Morally Decadent (Morally Questionable Book 3)

by Veronica Lancet

  "Then you know that I didn't take his offer," I'd worded my phrase carefully, trying to get her to back off.

  "I do, but our parents don't."

  "What do you mean? You told them?" I'd burst out, worry gnawing at me.

  "Them and..." she'd paused, satisfaction filling her features as she'd watched me slowly lose my calm. "Rocco."

  "What... why..." I'd stammered, suddenly realizing where this was all going.

  "Because, dear sister," she'd taken a step forward, her finger poking into my chest, "you're living the life I should have been living. And I intend to remedy that."

  "You can't do that," I'd wrapped my fingers around her hand, twisting it away from my body. "Enzo won't let you."

  "Won't let? He proposed the whole idea since, let's face it. I'm not only better looking," she'd paused, looking down her nose at me, "but I also fuck better."

  "I don't believe you," I'd replied, my hand searching for my phone. "Why don't we give him a call then. He can confirm himself what a great lay you are," I'd decided to play her game, knowing that Enzo would never betray me like this.

  And I'd been right. Just as I'd made a run for the phone, Chiara had jumped me, tackling me to the ground. My body had still been recovering from the birth, so the fall had been excruciatingly painful.

  "Fucking bitch," her punch had gone to my face, her knuckles catching the left side of my face. A low moan of pain had escaped me, and I'd mustered all my remaining strength to try to push her off me.

  But I couldn't.

  A few more punches and I was already dizzy from the cumulative pain.

  At some point I'd heard Luca cry, but I'd been immobilized on the floor, unable to do anything.

  "Luca," I'd whimpered, still under a barrage of punches.

  "Guess who your fucking brat will call mamma," she'd laughed at me, taunting me further.

  Eyes wide in fear, skin ruptured and bleeding, I'd tried to fight back. Anything to go back to my baby and hold him to my chest, whisper loving words and make sure he was safe.

  But just as I'd started gaining some ground as I'd returned her punches, she stopped holding back. Wrapping one hand around my neckline, she'd dragged my body across the floor until she reached a table.

  I'd been so battered that only inarticulate sounds escaped my lips. Still, I'd tried to reason with her, beseech her to let me be.

  My baby... Luca...

  My only thought had been Luca and what would happen to him when I'm gone. And so my eyes had honed in on him as Chiara wrapped her fingers in my hair, her nails digging in my scalp. Dragging my head towards her, she'd applied maximum strength as she'd pushed me back towards the leg of the table. One side of my face had taken the brunt of the force, and I'd felt myself slipping.

  Time after time she'd smashed my face against the table until I knew I wasn't whole anymore. Through some sort of divine punishment, I felt everything. I felt the skin rupturing, the bone crushing and digging into my flesh. I'd felt the blood pour out of me, and I'd known at that moment.

  I was dying.

  She'd continued until I stopped moving completely, my limbs paralyzed, a pain unlike any other filling my entire being.

  "Not so strong now, are you," she'd spat on me before rising to her feet to make a phone call.

  In a state between life and death, I could only wait for the blackness to come. Briefly I thought of Luca and Enzo, the two people I loved more than anything.

  And as I was dying, I'd hoped to meet them again.

  But I didn't die.

  I may have lost five years of my life and that of my baby boy's, but I'm far from dead. If anything, I'm determined.

  From what Lia had told me and from what I'd seen online, it's clear that no one's missed me. Why, Chiara is right at home masquerading as me, and for all of Lia's protests to the contrary, Enzo sure seems cozy fucking his way through the entire city — even having the audacity to flaunt it publicly.

  Besides Luca, he'd been the first person I wanted to see when I'd woken up. But the more I navigated the events of these last five years, the more disappointed I became. I saw countless photos of him with beautiful women, all in intimate settings, and sometimes even outside hotels. My heart had taken a big hit when I'd realized how quick he'd been to discard me.

  If I'd been ready to look past his brutal nature, I can never look past his infidelities. So what if he hadn't directly contributed to me spending half a decade in a coma? He'd enabled the people who did, and that made it just as bad.

