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“Your plane is ready,” Mattia continues. “And you’ve had that money moved. You could just kill him and disappear for a year or two. By the time you come back Dalton will have smoothed the whole thing over.”
“No,” I say with a clenched jaw. “That’s not enough.”
I cannot raise my child in that kind of transient lifestyle. My child cannot spend their first few years living as a fugitive. And who’s to say that Dalton can smooth it over? He’s one of the best lawyers a person can hire, but even he can’t just magically wave away a murder charge.
If Gabriele really has to die, then I’ll have it done. But until a moment comes when I have no other choice, I will stick to the plan for one reason only.
“I want to see him suffer in prison for the rest of his life,” I say. “I want him to know what it is he did to me.”
Chapter 21
Aria
Istareoutintothe garden out the window from my bed. This guest bedroom is at the end of the house and has a pretty decent view; only it’s disrupted every few seconds by another pacing guard. I have the news on constantly in the background.
I keep waiting to hear Edoardo’s name, or see his face, but so far, I have heard absolutely nothing about him on the news. I know that the confession I got from my father is enough to be a headlining story, so I’m concerned it hasn’t popped up yet.
It certainly shouldn’t be taking this long. I have no idea if Edoardo has been freed yet or not, and I have no way to contact Dalton or Mattia for updates. There isn’t much to do, not that I feel like doing anything while I’m stuck here. I haven’t moved much since they locked me up; I just stay in bed most of the time. Honestly, I thought I’d be freed by now.
If it means that my father will get what he deserves, however, then I am happy to wait here for as long as necessary. And if it means that Edoardo will get the freedom he deserves, I can have all the patience in the world. I don’t know him well, but I trust Dalton to do what is right.
A knock at the door interrupts my daydreaming. For a moment I wonder if it might be my father, but it’s unlike him to knock so politely. Whoever it is, they seem to be waiting for my permission to open. That means it can’t possibly be him.
“Come in,” I call, without moving from my seat.
A woman enters. At first, her appearance confuses me. Then I see the equipment that follows on the trolley she pulls behind her. She’s a doctor. The last person I would have expected my father to send to me. The woman smiles at me kindly.
“Hello, I’m Doctor Sharp,” she says. “You must be Aria.”
She sounds as if she sings when she talks and I wonder how a woman so small and kind could be doing work for my father. Unless, of course, she doesn’t know him at all. It’s possible, but feels unlikely
I haven’t seen very many private doctors before, but judging by how well organized she seems, she must do this every day. The small trolley behind her is stacked with various pieces of medical equipment, organized cleanly and neatly.
“Hi, Doctor Sharp,” I say.
“Your father has asked that I come and take a look at you,” she says kindly. “He says you don’t really leave this room much?”
A burst of laughter escapes me. “Did you see the guards?” I ask. “He’s right. I don’t leave this room very much, but that’s not by choice. Consider this the world’s comfiest prison cell.”
I can tell that she is immediately uncomfortable by the uneasy chuckle she gives. She’s not sure if I’m being serious, but there’s no way she missed all of the security on her way in. She can’t think I’m joking, she can’t be completely foolish like that in her line of work.
Doctor Sharp does a few routine checks on me. It doesn’t take her very long, and she doesn’t make me feel uncomfortable in any way. It might actually be nice to know what my health status is after all of this. I am certain that it can’t be good.
With each new examination step she takes, the doctor seems to be more stressed. Clearly, the results she’s expecting aren’t present. But still, she keeps on working in almost near silence, only speaking when she needs me to hold something, bite something, or adjust my arm.
She is about to say something when the door to the room bursts open.
“Doctor Sharp,” my father greets. “I’m glad you came. Fill me in on what’s going on.”
The doctor stands up straight and I can see a familiar look of defiance in her eyes. I wonder how long it might last.
“Mr. Morino,” she says politely. “Your daughter is showing signs of malnourishment. And quite frankly, I’m rather concerned.”
My father turns to me and scowls. “What did I tell you about eating, child?” he sneers.
“I ate last night,” I say. “Perhaps you should ask your chef why his meal hasn’t nourished me.”
A flicker of hatred streaks across my father’s eyes and his face starts to puff up with anger. I’m starting to get good at pressing all his buttons.
