Page 204 of Vicious Intentions
Death will not separate us.
I will make sure of that
Chapter 46
Matteo
“Eat, Matteo. You need your strength,” my mother says, threatening to spoon-feed me soup herself.
I don’t need food.
What Ineedis my wife.
It’s been close to a month since they took her from me. A month living without my heart.
The only mercy in this miserable existence of what has now become my life is that I’m no longer bedridden in some fucking hospital.
It took three surgeries to repair the damage Stella inflicted on me, followed by another two weeks recovering at home before I could walk without assistance again.
Apparently, nearly bleeding to death on a church floor does a number on the human body. One of Stella’s daggers came dangerously close to a major artery, and according to the doctors, the blood loss alone should have killed me. The fact that I survived apparently borders on miraculous. But then again,that’s probably because my wife made some sort of bargain with the Almighty Himself to keep me alive.
If I’d known God was taking requests, I would’ve made her light a candle for herself.
Who’s protecting her now?
Who’s keeping the darkness in her mind at bay?
I know my wife. If the agony consuming her is even half as crippling as my own, then I know exactly where her intrusive thoughts are leading her.
If I didn’t know my wife was safely surrounded by her family, I would’ve already put a bullet through my skull just to end this misery.
“Matteo, please,” my mother insists softly, bringing me to the here and now. “Just eat. For me?”
“I’m not hungry,” I retort, pushing the soup bowl away.
Instead of witnessing the worried glance my mother throws at me, I turn toward the kitchen window, watching snow fall heavily against the glass while Christmas lights twinkle across neighboring buildings, wondering how the world can still look so festive when mine has completely fallen apart.
“You worry me,figlio mio.”
I turn my attention to her again, a hollow smile tugging at my mouth.
“I worry myself too.”
My mother places a hand over her heart as if she can somehow feel my pain inside her own chest.
“She’ll come back to us,” my mother says with a meek smile. “I know in my heart that our Anna will find her way home. Somehow.”
I wish I shared my mother’s faith, but she didn’t see the look in Anna’s siblings’ eyes that day in the church. Her family was never going to let her stay in New York with me. Which meansAnna will never set foot in this city again. Not unless I bring her back myself.
But even then, we’d be no better off than before they took her.
We would still be at war.
Her family would still come for her.
On and on it would go. An endless cycle of violence that would only stop once one of us ended up in the ground.
No longer in the mood for dinner, I grab my cane and use it to push myself up from the chair, needing to walk off some of the anxiety clawing at my chest.
