AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Lucia
I know he stood at my door when I prayed. It is silly but my mother taught us to say our prayers and I haven’t done it in ages, but tonight I just felt as if I needed to. I sensed his presence and saw him through the slits when I opened my eyes a fraction. He didn’t disturb me, he stood there for a moment and then he left me alone. I thought he was going to interrupt me, tell me I had no right to pray after all my family has done. His family are no better — all good gangsters believe in God, go to church, and pray forgiveness for their sins. I wonder if making a baby an orphan can ever be forgiven? Is God that forgiving, can a sin like that be wiped clean? Maybe God can, but I know Salvatore will never forgive what has been done to him and his nephew.
The only sound is the weather outside. Inside the house was deathly quiet all night, and now as dawn tries to break through the thick storm clouds around us, the sound of morning rain blowing against the windows wakes me. The pitter patter is more of a harsh swish with each gust of wind smashing it against the glass like it’s a wave from the ocean.
Misty thick clouds envelop the entire house and island. It’s still dark out, but definitely morning. If I was at home, it is the sort off day where you would stay in bed and watch movies. I am not sure what I am meant to do here, today or any day for that matter. I am like a bird in cage, fed and taken care of but certainly not free.
The desire to curl under the lush comforter and watch the rain on the window is only overpowered by my hunger. My stomach growls, loudly. That and my desperate need for a cup of decent coffee force me to get up. I pull on a too-big hoodie over the pjs I was given and go to the kitchen. It’s cold even with the heating on the air has this bite to it. The whole house is still fast asleep, and I try not to wake anyone up. In the kitchen I fill the coffee pot, the real one, and put it on the stove. Italian coffee is something I don’t think I could ever give up, there’s no Starbucks on earth that could match it.
I fill a mug and sit down at the kitchen table, wrap both my hands around the cup to warm my fingers and savor the first sip as it hits all the rights spots. My eyes close, it’s so good. Warming me from the inside out, it’s the best part of any morning.
“Morning.” I am startled when Sal sneaks up on me, he pours himself the last bit of the coffee I made and leans against the table. “Did you sleep okay in the storm?” he asks, as if we can just have a normal conversation. Ignoring the herd of fucking elephants in the room. He acts like he didn’t kidnap me, catfish me, lure me into a trap. Sal is friendly, and it’s weird.
“I slept fine, and you?” I ask, noticing there is no crying and no baby in sight. “Did Raul sleep through?” I ask, his cries would have woken me if he was up. A crying baby isn’t something you can ignore, it usually escalates to the point no one can say they don’t hear it.
“He’s still fast asleep, I think it’s the weather.” Sal is looking at me. He is freshly showered, his hair still damp. Dressed in smart pants, a dove grey button up shirt that’s open at the collar. Effortlessly handsome, no matter what he has on, he looks good — it’s sinful actually. I look like a cave troll unless I make a serious effort not to. I don’t roll out of bed looking cute, and I am suddenly self-conscious about what I might look like to him right now.
“It is stay in bed weather,” I say, “or watch movies.” Sal smiles, and he is even better looking when he does. It makes my stomach whirl with butteries, my cheeks are warm. I’m sure he can see I am blushing. There were a good few nights I fantasized about this man, well the guy I thought he was. I masturbated to the conversations we had — and I can’t deny how handsome he is.
“There is Netflix in the living room, if you want to watch TV,” he says to me, and I get up to put my cup in the sink. He finished the coffee, and I don’t feel like making more.
“Do you want breakfast?” I ask him, opening the pantry cupboard to see what we have that resembles breakfast food.
“No thank you, coffee is fine for now.” Salvatore finishes his and puts his cup away like a well-trained man. He knows how to look after himself, probably because he is alone all time. “I have work to do.”
He leaves me there, and I make some toast with butter and chocolate spread. There’s not much else in the way of morning things. I start a mental list of stuff that would make it easier for all of us.
There are only men on this island, him, and his security team. No wonder the poor baby cried so much, none of them have a clue what to do with him. They’re pretty useless in the childcare department. The formula tin on the counter is for older babies, it is probably giving him a belly ache, the poor little guy. After I finish my toast, I mix him a bottle and go to the nursery room.
