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Don is a busy man; he spends a lot of time outside and when he is at home he is almost always locked in his office. Is this an opinion based on two days of living together? Or, better yet not coexisting? Also, yes. But who cares? It's the only one I have and, besides, I don't think that in a month, if I'm still here, it will change. This is the first time he has returned so early after breakfast.
I'm just extremely curious about what a mafia boss can do in an office. I didn't dare try to get in there, but I confess that I already tried to take a few peeks through the keyhole. To the surprise of a total of zero people, I saw nothing, not even the color of the floor.
“Gentlemen, this is Gabriella Matos, from today onwards, she is your job.”
Vittorio skips the pleasantries and gets straight to the point, as always. Static, I stare at the team of five men lined up in thedining room, my open mouth is more than enough evidence of my incomprehension. What did he say?
I replay the Italian words in my head. Do the words “his work” have another meaning depending on the context?
“Gabriella?” I startle when the Don calls my name as I'm right in the middle of thinking.
I probably had my eyes on the ceiling. I drop the papaya peel, which was still in my hands, onto my lap. Fortunately, I decided to imitate the people in the soap operas and put the napkin over my legs, or I would have gotten my new clothes dirty in five minutes, the first time I wore them.
Honestly, I preferred the old ones and, apparently, Vittorio, or whoever is controlling my wardrobe, knows this, because they are gone. I pick up the slippery fruit and place it on the empty plate in front of me.
“Yes? Sorry, I got distracted,” I say and don't miss the shock that appears on one of the men's faces. He hides it quickly, but I notice. Vittorio gives me a serious look and I bite my lip. “Sorry.”
“You don't leave the property without them.”
“Of course!” I agree immediately after the previous hesitation. But, soon after, I stutter, too, because I am unable to stop myself from experiencing certain embarrassments. “Eeh... Um... I don't think I understand.”
“Get out.” One command from Vittorio and the men are on their way to the stairs.
Only my neck moves, turning my eyes and following the line of men. Why would I need security guards?
“Why would I need security guards?” I repeat the question out loud. The only alternative I can find as an answer to this question makes even less sense than no answer at all. Wherewould I go besides the village? And why would I need security guards to go there?
I figured that, regardless of how unusual this is, we've already established that I feel safe here. It's not like I'm going to run away either. I almost laugh at the ridiculous idea. Where would I go? Do what? Without documents, without having the slightest idea of where in Catania I am? Having no idea of anything other than the certainty that this man would hunt me down.
For no particular reason, just like hunting me down in Brazil had no particular reason. I'm at the Don's whim, always have been. I don't know what was in Vittorio's suitcase, but it wasn't important enough to make going after me worth his time.
Vittorio stares at me in silence for several minutes, this man has a real aversion to explaining anything. I don't know what tips the scales in my favor, but in the end, he decides to answer my question.
“Because you have become useful enough to me.”
Useful. The word sets off all the alarms I didn't even know my mind had. I feel the blood stop circulating through my veins, absolute terror starting to circulate through them instead.
My spine stiffens, my mouth goes dry, my eyes widen, and it's clear that Vittorio knows exactly where my thoughts have gone. To that afternoon in Brazil, when he told me that my job was to find some value in my life, so that when he took it, I wouldn't be in his debt.
“I'm not going to kill you, Gabriella. You're worth so much more to me now if you're alive.” His words are far from flattering or relaxing, and yet they flood every cell in my body with relief.
Only for another frenzy to be triggered in my mind as the realization hits me: I don't want to die.
The single tear that slides down my face is too fast for me to stop it, and my body is too slow, completely shaken, for me to be faster than Vittorio's hand in stopping it. The touch of his fingers burns my skin in a way that doesn't make any sense, because it doesn't hurt.
It should hurt. This man just told me that the only reason he won't kill me is because I'm useful. Still, all my body does when feeling his touch is thrive in a way that only the few times it has been touched by Vittorio has it been able to do.
“Ah,bambina!” he says, and I blink. “Your damn obsession with obeying...”
Vittorio cracks the hardness in his own expression as he narrows his eyes and I bite my lip, feeling exhausted, even though it's not yet nine in the morning. The rollercoaster ride my emotions have taken for the past few minutes has apparently been the equivalent of running a marathon.
“Where could I go?” I ask.
“Anywhere in Catania, accompanied by security, of course.”
“Anywhere?” The question comes out stuttered and my voice trembles enough to accompany the tremor that passes through my body. Vittorio just nods, refusing to repeat himself. “Any time?” I get another nod. My heart doesn't complain about the new battery of exercises that is being imposed on it, because it is too shocked, just like my brain. “Anywhere, anytime,” I mutter softly as I feel the beats that should be in my chest pulse in my throat. What a fucking morning! I think after this I'll need to sleep all day to recover.
Unshed tears make my eyes burn. This time, they are here for a completely different reason.
