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I reach out, searching for Vittorio's body, but the space beside me is empty and cold. My thoughts are confused. I remember a strange dream, but not what happened in it. I strain my vision, trying to make sense of the chaotic chaos my head has become. It takes me three tries to sit up in bed without my body falling backwards.
I swallow, and my throat hurts, completely parched. My eyes begin to adapt to the darkness and my heart immediately speeds up, recognizing the same room from the dream.
Dream.
It wasn't a dream.
Memories come crashing into each other, filling my head. The shooting on the road. The unknown room. The man from Rome. His statement that I was free. Rafaella. What happened to Rafaella?
I hug my own body, trying to calm it down, but it's useless. I keep my lips closed and tucked into my mouth, afraid to make any sound that would draw attention to the fact that I've woken up once again. I don't know what to do, but I know I need time to figure it out.
Time that is denied me when the bedroom door is suddenly opened. I turn around, losing the control I've been keeping over myself just as a bright light from the hallway hits my eyes and forces me to raise my hands to shield them.
“Oh, sorry!” This time, the voice is feminine and low. Its owner immediately closes the door and turns on soft lighting. “I didn't know you were awake.” I curl up against the headboard, running away from I don't know what, trying hard not to lose control like I did the last time I woke up.
I lower my hands from my face, finally staring at the slender figure still standing near the door, holding a tray with a full plate and glass in her hands. The woman is a middle-aged lady and offers me a kind smile. She wears a pencil skirt and a formal blazer over a white shirt.
“Who are you?” I ask, suspicious.
“My name is Alina; I work for Mr. Coppeline. I know you must be scared, I'm sorry about that, but it's okay. You are okay,” she guarantees, and I want to believe her words, so much. But the fact that she works for my kidnapper takes away all the credibility that her kindness gives her.
“Where am I?”
“Sorry, I can't answer that.”
“Who is Mr. Coppeline?” I change the question, finding myself desperate for any scrap of information. “What time is it?”
“Mr. Coppeline is your grandfather, and it is now eight in the morning.”
“I don't have a grandfather.” The words come out of my mouth easily because I never had them. My parents' parents died long before I was born.
“You do, Gabriella. Can I get closer?”
“No,” I deny it immediately. “What happened to my friend? Where is the Don?” The woman lets out a sigh when my voice rises.
“You need to calm down or you'll be drugged again,” she warns me, and I shake my head from side to side before realizing that this will take me in the opposite direction to the one, I need to follow. I clench my teeth, containing the tremors and forcing myself to swallow my gasps.
“Yes. Very good,” She encourages, keeping her distance. “Your friend is at home, Gabriella, don't worry. Mr. Coppeline is not a criminal; he does not hurt innocent people.” He isn’t a criminal? And how does she explain the shooting? Doesn't hurt innocents? What are they doing to me? This woman is crazy, completely crazy, I realize, and the sympathy that was born from her kind treatment dies.
“How long have I been here?”
“Four days. You were very nervous, you had to be kept unconscious.”
“Four days,” I whisper. What must Vittorio be thinking? Does he know what happened? Is he looking for me? Does he knowI'm alive? “I want to leave. How do I leave?” The woman laughs as if she thinks I am a fool.
“You can't leave, your home is here now.”
“You're wrong, I'm not anyone's granddaughter, you made a mistake,” I explain slowly. Mistakes happen. I just need to make them see that they made a mistake. “Please let me go. I won't tell anyone about what happened. Vittorio will never know. I will never tell. Promise!”
These are empty promises. How would I hide a four-day absence from the man I share a bed with? I may have no idea what Vittorio thinks happened to me, and it plunges me into deep despair, but I'm sure the Don knows I'm not there.
“If you let me get closer, I can prove to you that we're not mistaken,” she says, placing the tray she was holding in her hands on the dresser next to the door and picking up a thick book that was on top of the furniture. “This is a photo album of your mother. You look a lot like she did when you were her age.”
“You are crazy!” I shake my head from one side to the other, denying it, giving up on the subtle approach. How can I deal with a whirlwind of emotions inside me and this woman's unreasonable statements? “I don't look anything like my mother. I've always been much more like my father.” The woman gives a little laugh that suggests I'm the crazy one before denying it.
“Just look at the photos, Gabriella.” She takes steps towards me despite me not giving her permission and holds out the album to me. When I don't accept it, she sets it on the bed before walking toward the heavy curtains. Alina opens them, revealing a bright day, which fills the room with sunlight.
“Why are you doing this?” I repeat softly, feeling completely lost. “Why?”
