matter, I want you to know that she cares for you, Alek. Maybe not in the way you want, but she gave you a second chance. I think it’s time you did the same, don’t you think?”
“Give Willow a second chance?” I ask, confused.
Mother Superior places her hand over my knee. “No, мой ребенок. Give yourself a second chance. You may not realize it, but you help many people in your own way. Willow, Irina, me, Renata, and the sisters. So many people see the good in your heart…one day, you will too.”
Mother Superior has always been my biggest cheerleader. I wish I could believe her. Maybe one day, but that day is not today. The mention of Renata has me remembering her admission.
“I wanted to apologize for what Renata shared with you.”
“What did she say?”
Clearing my throat as there is no easy way to say this to a woman of God, I explain, “She said she came to you, seeking advice on her, er, feelings…for me. I want you to know nothing happened. I would never…” with her, I silently add.
With Ella, however…
Mother Superior’s expression confuses me because she appears as if she has no idea what I’m talking about. And that’s because she doesn’t. “She must have mistaken me for someone else. She never came to me to discuss such things.”
Mother Superior may be getting on in age, but she is still as sharp minded as she was the day we first met. Renata’s story is just that, but I don’t understand why she’d lie.
Unless…we were talking about her being inside Mother’s Superior’s office. Did she deflect the comment to evade the truth?
“Mother Superior,” Sister Yali chirps as the door bursts open. “Come with me please.”
Mother Superior watches me closely as I attempt to decipher what’s going on. I process everything Renata shared with me, trying to connect the dots to figure out why she’d lie.
“I will have no issues tying you up and taking you against your will,” Sister Yali teases, but she doesn’t realize what she’s done.
“It didn’t matter that the rope burns were so bad.”
“My ankle was chained to that radiator. Sometimes my wrists.”
Renata’s story plays over and over, and I can’t believe I didn’t pick up on the inconsistency sooner. Chained would imply a metal chain, yet rope burns would suggest rope. However, when I found her, there weren’t any signs of rope burns. They were present after I tied her up.
If Serg bound her as she said he did and used her for his pleasure, then where is the proof? Apart from being filthy and scared, there weren’t any signs she had been held captive the way she described it.
My stomach drops because this small discrepancy obliterates her entire story. I need to find her.
I jump up from the bed, ready to race from the room, but Sister Yali pushes her oversized glasses up the bridge of her nose, looking at me like she’s prepared to make me a eunuch if I don’t come to the party. Mother Superior is behind me, clearly worried she said something wrong.
With no other choice, I quash down my murderous rage and offer my arm to Mother Superior. “I will escort you. No restraints necessary.”
Mother Superior loops her arm through mine, entertaining me and Sister Yali, but she senses something is amiss by my reaction. We follow Sister Yali down the hallway toward the dining hall where I assume all the sisters and the children wait quietly, ready to surprise their guest of honor.
Sister Yali looks over her shoulder at me, beaming brightly. I return the gesture, but on the inside, I’m far from smiling.
“Aleksei, what’s wrong?” Mother Superior whispers.
“Nothing is wrong.” I rub over the top of her hand, attempting to soothe her worries. “Just don’t be angry with me.”
She turns her cheek sharply, unsure what I mean. But she soon finds out when Sister Yali opens the doors to the dining hall, and everyone screams, “Surprise!”
Mother Superior places a hand on her chest over her heart while I chuckle, leading her forward.
The sisters swarm her, giving Mother Superior birthday hugs and kisses. It’s quite wonderful to see. But as I scan the room, my sights are set on two people.
Renata stands with one of the sisters a few feet away, sipping what looks like punch. We lock eyes, and she appears happy to see me. At first. I wonder why. I’ll deal with her later, though, because my senses are so in tune with Ella that it takes me all of two seconds to find her in a room full of people.
She’s in the far corner, holding Irina’s hand. The sight would usually warm my heart, but now, it merely breaks it further.
Now that I see her, really see her, I’m disgusted that she wears the stolen habit of the sister she buried in a shallow grave. I’m appalled she would use her beauty to trick any man into her bed. She uses people for her gain, and she had the gall to call me out when she’d done the same thing.
Her smile soon diminishes. She knows. She senses something is wrong, and because she is guilty, she will automatically think I’ve unearthed her dirty secret. This just proves her guilt.
She bends down to whisper something in Irina’s ear. I find out what that is when Irina stands on her toes, seeking me out. When she sees me, she lets go of Ella’s hand and runs through the crowd to me.
This buys Ella some time, but she won’t escape. Not again.
