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Massimo took off the ankle shackle after a week, but he kept me locked in his room. At least he allowed me visitors. Yay me. Once a day my father would come to visit. I barely said two words to him. Being alone in a single room hadn’t been good for my mental health and I think Massimo is finally realizing it. The quiet gave me time to think. To get lost in my mind. Nothing good came of it.
I’m angrier than I have ever been. I’m mad at Massimo for keeping me locked up. I’m mad at my Dad for taking things too far with the missions and getting me caught. I’m mad at mom for not being here. And I’m mad at myself for not seeing this coming. There were so many signs I missed. The thoughts keep me at a perpetual level of anger.
Today Massimo is taking me to see Greta and Ricco. He wants me to spend time with them. Wants us to all get to know each other. I think he’s hoping I will bond with them and it will give me a reason to stay. I’m not mad at either one of them. At least not yet.
They had nothing to do with my missions, my kidnapping, or my current captivity. It’s smart of Massimo. I won’t tell him that. I’ve been keeping my thoughts on him and his efforts to myself. Why? Because he’s tearing down my walls. He’s showering me with affection and even though I’m still angry, I want so badly to lap it all up. To roll around in it and tell him all is forgiven and to take me to bed so we can have that elusive make-up sex Ashley talked about.
Speaking of Ashley. Luca let’s me call and text her now. I want to go see her. He has refused to let me. He did finally concede that she could come to the Compound. I told him no. She doesn’t know about my connection. Not yet. I don’t want her coming when we are in the middle of a potential massive war.
The ring of the doorbell has me refocusing on the task at hand. I’m nervous. And I hate that I am. It feels like I’m meeting the parents of a boyfriend for the first time. I guess in a sense I am. A very twisted and warped sense. Massimo says I’m his, which I guess is the equivalent of girlfriend in his eyes. Like I said, warped. And Ricco and Greta filled a parental roll in Massimo’s life as a teen. So they are the parents in this twisted scenario.
Massimo’s mom isn’t in the picture, and he doesn’t like to talk about his dad, Giuseppe. Ricco and him were best friends growing up, and raised their boys together until shit hit the fan in Giuseppe’s marriage. Ricco has continued to be there for him as much as he can, but the relationship has never been the same.
A beautiful, short red headed woman with a flour covered baking apron on answers the door. “You’re here! Finally!” I expect her to be talking about Massimo, but she flings herself at me. Her arms wrap around me and hug me tight. It’s warm and comforting. Just like a mother’s should be.
Shit. I feel the prickle of tears itching at my eyes. Nope. Not happening. Not crying right now. I blink a few times until the feeling recedes. I give her a hug in return. “I’m guessing you’re Greta.” I feel her belly and chest shake with a laugh before she pulls back.
Her hands pinch at my cheeks as she looks deep into my eyes. “I am. And you are Massimo’s Livianna.”
“I’m not…” It’s become habit to attempt to correct everyone. Usually it is Massimo who stops me. With either a pinch to the hip, a boop on the nose, or a kiss on the lips. Today it is none of the above.
Greta is the one to stop me. “Nonsense. He’s claimed you. To the Caruso men, that is as good as a marriage contract.”
“A what!” My eyes flick from Greta to Massimo and back. Looking for any sign, any hint of a joke, a lie, something.
I see nothing.
Ricco joins us at the door. Coming up behind Greta, and pulling her back into his arms. Her back leaning against his chest. Her shoulder falling back to rest on him. She looks so happy, content. “It’s true. When we claim a woman it’s for life. I claimed my Greta. Gio claimed Helen.” I sense Massimo tense at the mention of his parents. There is a story there. One I want to know, but won’t push for. Yet. “Bosco claimed Violet, Luca claimed Elena, and now Massimo here has claimed you.” Explains Ricco.
Massimo is nodding his head along. His arms crossed over his chest as though to say I dare you to argue. I don’t. I’m beginning to understand. I think a piece of me always understood.
Massimo must sense my resolve breaking. He pulls me into his arms and kisses me on the forehead. “Come. Let’s go inside. Elena and Luca will be here soon.”
I nod my head and allow him to pull me into the house. It is beautifully decorated. Lots of vibrant and warm colors intermixed throughout the house. They don’t look like that should go together, but somehow Greta pulled it off.
An hour later, Elena, Luca, Val, and Milan have joined us. I have gotten to know Milan a bit more. Turns out she and I are a lot alike. Both faking parts of our personality to hide our true selfs. While mine was a chosen facade to bear. Milan’s was forced on her. Her mother had been trying to groom her into a perfect Mafia bride for Luca. Or rather, her version of a Mafia bride.
From a young age, Milan was taught to apply make-up, walk in six inch heels, and wear tight and revealing clothing. Turns out, all the mother’s torturous beauty routines were for nothing. Milan’s contract became void when Elena showed up. She’s once again free to choose who she wishes to marry.
She’s also free to dress and act as she wishes. Gone are the dresses and heels. She wears them on occasion but the heel is lower, and the dresses longer and less revealing. Her make-up is now minimal and instead of pouring over fashion magazines, Milan has taken up reading about chemistry and physics. She’s a real bookworm.
Most importantly. She looks happy.
Milan never used to be included in these get together’s between Luca, Massimo and Val. She was an outsider. Much like how I feel now. Her mother’s influence caused the guys to shun Milan. They didn’t want to be involved in the drama. Now they happily include her when they can. She is still young. Only fifteen. She’s sweet. I like her. And so does everyone else, now.
“So, Massimo, are you going to see your father tonight?” Asks Ricco.
“No.” Massimo replies.
Ricco continues to look right at him, though Massimo ignores his stare. “It’s Thursday.” Ricco adds.
“It is.” Massimo answers the non-question evasively.
“You always see him on Thursdays.” Chimes in Greta.
Massimo tenses beside me. He’s been keeping me close all afternoon. I don’t think it’s because he thinks I’ll try to sneak away. I have better sense than that. I think he needs me. Needs my comfort even though I haven’t freely given it thus far.
“Not tonight.” Massimo’s voice is getting sharper.