  No, it made it worse. Because he'd had my heart — and he'd destroyed it.

  Lia had tried to suggest he might have his reasons for doing that, and I should listen to him first. I'd declined. It's not as if it's the first time he's strayed.

  In the beginning, I'd told myself to turn a blind eye, after all, we weren't on good terms and I couldn't expect him to be faithful to an unwanted wife. But as time passed and our bond deepened, so did my feelings and expectations. Every time I'd smell that perfume on him had been like being stabbed in the heart, viciously and repeatedly.

  It was only during my pregnancy that I thought he might finally be mine, and I'd been satisfied with whatever crumbs of affection he'd give me.

  I'd just bottled everything up — the neglect, the cheating, the unrequited love — everything for the sake of harmony and the prospect of a family. I'd given everything in me and he'd simply taken it.

  Not anymore.

  My cane hits the pavement as I slowly climb out of the taxi. I trudge my way towards the entrance of the hospital, passing a pair of mirrored double doors. I try to ignore my reflection, and the way my face feels foreign even though it's the same.

  I'd heard from Lia that Enzo had hired the best plastic surgeons to reconstruct my face, and he'd insisted they make sure I looked the same I did before.

  Though I look the same, I feel like a completely different person.

  Why had he gone through all this trouble just to betray me all over again? Was it his conscience? He didn't want the mother of his child to look like a monster?

  I fill in the form and I confirm my identity at the reception desk before I'm led by a nurse to Enzo's salon.

  "He's still out from the surgery," she mentions before leaving us alone. She'd assured me there were no complications, and he was out of the danger zone.

  Setting my cane against a desk, I take a few wobbly steps until I reach his bed, prompting myself on a chair nearby.

  I take in his features — unchanged even after all this time, and my heart gives a painful squeeze.

  "Why couldn't you love me like I loved you," my words come out as a whisper, my voice still ragged from unuse, my vocal cords permanently scarred from having breathing tubes down my throat. "It would have made everything so much easier," I continue, making the courage to touch his hand with mine. Skin to skin, the contact is sublime, a shiver going down my back as my body remembers his.

  But it was all a lie.

  For a moment, just one moment, I let myself feel the relief at knowing he's fine, and I admit to myself that I'd been worried sick about him.

  Just a moment as I lift myself up, leaning over him to place my lips on top of his in a most chaste kiss — a goodbye to my heart.

  "You'd better survive this, Enzo Agosti. Because your death will be by my hand."

  Grabbing my cane on the way out, I step into the bustling New York city life and I take a deep breath.

  Allegra Agosti died five years ago. They didn't just kill my body, but my heart, my spirit and my morals. Now, I'm just a shell with a purpose — get my son back.

  And no one can stop me.

  LEAVING MY CANE IN a nook outside the fence of the house, I right my clothes, feeling uncomfortable in the glitzy dress. My face, too, is full of make up in an attempt to emulate the photos I'd seen of Chiara online.

  She certainly hadn't wasted any time to make her entrance in society.

  Tabloids upon tabloids had documented h
er crazy escapades as well as her disposable paramours, all of them somehow excusing the blatant fact that she's already married. Her sexcapades are so famous there are even sextapes of her on porn sites — with my fucking face.

  Why couldn't Enzo ask the doctors to give me a new face? At least then I wouldn't have to walk around knowing that Chiara's destroyed my entire life.

  Holding my head high, I try to emulate Chiara's mannerisms — mostly her snobbism. I enter the house without making eye contact with anyone, and without acknowledging the staff. After all, Chiara doesn't care about the people lower than her.

  When I successfully get inside the house, I'm suddenly struck by the familiarity of it all.

  Home... It had once been home.

  Taking a deep breath, I refuse to let myself dwell in melancholy. I have one purpose.

  But as I scour the house, I realize I have no idea where Luca's room is. It's only when I hear a small giggle that my heart seizes and I grasp on to that sound, following it until I reach the second floor. The door is half-open, and I stop right outside to peer into the room.