He’s awake, just quietly lying in his crib watching the water on the skylight above him. “Good morning, little man,” I say picking him up, his diaper is full, and he needs a change. “You’re happy this morning. Do you like the rain?” I talk to him while I change him, “I like rain, it makes me happy when it rains.” I chatter and dress him in a fresh warm onesie. The house is not warm inside, and I don’t want him to catch a chill. I warm up a washcloth and wipe his tiny face and when we are done, I sit on the single bed in the corner of the room and give him bottle.
He wolfs it down, and burps without a problem. Clean and warm and fed — that’s all they need. Babies are easy, it’s when they turn into toddlers that they become tiny hellions you want to send back to whichever hell they escaped from. Once they can talk back, they are no longer sweet little bundles of joy, they become sarcastic little shits with no filter that you can’t eat because God made them cute. I hold him on my hip, clean up where I changed him, and then go to see if there is somewhere for him to hang out and play for a while.
Sal said there was TV in the living room. He’s still small but the funnies and colors on the screen might distract him for a while. He grabs a fistful of my hair in his baby grip and hasn’t learned to let it go yet. “What are you doing?” Sal’s voice booms as I pass an open door. I never asked him what to do, I just sort of carried on.
“I was going to sit in the living room with him so you can get some work done.” That’s all I can come up with when put on the spot, I honestly hadn’t even thought about it. “Is that okay?” I ask because there’s a dark frown on his face.
“He spends the days in here with me, you can put him in the playpen, thank you,” he says, and when he looks from the baby to me there’s this glint of something dark in those eyes. I don’t argue, I step into the massive room which must be his office. There are screens everywhere along with the electronic hum of servers and computers. “Thank you, you can go do whatever you like.” He stares at me, and Raul fusses when I put him down yanking my hair with him. “Close the door on the way out, thank you.” He is being weird, well weirder. The smile from earlier is gone, and his tone is cold and clipped as if he wants me to get away from him and the baby.
I stare at the closed door confused for a while, I thought he would welcome some help and peace to be able to work. Instead, he had a jealous look in his eyes when he saw me with the baby. I have no idea what to do with myself. I try to watch TV, but it’s boring. I sit at the window and watch the storm out over the ocean, and eventually I decide to go into the kitchen and find something to rustle up a proper dinner.
I forgot to tell him the baby’s formula is wrong — I will do it later.
With what we have I manage to make a large bowl of spaghetti with my favorite sauce, it’s simple but filling and tasty. The loud thunder makes me tense and unsettled. I jump out of my skin when it hits really loud. I am washing up when I hear the baby crying, he’s probably hungry and needs a change. I dry my hands ready to go and help when Sal stomps in and makes his bottle in an angry silence.
I want to offer to help, but he doesn’t give me the chance before he’s gone again. I really could help him with this. The office door slams, and I decide it might be best to leave him alone today, he is not in a good mood.
“That looks so good,” the man who came and took the baby when I was in the cellar says, and I smile at the compliment.
“Thanks, I hope it tastes good. I did my best with what’s here,” I say to him.
“Not much, huh?” he jokes, obviously knowing what’s in the pantry better than I do.
“No, not really,” I say and look at the big guy dressed in all black. He has more than one visible gun on his person, and any normal woman would be intimidated by him. He just reminds me of my own bodyguards over the years. They look mean, but most of them are marshmallows. Feed them and they will keep coming back like a puppy with a ball. “I’m Lucia,” I say, and wait for him to tell me who he is.
“Sal doesn’t do names,” he says when he cottons on to why I am still looking at him. “You don’t need to know who we are any more than he does.” He is fucking weird. Who doesn’t know their employees’ names? I am frowning, and visibly confused. “He’s a private, careful man. I still don’t understand what happened with you, he has never—” he pauses, “done anything reckless.” He has never kidnapped anyone and locked them up on his island.
“He never had a reason to before.” Grief will make a person do insane things. The man in front of me just shrugs his enormous shoulders and pours himself a soda. He moves around me to make himself a sandwich.
