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“You mean Serbian.”
“Whatever. We had a skirmish a few days ago, and some shots were fired. This is payback.”
“Who fired first?” Nino asks.
“I did. That arrogant asswipe refused to deal with me! I had to make a point.”
Nino pinches the bridge of his nose. “Boss won’t be happy with how you handled that, Rocco. I would keep myself out of sight if I were you.”
“They started it!”
“I’ll call Drago and try to reason with him.”
“When is Arturo coming back? I have my own shit to run. Our construction projects are falling behind schedule, and property acquisition deadlines are breathing down my neck. I don’t have time to deal with the lunatics he collaborates with.”
“No idea. There’s still no news on his sister. He’s losing it.” Nino sighs and heads toward his car. “Someone will come to collect the wreckage later today.”
I move away from the window and head into the en suite to take a shower. Like always, I leave the bathroom door wide open so I don’t feel as if the walls are closing in on me. It’s hard enough to deal with the shower stall, but at least the glass sides help in keeping my anxiety at bay. When they don’t fog up too much.
The smell of smoke and burned plastic permeated every part of the house, making me feel dirty and sick. The windows of the ground level had to be barricaded and are being replaced. They were shattered by the blast. When it happened, the explosion was terrifying. The loud bang jarred me awake. I ran to the window to see what had happened and saw the flames consuming the wreck. For a brief moment, I thought Rocco was inside the car when it exploded. And I was relieved.
As I turn off the water and exit the shower stall, I find Rocco standing in the doorway. He’s got a spiteful expression on his face like he’s ready to wring my neck just for the sheer pleasure of it. I take a step back and plaster my naked body to the cold tiled wall.
“My father’s friends wanted to know why my wife left so quickly last night,” he says and takes a step inside the bathroom. “One of them asked if you perhaps didn’t like their presence. Or mine, for that matter. Is that true?”
“No,” I choke out.
“It certainly seemed that way.” His hand shoots out, wrapping around my upper arm. “I’m in a really bad mood, bellissima. Pay attention to your behavior, or you won’t like the outcome.”
“I will.” I nod.
“Of course, you will.” With his other hand, he pulls the gun out of the waistband of his pants and aims at the overhead light. The shot reverberates through the small space, and the fixture shatters—raining debris from above and shrouding the bathroom in semidarkness.
“No,” I whisper.
“Yes.” A sinister smile spreads across Rocco’s face as he exits the room, closing the door in his wake. The darkness envelops me.
I spring to my feet, running blindly toward the door. Just as I find the knob, the sound of a turning lock echoes in my ears.
“Rocco!” I scream, as panic builds inside my chest. “Please! Please, don’t!”
There is no answer. Only a receding snicker.
I close my eyes and lower myself to the floor, trying to get my breathing under control. I wasn’t such a doormat at the beginning of our marriage. The first time Rocco locked me in the closet and turned off the light, I told him to go fuck himself. I sat on the floor, expecting him to come back. Minutes passed. Then hours. I started hearing things. It was probably just noise from downstairs, but to me, it felt like it was right there. Beside me. Although I’ve never been afraid of the dark—not even when I was a kid—being shut into that small dark space and hearing strange noises all around me, spooked me. When Rocco finally let me out the following morning, I was close to losing my mind. He has done it twice more since then, each time when he was particularly unhappy with my behavior. It left me terrified, and my claustrophobia was born.
My body starts to shake, whether it’s from the rising panic or the rapidly cooling floor tiles beneath me, I’m not sure. Probably both. I’m still dripping after the shower, and the air around me grows chilly. My muscles cease up, and I can’t make myself stand to search for a towel. Enduring the strikes of his fists is easier than this. I wrap my arms around my naked form and rest my head on my knees.
I wish I had kept Alessandro’s coat. The idea of wrapping myself into it makes me feel a little less cold. I don’t know why I keep thinking about him. Living with Rocco has made me despise men in general.
When I daydream about the possibility of meeting someone new should I manage to escape my husband, a sick feeling forms in my throat. Before my life with Rocco, wondering about a partner usually consisted of questions such as,would we like the same things? What if our tastes in music differ too much? I’m an early riser, so what if he prefers sleeping in?That kind of nonsense. It didn’t feel like nonsense then. Now? Now the first thing I think about is, will he hit me, too?
Since the days of Rocco’s first blows, I started paying attention to the couples around me. From time to time, I’d notice the subtle tells where the seemingly perfect marriage on the outside, was anything but. Just like mine.
Closing my eyes, I imagine Alessandro sitting beside me, his hand holding mine.
“Seventy-three,” I whisper.
It feels strange talking aloud when there’s no one around, and my voice sounds weak through my chattering teeth.
