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I rush toweling off and accidentally knock over the vanity mirror on the bathroom counter. The oval-shaped mirror and stand tumble to the ground and the glass shatters into dozens of pieces.

Ugh.

Exactly what I need. More reasons to cause Carlotta and the others to fuss at me. Before any of them can, I bend low and carefully pick them up to do it myself.

“Ow!” I yelp when a particularly sharp piece slices into my hand. Blood is immediate, oozing from the cut in fat droplets, bright and red.

For a moment, I’m transfixed, staring at the shard as the bathroom light reflects in the glass, and then at the fresh blood dribbling down my palm.

“Falynn!” Carlotta calls suddenly through the bathroom door. “Is everything all right in there? What was that breaking noise? You’ve taken so long.”

Her voice jolts me back to reality, from the thoughts I was losing myself in. I hurry to throw more shards into the trashcan and wipe my bloodied hand on a towel.

“Fine,” I say when I open the door.

Carlotta isn’t easily fooled. She grabs my hand and turns it over palm-side up. Her gaze darts to the bathroom floor and then the trashcan. “You broke the mirror?”

“By accident. I knocked it over.”

I don’t like the accusation in her stare. Everything I do is suspicious now; I’ve never been under more surveillance. She’s babysitting me at this point.

“I’ll get the first aid kit for that cut. It’s very deep for on your hand,” she says.

An indescribable tightness clenches in my chest. I fold my hands behind my back. “That’s okay. I said I’m fine. Is breakfast outside?”

I’m not hungry, but if it’ll get her to leave me alone, I’ll eat. She dogs my footsteps, following me onto the balcony terrace. We sit down to an uncomfortably silent breakfast. Usually, Carlotta will at least attempt to force polite conversation.

She’ll tell me about her grandchildren, or some piece of gossip she overheard about one of the other wives.

This morning, she’s noticeably silent, though she makes no effort to hide her stare. She sips her espresso and watches me eat.

It’s the first full meal I’ve had since Paris. I’m sure she and the rest of the staff have already reported to Giovanni about how I haven’t been eating. I’m supposed to clear my plate. Since I’ve still been taking my meds, it’s only made me sick and nauseous. They’re supposed to be taken within an hour of a nutritious meal. I’m sure force-feeding me is next.

Carlotta sighs and sets down her small espresso cup. “Dolcezza, we need to chat.”

“I’m not in the mood to do anything today. I’ll be going back to bed. You can tell on me if you want. But I’m not feeling well. I’ll deal with the consequences later—”

“I’m extremely worried,” she interrupts, frowning. “I have voiced these concerns to your husband, but it seems they have fallen on deaf ears. You are not well, and I will not watch on the sidelines a second time.”

A knot twists inside my already uneasy stomach. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about. But if you mean you’ve told on me—”

“Stay put.” Carlotta disappears from the terrace, her slim and pint-sized form shuffling away in her house slippers. I sit perplexed and wait it out. She’s only gone for a minute or two before she returns with an old, bent envelope she hands to me. “Take a look.”

I blink in confusion and then do as told. The envelope is full of polaroids from decades ago. I recognize the setting of many of them immediately—the Sorrentino villa in Portofino, where Giovanni told me his family often spent summers when he was a young boy.

The first photo makes me gasp. “This is his mother? She was beautiful.”

“Yes. She died young. Only a couple years older than you. She was known for her beauty, and from a respected Italian family. That’s why Giuliano chose her as his wife.”

“I’ve heard. Giovanni told me he never loved her…” My voice trails off on a sad note.

It’s strange staring at the woman in the photographs. Her long, earthy brown hair and eyes offset her milky skin, but though she’s smiling in almost every picture, there’s nothing behind it. I can sense she was in deep pain. Even in the one family photo, Sorrentino Senior standing beside her with their twin boys waving at the camera, there’s a dark energy about it. He has his arm around her, but it’s a gesture that’s empty and cold.

“Sorrentino Senior was very open about how much he despised her,” Carlotta says, waking me from zoning out to the photograph. “He saw her as very weak. I’m sure you know she had some struggles with mental health. Giancarlo shared those same struggles. Unfortunately, she succumbed to them.

“In Giuliano’s view, it was no matter. He drove her to it, because he saw her as too fragile. He felt he was better off without. She was a mistake in his eyes. Many men like him who are in this lifestyle…they do not understand certain types of emotion. It’s all weakness.”

My heart breaks the more I stare at her until I can’t do it anymore. I tear my gaze away, trying not to imagine what it must have been like for her.

Source: www.allfreenovel.com
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