Page 190 of Vicious Intentions
“That might have been true at the beginning,” I say, swallowing hard, “but not anymore. Matteoismy husband.” I inhale shakily. “Please,Papà… end this war. Before you make me a widow. Before Marcello, or Jude, or Stella die because of me.” My voice breaks. “I’m exactly where I want to be. Please… do this for me.” A heavy sigh echoes through the line.
“Oh, my sweet, sweet girl… he’s twisted you up. He’s got you thinking things that are just not real. It happens more than you think to kidnap victims. It’s called Stockholm Syndrome. But when you come home, we’ll get you all the help that you need. Everything will be alright again.”
Through blurred vision, I listen as my father turns my husband into an even greater villain. He’s already made up his mind about us… about our love. There’s no talking him out of it. No stopping him from destroying my home, my heart, my husband.
“Can I talk to Mamma, please?” I ask, hoping she will be able to reason with him. If there is a voice any of my fathers listen to, it’s hers.
“Annamaria—”
“Please,Papà. I just want to talk to Mom now. Okay?”
“Okay,angelo mio. Okay,” he says, my heart cracking in two at how much misery my dejection has caused him. There’s a brief pause, then muffled movement before my mother picks up the phone.
“Anna?” My mother’s voice trembles through the line. “Is it really you,piccolina?”
“Yes, Mamma.”
The words have barely left my lips when she breaks out crying. Her tears feel like a spear to my heart. I’m causing my family so much pain, so much misery, while I’ve been the happiest I’ve ever been. If only they could see that.
“Mamma, please don’t cry. I’m fine. I really am,” I plead, only for her sobs to become louder. “I’m healthy. I’m safe. I’m… loved,” I confess, hoping it’s enough to stop her crying.
It’s not. In fact, her sobs have only grown into a full-blown meltdown.
This wasn’t my intention when I called home. I wanted my family to stop this war before they ended up killing each other. Before they killed the only man who had ever loved me for me.
As my mother continues to cry on the line, Matteo opens the bathroom door, steam billowing behind him, making him look as though Hades himself has just stepped into the world. My eyes lock on his as I keep the phone pressed to my ear.
“Please tell everyone that I’m fine. That I’m exactly where I should be. Please try to convincePapàto end this war. You’re the only one he’ll listen to. Please, Mamma. Do this for me. I love you. I love all of you so much. But please… if you love me too,end this war before it’s too late.” And with that, I hang up the phone.
Matteo strides towards me, his towel hanging loosely around his hips. He picks up my chin with one hand, while taking the phone from my grip with the other.
“I don’t think it worked,” I say, silent tears streaming down my cheeks. “They didn’t listen to a word I said. How can I put a stop to this if they don’t listen? If they don’t believe me?”
Matteo wipes the tears from my eyes and lifts me into his arms, settling me on his lap.
“I love you so much,vita mia.So very fucking much,” he exhales, his voice rough, as he brushes my hair before pressing a soft kiss to the crook of my neck. “But this war is so much bigger than you and me. Yes, stealing you from your family might have been the catalyst that started it all, but neither you nor I can stop it now. The only way out of this is to see it through,” he explains, releasing his hold on me to cup my face in his palms. “Having said that, it took courage to call your parents. I’m so proud of you, sweetheart.”
“But it didn’t make a difference. Nothing I do ever makes a difference. You’re out there putting your life on the line, while I…” I swallow the sob that wants to rip me apart. “People are dying because of me. And I can’t stop it.”
“No,” he snaps more forcefully now. “People are dying because they have lived in bondage for too long under my father’s lackluster leadership and your father’s tyrannic rule. They are fighting for freedom. Fighting for the city they love. I don’t want you to ever live with the guilt of their deaths. They died fighting for something they believe in. As am I,” he says more gently now. “I’m fighting to keep the love of my life in my arms. And I will keep fighting until my last breath.” I fall into his embrace and shatter in his arms, sobbing with the image he justplanted in my head. “Come, sweetheart. Let me turn those sobs into soft moans. You’ll feel much better after.”
Matteo picks me up and lays me on the bed and proceeds to do just that. After seeking comfort in each other, we lie in bed with a deafening silence. His mind is trapped in war strategies, while my guilt refuses to let me sleep. By the time sunlight filters through the curtains, neither of us has rested much.
“I’d like to go to church today,” I say, with my head nestled on his chest.
“Okay, sweetheart. I’ll make sure to set something up for you,” he says, brushing my hair with his fingers.
Matteo doesn’t ask why I suddenly need to go to church. He just complies, as if my wishes were commands, and he’ll do everything in his power to fulfill them.
Later that night, Matteo picks me up from our home and drives me to a quaint little church in Little Italy. I’m relieved he didn’t take me to the same place we were married. That cathedral was far too intimidating for me to feel God’s presence. And right now, I need Him to hear me, since He’s probably the only one who can help, given that neither of my parents seems willing to.
I’m sure Matteo chose this smaller church because it’s easier to guard. When we walk up the steps, I spot six of his soldiers lined up by the door, and four SUVs with moresoldati—our protection for the night.
“Wait here. If anything feels off, call me,” he says to one of his men.
The soldier nods, and Matteo places a hand on the small of my back, ushering me inside. The church is quiet and serene, not a soul within its walls. Not even a priest. I look at my husband, and he gives me a soft smile.
“I thought you might need some privacy. But if you want me to call a priest, I’m sure I have one on speed dial.”
