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“I’m glad you feel better,” Isotta mumbled. “Now, if you don’t mind,” she said a little louder so her mother could hear her clearly.
“You want me to leave?” Celestina asked, turning around to face her daughter.
“Yes. I don’t want to talk about what happened,” Isotta replied. “I just want to forget.”
“But it's too hard to forget,” Celestina countered. “That’s why I want us to be able to talk about what we went through together.” Celestina tried to keep her emotions in check, but it was proving difficult.
“But that’s the thing,” Isotta replied, finally turning to face her mother. “I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to relive it. I don’t even want to think about it. I want to forget.”
“I understand.”
“What?” Isotta quipped. The sarcasm in her voice was evident to her mother.
“I understand,” Celestina dared to repeat.
“You understand,” Isotta restated as much to herself as to her mother. “You understand. You understand what exactly?”
“I understand what you were referring to,” Celestina replied.
“So, you think because we were kidnapped together that that gives you particular insight as to what I went through like we went through the same thing?”
“We did,” Celestina answered. “Maybe not to the same degree, Isotta, but they kidnapped and hurt me, too.”
“Not to the same degree at all,” Isotta countered. “He raped me repeatedly. He humiliated me by having me perform oral sex on him repeatedly. He shamed me by having me lie on the floor naked so he could fantasize about me before he raped me again. Did that happen to you, mother?”
She tried to quail her anger, but it brewed right at the surface.
“Did that happen to you?” Isotta repeated, angrier than when she asked the first time.
“I’m so sorry, Isotta,” Celestina sighed. “No, it didn’t happen to me to the same degree, and even if it wasn’t the same degree, I was still hurt.”
“It wasn’t even close to the degree I suffered.” Isotta fumed.
“How do you know?” Celestina questioned. “How do you know what they did to me? We were separated. You didn’t see me, and I didn’t see you.”
Celestina’s fight to hold back her tears was lost in that instant. She had detached herself from the anger she felt about what she’d been through, but those emotions resurfaced, and she struggled to keep the feelings under control.
Her mother’s tears pricked the coldness she felt in her heart. Isotta regretted how she spoke to her mother. She just wanted her to understand, but maybe it was too soon for that. Isotta dropped her head as daughterly guilt washed over her.
“I’m sorry.”
It took Celestina a moment to receive what her daughter said. But eventually, she did receive it.
Chapter Sixteen
Massimo winced when the doctor attended to his wounds.
But he didn’t cry out in pain.
There was no punk-type behavior exuded from him because he wasn’t anyone’s punk.
Massimo listened as the doctor talked about his injuries and what he would be prescribed to deal with the pain. His mother also listened to him as she wanted to ensure she was aware of what her son would need to feel better.
“If you don’t feel any better in a few days, then I’ll have you come into the hospital for further, more extensive testing.”
Romina looked at her son to ensure he was paying attention to what the doctor said. Even if he wasn’t, she was. Romina tried to stay in her place and play the dutiful, quiet until spoken to wife, but that changed the minute her son was hurt. She didn’t care what he did to those who hurt him. They deserved every bit of it, and she was glad he retaliated. And she was prepared for more retaliation. Romina knew that’s how her family responded to the attack. As they should. And when the time came, she would rally behind the men in her family and stand up to those who wished them harm. But for now, her primary focus was Massimo. She saw how absent he looked when the doctor spoke, how absent he’d looked since the altercation that put him at risk in the first place.
She didn’t know why her son seemed so absent, but he was. Massimo found it difficult to focus on what the doctor said because, honestly, he didn’t care. He didn’t care about much of anything since he’d exacted the ultimate revenge on the one person who declared war on him. Massimo relived every punch, every blow, every bruise Alessandro had issued. But then he also got the chance to relive his get back and how he decimated his opponent. But Massimo’s facial expression showed nothing, no revelry, no celebration, no nothing.
