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ANNUNCIATA
Since coming into the guest room earlier, I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about my argument with Lorenzo.
Lorenzo had never treated me like a person with a brain, and he didn’t listen to any of my views or opinions concerning the children.
Each time things started to improve between Lorenzo and me, something would set us back again. It was like one step forward and two steps back.
Lorenzo wanted a doormat for his wife, not a smart woman who could stand by his side and help him when he needed it.
I knew I should never have married this man. I should have listened to my gut instinct right at the start, that marriage to this man was going to end up being a disaster, and I should have tried harder to persuade my papà of this.
Eventually, sometime after midnight, I fell asleep. But even that was stressful, with my dreams involving being chased through a forest and not being able to get away.
At some point in the night, the bedroom door opened and Lorenzo came in, snapping on the light switch.
“Lorenzo?” I squinted my eyes into the bright light.
He’d obviously come to apologize for his earlier behavior, although I didn’t know why he had to switch on the overhead light while I was still barely awake.
But once my eyes had adjusted to the brightness, I could see that he hadn’t come to apologize. He was obviously still angry, his eyes dark and his body tense.
He prowled toward me. “Who did you tell about the factory?” he demanded.
“The…what?” I struggled to sit up in the bed. “What are you talking about?”
“The factory,” he gritted out. “Who did you tell?”
“The one you visited on the way back from the clinic?” That was the only factory I thought he could be talking about.
“Don’t play dumb,” he hissed. “Answer my question.”
“I…didn’t tell anyone.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really,” I sighed.
“Not even Christian?”
“Christian?” I rubbed at my eyes. They felt gritty and tiredness tugged at them. “Why would I tell him about the factory?”
“You tell me,” he snarled.
“I really don’t know what you’re talking about.” I was irritated that he was talking in riddles, and I was beyond annoyed that he hadn’t come to apologize for earlier.
“You were all cozy and talking to your brother when I came out from the factory, just like when we went back to Staten Island. What did you tell him?”
“Nothing,” I said. My tone was defensive in the face of his aggression. But then I remembered telling Christian about Lorenzo’s allergy, and I felt a sense of guilt wash over me—Lorenzo definitely hadn’t wanted anyone knowing about his allergies.
“I know you’re lying,” he hollered. He’d close the door behind him, but I still worried that he’d wake the kids. “You told the Feds somehow, or you told Christian and he told the Feds.”
“The Feds?”
“Or was it when you were with the police at Cat-Con before Aloysius found you? What did you say to the cops?”
“Nothing. They arrested me and put me in the back of a cruiser. They didn’t get as far as questioning me.”
“What did you tell the Feds?”