Ella clutches the cross around her throat, sickening me further. She pushes through the masses, making a beeline for the side door. She rushes out of it, never looking back.
Irina throws herself in my arms as I crouch low. “Ski!” she shrieks, squealing when I pick her up and hug her tight. “Dress?”
Nodding, I kiss her warm forehead. “Yes, цветочек, your dress is very pretty. Just like you. M
ay I ask you a question?”
She nods, placing small kisses all over my cheeks.
“Why did you call Renata a bad lady? And why fire? Did she hurt you?”
Irina stops kissing my cheeks and blows a raspberry. “Bad lady,” she repeats in Russian. “Burn paper with picture.”
“What do you mean burn paper with picture?” I ask, pulling back to look at her.
She uses both pointer fingers to draw a rectangle in the air, or rather, she draws the shape of a postcard.
Irina has never seen a postcard before; therefore, she refers to one as paper with a picture because essentially, that’s what it is.
But when? There was no way she could have taken it when she was in the SUV. It was only one time. But then I realize, no, it wasn’t.
“She follows you around like a lost puppy, washing your SUV…”
Ella’s words come back to haunt me because Renata has been in my vehicle more than once.
“And you saw her do this?”
She nods.
“Did she see you?”
She nods once again.
My body vibrates in fear and rage. “Did she hurt you, Irina?”
So help me god, if she nods one final time, I will hurt Renata and hurt her good.
“No,” she replies, her innocent eyes filling with tiny tears. “Ski mad with Irina?”
“Oh, цветочек, no. Ski is mad with himself. Don’t cry. Shh.” I use my thumb to wipe away a fallen tear. “I love you. You know this?”
She nods, sniffing and wiping her eyes. “Irina любит Ski.”
I don’t deserve her love, but I have it regardless. “I have to go find Sister Arabella. I’ll be right back, okay?”
She nods and doesn’t make a fuss, sensing the urgency to my tone.
Sister Yali runs toward me, the joy that she is, smiling broadly. “Thank you for everything. If it wasn’t for you, this party would have been nothing more than a few boxes of pizza and some crisps.”
Sister Margaret has told her of my contribution, but I don’t want gratitude. However, there is something else. “Sister Yali, can you watch Irina? I need to do something.”
Sister Yali nods, the concern clear on her face when I offer her Irina’s hand. She holds on tight, which isn’t like Irina. She usually shies away from such contact.
“Yes, of course. Is everything all right?”
“It will be. Thank you, Sister.”
I stroke the apple of Irina’s cheek before I chase after Ella. On the way out, I turn over my shoulder, focusing on Renata. She’s seen the entire exchange, but instead of seeming concerned, she raises her glass in a salute.
Drink up, your time is coming.
As I run down the hall, my frantic footsteps echo my urgency to find Ella. She is no doubt packing, ready to flee because that’s what the guilty do—they run to save their own skin.
I kick open her bedroom door and don’t hesitate to storm over to her as she’s hastily stuffing a bag full of clothes. Her face reflects her fear, and when she picks up the lamp, throwing it at my head and missing, that fear turns to pure terror.
She backs up, seeking a weapon or a way out. I grip her bicep and throw her up against the wall. She pummels her fists against my chest as I cage her in, desperately trying to escape my clutches, but she’s not going anywhere.
“Let me go!” she snarls, eyeing me angrily.
I laugh in response. “You’re not going anywhere. We need to talk.”
“How dare you come in here uninvited?”
“You didn’t mind when I came somewhere else, but I suppose that’s just another day at the office for you, isn’t that right…Sister?”
Her hand flies up, slapping me on the cheek.
Moving my jaw from side to side, I smirk, elated I’m getting under her skin because she has gotten under mine.
“Why are you packing?” I ask, gesturing with my head toward the bag on the bed.
“Because I can’t be here any longer,” she replies, purposely being evasive.
“Why not?” I question, and her anger, her fear is like a drug to me. I should hate her for what she’s done, but I don’t.
Her wickedness sings to mine. And now, it’s time to uncover just how wicked Antonella Ricci really is.
“Does it have something to do with the fact that the habit you wear once belonged to the sister you buried in a shallow grave?” I ask coolly, waiting for her to deny it.
But she doesn’t.
“H-how do you know?” she whispers, eyes filling with tears.
I almost feel sorry for her—almost—but she’s conned me before.
“I know a lot of things about you. For starters,”—I lower my face to hers so we’re inches apart—“I know your name…Antonella Ricci.”