  Luca, my beautiful boy, is on the floor trying to build something with Lego. There's someone else with him, his governess probably, and she's helping him choose his pieces carefully.

  I raise my hand to my mouth, muffling a sob as I watch my baby boy, so grown, so handsome. He looks like Enzo, and you can barely see a trace of me in him. With his raven hair and his green eyes, he's like a doll come to life.

  Tears are gathering at the corner of my eyes, bottled emotions threatening to spill over.

  A gasp escapes me and Luca's governess notices me standing at the door.

  "Signora," she starts, her tone none too pleasant.

  "My husband is in the hospital. I came to sit with Luca for a bit," I lie through my teeth, hoping I'm good enough of an actress to pull this off.

  "Hospital? What happened?" She gets to her feet, her expression worried.

  Not too young but not too old either, the governess isn't bad to look at. But her sudden concern is interesting.

  My God, did he fuck her too?

  I don't want to dwell on that question as I force myself to seem normal.

  "There was a shooting gone wrong. He's fine for now." I explain a little, all the while my eyes focused on the boy in the background who is looking at me curiously.

  "You can take a lunch break while I'll sit with Luca. I won't be long," I make up some other commitment, knowing that Chiara would never spend too much time with a child.

  "I don't know..." she looks between the two of us. "Signor Enzo told me to always sit with Luca, even when you're home," she continues, looking conflicted.

  "Just a quarter of an hour. I won't mention it if you won't," I attempt a smile, begging the gods for a miracle.

  "I guess I could take an earlier lunch break," she finally relents and pushes the door wider for me to go in. "I'll come back in fifteen."

  A mere fifteen minutes, but it will be the happiest fifteen minutes of my life.

  "Hi, Luca," I say, struggling to crouch on the floor. My legs feel wooden as I will them to bend properly, the strain of walking without a cane already taking a toll on me.

  "Hi," he says in a small voice, clutching a small Lego piece to his chest.

  "What are you building?" I motion to the foundation he's already built.

  "A replica of the house," he answers shyly, lowering his chin to gaze anywhere but at me. He's behaving as if I'm a stranger...

  "Luca, do you know who I am?" I ask, wanting to know how much to torture Chiara before her death for usurping my place so shamelessly... for taking my child.

  "Yes," he whispers, red spreading from his neck to his cheeks. "You're my mamma. But papa says I shouldn't call you that." That small admission breaks my heart.

  I may feel sorry for myself, for not being there for my baby's first years of life, but what of him? What of the boy that didn't have a mother? Because I'm sure Chiara is as motherly as a viper.

  "You can call me mamma if you want. It will be our little secret," I say, greedy to hear that one word I'd waited for so long. I'd imagined him calling me like that since the time he was in my womb. I'd spend the nights with my hand on my bump, picturing holding my little one in my arms.

  "Really?" He still seems unsure, so I assure him that only if he's comfortable.

  "Ok, mamma," he gives me a timid smile, and I try to blink the tears away, failing utterly.

  "Why are you crying?" he asks, quickly rising from his seat and coming towards me. He's standing in front of me, his small brows wiggling in confusion. "Are you sad?"

  I shake my head. How could I ever explain to him what this moment means to me?

  "I'm happy," I say, smiling through my tears. "So, so very happy. And you know why?"

  He shakes his head, still looking at me with his big luminous eyes.

  "Because Luca's here, next to me. And that makes me very happy," I tell him, my hands trembling in my lap with a need to touch him, my eyes still leaking like a waterfall.

  "But you're crying." He frowns at me. "I only cry when I hurt," he states solemnly.

  "Sometimes, people also cry when they're happy."

  "Do you need a hug then? Papa always says hugs take the hurt away. But if you're not hurt..." he trails off, visibly confused.

  "I'd love a hug, Luca. If you want to give me one," I quickly respond, amazed at the opportunity in front of me. I hold out my arms for him to hug me, anticipation building inside of me.

