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“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” he asked.
The memories were still fuzzy. I recalled my weak protests, but perhaps I hadn’t been firm enough? Hadn’t made my feelings clear? I remembered stumbling to the bathroom afterward to be sick, and there was a vague recollection of wiping sticky white cum from my inner thighs, but then in the morning, Cesare had brought me coffee and a croissant on a little gold tray as if there were nothing wrong, and I’d begun to think that maybe the worst parts had been a dream.
“I’m saying that night was a mess.” Had he raped me? I’d thought so at the time, but when I confronted him the next day, he’d told me that I’d wanted it just as much as him. That had been the beginning of the three-year mind fuck. Sometimes, it had been hard to tell which way was up with Cesare, but over the course of our time together, the charming side of him had made fewer and fewer and fewer appearances, replaced by anger and indifference. I preferred the indifference. “And a month later, I began to feel sick, so he sent me to the doctor.”
I hadn’t realised the kindly, grey-haired man was on the Cavallaros’ payroll. That he’d informed Cesare of my “condition.” If I’d been thinking logically, I’d have taken Plan B with that damn coffee and croissant, but I’d never managed to think straight around my then-boyfriend. So after I got the terrifying news, I’d gone home, tossed a few belongings into my car, and taken off.
“And the doctor reported back to Cesare?”
“How did you know?”
“Because that’s the way my father would have handled the situation.”
“I thought doctors took an oath to do no harm?”
“Money speaks louder than morals to some people. That’s when you went to Manassas?”
I nodded. “I needed space to decide what to do. Whether to keep the baby or not. I…I hated the idea of a termination, but the thought of spending the rest of my life tied to Cesare was worse. I knew he wouldn’t let me walk away, not if I was carrying his child.”
Matty was a joy, a treasure, but I couldn’t deny there were times when I’d resented his presence. Resented the chain he’d put around my neck. And every time I had one of those evil thoughts, the guilt ate away at me.
“I tried to get to you,” Nico said. “I was in Europe when you called, but as soon as I picked up the message, I came right away.”
I squeezed his hand, and the damn tears came back. “That means a lot. Really, it does. But Cesare got there first. I think he tracked my phone when I turned it on to call you.” I’d ignored all the voicemails from him, the hundreds of text messages, and turned it off again, but it had been too late. “He was with Alonzo. They grabbed me as I was walking to the convenience store along the street and bundled me into the back of a vehicle. Cesare told Alonzo to get my car so it looked as if I’d left on my own.”
“Alonzo Cavallaro ran over the police officer?”
“Yes? I mean, I didn’t witness it, but he was the one in my car.”
He would have wiped away any fingerprints; I was confident of that. Perhaps he’d paid off the cops too? It wouldn’t have surprised me—the Cavallaros owned several dozen members of the NYPD, including at least two bureau chiefs. I’d heard Cesare bragging about it on the phone.
“What happened after that? Did they take you back to New York?”
“Cesare was furious. One of his men drove us to Belgravia Place, and he laid out the rules.” That was the day I’d become a possession. At first, he’d been so angry that I’d feared for my life, and if I’d gone through with the abortion, I was quite sure he would have killed me. “I was his, and if I disobeyed him again, I’d regret it. Guards watched over me twenty-four-seven, and when I saw the reports about the police officer’s death on the TV, I realised I couldn’t leave even if I had the opportunity. It was a strange existence—I never wanted for material things, and Cesare would still take me out to expensive restaurants and act nice, especially if there were people around. But if I made one mistake—didn’t smile enough, or disagreed with him, or took too long to do something—then he’d snap.”
“He hit you?”
“Not often, and never when I was pregnant. Mostly, he just restricted my freedom. So I tried to fit in. To conform. After a year, he finally let me have my audition.”
A year where I’d become the mother of a beautiful little boy. I loved Matty with all my heart, no matter who his father was or what Cesare had done to me. A year where I’d gone from possession to vessel. It turned out that Cesare didn’t find postpartum bleeding attractive, or mommy pooch, or stretch marks. I’d spent several blessed months sleeping in the nursery before he’d decided that Matty should have a little brother or sister.
But Nico was still focused on the first part of my answer.
“Not often? Not often?” If dark vibes could kill, Cesare would have been dead. “That motherfucker.”
“You’re scaring me,” I whispered, and Nico’s expression turned to horror.
“I’m sorry, zolottse. That’s the last thing I meant to do.” His smile was tight as he reined in the darkness. “The Starlight Lounge was lucky to have you. You’re a natural-born performer.”
“I didn’t have much choice.” When it came to acting, I was the queen of faking orgasms. “It was the only freedom I got. Cesare let me choose the songs and help with the costumes and choreography.”
“You should have been on Broadway, not in a club that serves watered-down drinks.”
“That dream’s over. Right now, I’m just happy to be out of New York. All I want is a quiet life, no fame, no fortune, only a happy, healthy son and enough money to survive. It’s funny how you miss the small things when they get taken away from you. I used to dream of going to the grocery store and buying pizza and candy and bottles of rosé. Just meandering up and down the aisles and pretending to grumble when Matty wanted to buy some crappy plastic toy.”
“Then tomorrow, we’ll go to the grocery store.”
“Really?”