“Oh, god.” She turns her cheek, squeezing her eyes shut.
“He won’t help you.”
“Let me explain.” Her body vibrates, begging I listen to what she has to say.
“Go ahead.”
“Let me go,” she says, meeting my eyes once again.
“You’re in no position to make demands. Talk.” I place my hands on either side of her head, caging her in.
“I had to leave because I saw your face. I knew it was only a matter of time before you’d find out what I’d done. I should have left sooner, but I developed feel—”
But I cut her off, punching my fist against the wall. She flinches as it’s inches from her face. “Don’t you dare play that card! Don’t you dare!”
“It’s true!” she cries, refusing to back down.
“If that were true, then why did it take me meeting that asshole Santo Macrillo for you to come clean now? If you had any…feelings for me, why did you lie to me?”
“It was never the right time.”
Scoffing, I shake my head. “Today was the right time. When I asked you what we were going to do, you could have told me the truth then. Yet you’ve continued to lie to me when I have been nothing but honest from the very beginning.”
Her regret over wanting me had nothing to do with God but rather, her wanting a bad man. It seems she has a type. And I fit the mold.
“I was scared,” she states, her lower lip trembling.
“Scared of what exactly? What I’ve done in my lifetime is far worse than what you can ever imagine,” I exclaim because my crimes precede hers. “But I still told you. I trusted you.”
My comment wounds her, but I don’t care.
“I think the truth is because you didn’t want me to know what your true motives were.
“I think you didn’t want me to know that you seduced both Frank and Santo Macrillo to work your way into a family with money. I think you wanted Santo’s wife dead so you could be the head matriarch.
“When Santo saw through your bullshit, you ran scared, but not before stealing one million dollars from him.”
I wait for a response, for her guilt to shine, but I don’t get it.
“Get off! Get off! Get off!” she sobs, her body burning up beneath me.
Her hysteria isn’t staged, and when she turns a sickly green, I release her and watch as she races to the small en suite and throws up in the sink. She grips the porcelain, her shoulders shuddering as she heaves uncontrollably.
This was not the response I anticipated.
When she’s done being sick, she rinses out her mouth and splashes water on her pale cheeks. She stares at her reflection for a long while, and I wonder what she sees.
“If you really believe that, then you don’t know me at all,” she whispers, still staring into the mirror. “If I stole that money, then why am I here? Why aren’t I a million miles away from here?”
When she turns to face me, and I see the genuine tears in her eyes, I suddenly realize she’s right. But that doesn’t explain what happened to the real Sister Arabella.
“That money was taken by Santo’s mistress, not me, because regardless of what you believe, I was never his mistress. And
I never stole any money from him. He wished I was his lover, and believe me, he tried, but after I turned him down one too many times, he snapped.
“He said he would have me killed. That I only loved Frank because of his money. But that wasn’t true. I fell in love with Frank even before I knew who he was.”
Her version of events differs quite drastically from Santo’s, but I listen.
“I broke off the engagement because I found out Frank was unfaithful, just like his father. I was expected to turn a blind eye to his infidelities because the men of the Macrillo family could have as many girlfriends as they wanted, and us women were supposed to accept their adulterous ways.
“Mila knew Santo had many lovers, but as long as she was his first, and he continued to provide her with the comfortable lifestyle she led, she had no issues playing happy family.
“But when one of his mistresses stole from him, Santo knew he had to cover his ass. Mila was okay with the cheating, but the stealing was something far worse than her husband fucking someone other than her.
“Money is the only thing that family cares about. I just wish I’d known that sooner.”
This is a lot to take in.
Ella has barely shared a thing about herself, and now, it’s information overload.
The truth is, I don’t know what to believe. The Macrillo family is very private about their family affairs. To the outside world, they’re picture perfect, but behind closed doors, she seems to paint a completely different picture altogether.
“Santo wants me dead because he doesn’t want anyone knowing he was trying to bed his youngest son’s fiancée. It would tear them apart. I wouldn’t tell anyone. I mean, who would believe me? But I’m a liability. As long as I’m alive, I have the power to ruin him.”
If—and that’s a big if—what she’s saying is true, then I think she’s gotten it all wrong.
Ella has done something no one has ever done to Santino Macrillo before. She bruised his ego by saying no, and to a man like him, that’s far worse than death.
He wants her found not because she could ruin him, but because he wants her to pay for not loving him in return. I know this because I’ve experienced it firsthand.
“What happened to Sister Arabella?” I question, wishing she’d come out of the bathroom. But maybe she feels more comfortable this way.
