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I wasn't expecting the look of shock on Antonio’s face, so I continue, “It was Andres who abducted me from my momma’s home, Antonio.”
His silence encourages me to go on. “Why did you think I was here?”
Taking a sip of his wine, he composes himself before looking up at me. “I was led to believe that you had stolen from me.”
“What could I have possibly stolen from you, Antonio?” I all but scream at him, tears streaming down my cheeks. “Momma and I wanted for nothing, and everything we had we worked for in the fields.”
“Matias led me to believe that you’d somehow been sneaking into my compound at night and stealing from his mother’s vegetable gardens,” he solemnly admits. “He also led me to believe you’d agreed to work off your debt to me, which is why you were living in my home.”
“And you believed him?”
I should have anticipated the look of contempt he suddenly gives me. I always knew Matias and his brothers kept the truth from him, but I needed to see the look on his face to confirm my suspicions.
Reaching across the table, I grab his hand in mine, “Do you have any idea what they allowed Jason Alexandria to do to me?” I softly inquire. “What they condoned in your home?”
Snatching his hand away, he straightens in his chair, his body tensing instantly. Fisting his hands in rage, I watch as his face reddens and his jaw clenches.
“No,” he growls, shaking his head. “No, not in my home.”
“Yes, Antonio.” I reaffirm. “In that very bedroom you have me sleeping in.”
His silence unnerves me.
“How can I make things better, Luciana?”
His voice is small, but the remorse I see in his eyes calms me.
“By letting me go home,” I beg.
“You know I can’t do that,” he announces, his tone changing again. “You are mine, Luciana,” he claims. “I will kill any man who tries to take you away from me again.”
The firmness of his voice when he makes that last statement frightens me. The reality is, he’s never going to let me leave, no matter how much I plead.
The sound of the door opening and Antonio’s maids re-entering puts an end to any further discussion of what happened to me or me returning to Hawke.
“I hope you are hungry, Luciana; Mrs. Garcia is a wonderful cook.”
CHAPTERELEVEN
Hawke
“Mr. Hawke, momma is asking for you,” Emily’s sister announces.
“Thank you, Camila.”
When we arrived yesterday, I wasn’t prepared for just how ill Mariana, Emily’s mother, really was. According to Camila, she started complaining of muscle aches in her lower back after working in the fields. After that, she began to lose her appetite. From how Camila described them, it also sounds like she’s been suffering from headaches and vomiting. Unfortunately, the stubborn woman won’t allow anyone to help her, and from the yellowing of her eyes and skin, it appears she is suffering from Yellow Fever.
“Why won’t you allow me to help you, Mariana?” I plead from her bedside.
Brushing aside my concerns, she grabs at my hand. “No worry about me,” she insists through broken English. “My Luciana,” she cries.
“I will find her,” I promise.
Tapping my hand, she releases her grip and places her hand back on her stomach. As I sit beside her bed, I watch as she dozes in and out of sleep. We’ve often talked over the years of her heartbreak of losing her daughter, but I never believed she wouldn’t get the chance to see her again.
“Mr. Hawke,” I hear Camila call. “Your friends have returned.”
Without a word, I follow her to where the others have gathered.
