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Those two weren’t enough, though. I needed to hammer it home. An eye for an eye.
So, I added the third photo.
Ravenna Pisano. Rocco’s wife.
My payback.
Chapter 4
The faint morning sunrays fall onto the surface of the vanity table before me, illuminating the multitude of scattered makeup bottles and cases. I tilt my head to the side and start applying the second layer of concealer over the bruise near my left eye. It’s not that bad since Rocco slapped me with his open palm. The mark is almost gone, but I don’t want to take any chances. It’ll be cloudy today, and I’ll look ridiculous wearing sunglasses.
When I’m satisfied with my work, I retrieve the paper I’ve hidden in my eyeshadow compact and unfold it.
Nude heels, but genuine leather only. Italian.
Shawl and sweater – pastel color, preferably blue.
Pearl earrings.
It’s a list of the things Mrs. Natello would like next time. Shoes and clothes aren’t an issue. I’ll easily find those at the boutiques. But earrings will pose a problem. My husband usually buys me gold, so I don’t have a pearl pair in my jewelry collection. And I can’t risk buying them because I already got a gold pendant less than two weeks ago. If I start buying jewelry too often, Rocco will notice and demand I wear some of the new pieces.
Below the list, four sentences are added.
I can't sleep at night because of the worry, passerotta.
Please consider telling Don Ajello somehow, or let me do it. Please.
I love you, Ravi.
I brush my thumb over my mother’s neat handwriting. Since I was a kid, my mom loved hiding short notes for Vitto and me in our room and waiting for us to find them. It was never anything important, only a few words such as: “We’re having your favorite pizza for dinner” or “I heard you did well on your test. Nice work!” written on folded sheets. The notes were never signed but we always knew they were from Mamma. My father was never the openly touchy-feely kind, and his handwriting looked as if a crow dipped its leg in ink and wrote the thing.
A sad smile pulls at my lips. Mamma has always tried her best to compensate for my father’s lack of affection and to make me and Vitto feel loved. Knowing the truth about my marriage and keeping silent is killing her, but I made her promise that she won’t say a word to anyone.
Before I married Rocco, I imagined myself finishing college and starting a family. I hoped I would have a husband who wouldn’t just be a figurehead, but a man who would truly love me. Two, maybe three kids to spoil. And a home full of warmth.
It was a nice dream.
I don’t dream anymore. The only thing I have now is the resolve to get myself out of this nightmare.
In the early days after my wedding, I deluded myself with the notion that I would find a way to tell someone what was going on and ask for help, but Rocco took away my phone and forbade me from speaking to anyone except the housekeeper and maids. My mom and brother were the only people I was allowed to see, but always under supervision. Having me locked in the house would raise questions, so Rocco insisted I go to get manicures and do some shopping. That way, people wouldn’t suspect anything. Either Rocco or a bodyguard was always with me whenever I left the house. Without means to contact anyone and being under constant surveillance, my hands were tied. Secret notes between my mom and me were the best we could do, and only when we managed to trade them without my security detail noticing.
Rocco loves dragging me to dinners and parties with other Cosa Nostra members, and there are always many people. I hoped that someone would figure out what was going on, but it didn’t happen. In public, Rocco has been extremely careful not to lash out at me when there are other people close by, and he has never hurt me in front of witnesses. But I’m sure some people have noticed. Like the guard at the gate, when I was sporting a huge bruise on the side of my face three weeks ago. He had come to Rocco’s window, asking something about shift change, and I saw his eyes widen when he’d seen me. But he quickly looked away.
After a month, I kicked my hopes out of my head and decided I needed to save myself. There’s no such thing as a knight in shining armor. Not for me, at least.
In one of the notes, I requested Mom to ask Melania, my childhood best friend, to get me the Viagra placebo pills. In the next one, I told her to see which of her clients would be interested in buying my unworn clothes. The half sister of Capo Cosimo, the cranky old lady for whom my mother has worked for decades, said yes. I had to resort to buying the clothes she wanted because Mrs. Natello is much taller than me.
The sound of leaves being crushed under the tires reaches me from beyond the open balcony door. I crumple my mom’s note and put it in my pocket to dispose of later. With one last look in the mirror, I grab my coat off the back of the chair and rush out of the room.
There’s work to be done.
“Report on yesterday,” Rocco barks the moment I step inside his office.
“As planned,” I say. “Shopping. Lunch. Her mother’s place. Back to the mansion.”
Rocco furrows his eyebrows and leans over his desk, obviously less than thrilled with my account.
“I need you to be more specific than that, Zanetti. Did she meet or speak to anyone? What did she and her mother talk about while you were there? Did they mention me? I want to know everything, including the order she made at the restaurant.”
