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“Benvenuto di nuovo,[43] Don Vittorio” a man dressed in a suit and tie, like everyone else, says to his leader as soon as we get off the plane.
The landing strip is filled with a dozen huge black cars, and my eyes immediately widen when they come across the convoy. The image does much more for my body, which was still a little drowsy, even after hours of sleep, than the hot and bright sun in the sky did, awaken it. Without my permission, the list of questions I've been ignoring for the past few hours unfurls in my thoughts.
Who actually is this man?
How did he manage to bring me away without any documents?
Who, exactly, does my life belong to now?
More important than any other, how did my life simply belong to someone else?
Am I going to be some kind of slave?
The next thing to take my body by storm is the memory of the feeling that being under his control spread through my body. Contained in the arms of his henchman and under his impassivegaze, I found myself admitting things that I had kept secret from my own thoughts. All he had to do was order, and the words came out of my mouth in front of my family, in front of a dozen strangers, just because that was his will.
It was terrible and yet so easy. So absurdly easy, for the first time since I can remember, not having to choose. I should be scared; I should be terrified at the prospect of what my life will be like. However, the absurd number of men outside cars doesn't scare me like it should, it just surprises me.
All my life, I have been a hostage of drug trafficking, I am used to living with criminals. But while the thugs I met were always on the fringes of society, the level of safety and respect being enforced and shown to this man is something I could only imagine being devoted to a god.
Seeing this, it doesn't surprise me that he decides to take control of other people's lives as if this were the most normal thing in the world. How many others like me must there be where I'm being taken?
I am led to one of the cars, the third one behind the man I belong to now. This time, I keep my eyes open the entire way. The asphalt streets are cut at speed, leaving behind buildings that are the same and unlike anything I've ever seen. Wherever I am, it seems very, very far from Rio de Janeiro. We passed old houses and buildings, like the traditional buildings in the center of Rio, but we also passed many others that I would never have imagined seeing outside of television.
Buildings made of exposed brick, with many arches and windowless balconies. It's beautiful. It's very beautiful, but it doesn't take long until all of them are left behind and we follow a road bordering an endless blue sea of deep, vibrant and vividcolor. The other side of the road is an endless expanse of empty land.
Green grass and wildflowers accompany the seconds, minutes, maybe hours that pass until the car slows down. I don't try to figure out why, but when we pass through a gilded iron gate, I do.
Slowly, the car I'm in advances with the others until it comes to a complete stop. The closet next to me opens the door and signals me to leave but doesn't touch me. I crawl across the bench until I'm outside the car, on pale gravel, in front of a... castle?
My eyes dart from side to side, trying to take in the environment I never would have imagined encountering. I don't know exactly what I expected, but certainly an Italian castle surrounded by flowers, green trees, the smell of fresh grapes and a blue sky clear of clouds wasn't on the list.
Eager to discover everything around me, my eyes lower and end up catching the red and black rose, still attached to my blouse. Lucky, Magda said. When I look up at the immense, beautiful building I've never seen before, I feel anything but lucky.
This morning, among the shelves of the small bookstore, I felt like Belle. Perhaps fate decided to punish me for my audacity, because while she was given a prince trapped in the body of a beast, I was given a beast with the face of perfection. And when I look up, I find he's looking at me.
CHAPTER 15
________
Vittorio Cataneo
“Where should I put her, Don? In the colonies?”
“No, anywhere in the main house,” I say, preparing to dismiss Angelo, but remember to add. “Except for Tizziano's wing.” I pause, and a second thought infiltrates mine. “Or Cesare's.” Angelo waits in silence, waiting for dismissal, but those are not the words I say. “Any of my brothers, actually.”
“In yours?”
“No.”
“Your father's, then.”
“Tell Luigia to give her a room and work.” I look at the girl who follows the conversation without understanding a single word of what is being said, and she seems much less interested than I would expect.
“It will be done, Don.” With a nod from me, the man pushes Gabriella forward and the woman begins to walk, following his order.
I watch as they go around the property, walking towards the back door, Gabriella doesn't resist at any point. She doesn't ask where she's being taken, just as she hasn't asked me anythingsince we left Brazil, just whether she could use the bathroom on the plane.
When she came out with her face clean and her hair minimally combed, it was a surprise. Considering her resignation to every event from the moment she told me “Yes, sir.”, I wouldn't be surprised if she wasn't caring enough about herself to clean herself. The girl is controversial, to say the least.