  His lips stretch into a smile and he effortlessly slides between my arms, his tiny ones wrapping around my ribcage as he places his head on my chest.

  The last time I felt him this close was when he was suckling at my breast.

  I close my arms around him, grasping him to my chest and putting all my love into this hug. One hand goes higher, cupping his head so I can lay a kiss on his forehead.

  "Mamma loves you, Luca," I say, my voice clogged with emotion, "so, so very much,"

  He doesn't respond, and I'm rather relieved he doesn't, because that would mean he loves that woman, and not me.

  He pulls back slightly, his eyes shrewdly assessing me.

  I finally give in to my wish and touch my hand to his cheek, feeling his warmth.

  "You're such a good boy, Luca. Your papa must be proud of you." I praise him, bringing the conversation to a more comfortable topic.

  "He is," he immediately replies. "He always tells me he's proud of me." For the first time Luca gives me a full smile, his small white teeth glinting in the sunlight.

  "I'm proud of you too, you know." His eyes widen in wonder, and I feel compelled to continue. "I may never say it, but I am. You're my darling boy," I circle my thumb across his cheek, imprinting this moment in my memory.

  It will be my anchor as I set to take back everything they stole from me.

  "Signora," the governess's voice startles me. I drop my hand from Luca, and I say a short goodbye.

  He's quickly immersed into his Legos again and doesn't even seem to notice me leaving.

  Ignoring the cramps in my legs, I hold it all in as I put on my best nonchalant expression, wiping the tears off my face to make sure I don't come across as odd.

  "Thank you. I'm going to leave now," I say before reluctantly removing my gaze from Luca and leaving the room. I walk out slowly, holding on to the railing of the staircase to avoid any more injury to my legs.

  All the while I feel something new blooming inside my chest. Something familiar yet foreign.

  He called me mamma.

  I'm still stunned, replaying his soft voice in my head as he'd said the word.

  It's everything I needed to push through.

  Wait for me Luca... Mamma is coming back.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  CROUCHING IN FRONT of Luca, I help him put on his shoes. Time and stubborn determination ensured that my legs have recovered their mobility. I'm almost as flexible as I was pre-coma, and it makes
me all the happier when I can put my newly found physical freedom to use with Luca.

  I'd taken advantage to the maximum of the times I could sneak in and meet him, and for weeks now both Luca and his governess have thawed a little towards me. I guess I'm lucky that Chiara is mostly away and Enzo is so busy with whatever he's doing or whoever he's fucking that he isn't at home during the day.

  "Do you like the shoes?" I ask him after I finish tying his laces. He peers down at the navy blue sneakers, wiggling his toes inside of them. A slow movement of his head shows his approval and a smile spreads across my face.

  The first pair of shoes I bought him.

  The first of many.

  I've tried not to go overboard with my displays of affection or the gifts because I hadn't wanted to confuse him — one minute he's got a careless, almost nonexistent mother and the next he has an obsessive one. It's been hard to temper myself, when all I want is to take him with me, away from all these people.

  But I can't. Not yet anyway.

  "They feel nice," he comments as he jumps off the bench, walking a few steps before taking off in a sprint towards the back of the house.

  "Hey, wait for me," I call out, amused. I start running too, slowly at first, gaining speed as my legs get used to the motion.

  He giggles, a sound that's like a balm to my heart, running in circles around a tree.

  "You can't catch me mamma," he looks behind, his hair in the wind, a carefree smile on his face.

  "Watch me," I feign indignation as I change direction, rushing towards him from behind. He sees me, and laughing loudly, he manages to avoid my ticklish hands.

  He's sneaky, dodging me by slipping through my arms and doing a U turn to push me to the ground — the tickled becoming the tickler.

  "Luca," I whimper, giggling as he tries to torture me with his little hands.

  "That's it, baby boy, you're mine now," I tell him, my voice menacingly amusing. Catching his hands in mine I bring him to my chest, kissing his little forehead. "Did I tell you I love you today?"

  "Uhm, twice," he says bashfully.