Page 16 of Captive Heart: Armani
I study the face of the young girl in the photo, then look at the picture of Juliana on my phone. Biting my lip hard, I fight back the emotions that try to rise up inside me. I can’t deny that the similarity is striking. It’s almost as if a small child morphed into a beautiful, adult woman, one who bears more than a passing resemblance to our mother. It’s the eyes, the chin, the mouth.
If I were one to take information at face value, I could easily entertain the possibility that this Juliana Guerra is indeed our lost sister.
But I’m not so easily persuaded. I’m not that naïve. After all, people look alike. And if the Brunos are taking advantage of the visual similarity between Guerra and my mother, well, that sounds right in line with Sergio Bruno’s tactics.
Or maybe this woman had plastic surgery to make her look like my mom. How sick is that? I wouldn’t put it past Sergio to force someone—either in his family, or maybe a daughter or sister of one of his associates—to undergo identity falsification just to further his hand.
It makes me wonder, and not for the first time: how well does Candi really know this Juliana, anyway? She said they’d been friends since college, but that’s only five or six years. And when Candi talks about her, I get the impression that there’s a lot of information missing. From what I’ve gathered, Candi has bent over backwards to curry Juliana’s favor—and that means she hasn’t pressed too hard about this woman’s history or background. Which means we have no idea who this woman really is.
Not that I blame Candi. I understand how my wife grew up, and I can sympathize with her need for acceptance. Look how easily she was goaded into becoming a spy for the Brunos. At the same time, they’ve manipulated her relentlessly to serve their own agenda—so Candi has no idea what’s up and what’s down. Even if she truly believes her friend is my sister, it doesn’t mean the story has any veracity.
So no. I don’t believe it. I can’t let myself believe it. Wishing something is true doesn’t make it so. It just makes you weak.
Sliding the photo back into my pocket, I text Dante to let him know that Candi is still stable and that we’ll likely be home in a few hours. He’s been relaying information about Candi’s status to the rest of the family, particularly Frankie and Karina, who have been worried sick. The only reason they didn’t all show up here at the hospital is because I convinced them it wouldn’t be helpful. At this point, though, I’m starting to wonder if I made the right call.
It’s not just that I’m physically exhausted. It’s that I’ve been stressed, on high alert, and admittedly emotionally overwrought since I first heard the sound of Candi’s weakened voice in that burning building. I was so scared that she’d be dead before I made it to the bakery, and once I had her in my arms, the fear didn’t abate. It wasn’t until she was wheeled away on a gurney at the hospital that I finally started to relax a little, because I knew she was in good hands.
I do care about her. There’s no denying it. But how am I supposed to feel when she’s suddenly telling me this crazy story about my dead sister? I can’t ignore my gut instinct to suspect her motives, to question her loyalty all over again.
The other thing that’s been bothering me is that I initially asked Candi to enter this relationship for a term of six months…and even though we ended up getting married somewhere along the way, the clock is still ticking on our original agreement. Candi has lived up to her role relatively well, and soon, it will be time for me to make a decision. Do I let her simply walk away? Or do I offer to extend the terms of our agreement to see if I can get a little more out of her where Bruno is concerned?
Sipping the disgusting coffee until the cup is half empty, I stand and leave the chapel.
Candi is asleep again when I enter her room. Taking my seat beside her bed, I look out the window into the pre-dawn darkness. I haven’t slept all night, but I won’t try to nap. I’m too paranoid that Sergio Bruno might realize that my family was involved in the fire and send some men to the hospital to find Candi and retaliate. Without a guard sitting outside the door, I can’t be sure we won’t be ambushed. So far, so good, but I can’t get lax.
Would Bruno take Candi out so mercilessly? Does he suspect that she’s switched sides? All I can do is hope that he wouldn’t try to go after his best pawn in the middle of this thing.
A light rap on the doorframe precedes the doctor’s entrance. Candi’s eyelids flutter open.
“Good morning, Mr. Bellanti,” the doctor says. “I’m going to assume you haven’t slept?”
“No, ma’am.”
She smiles kindly. “You’ll both be out of here soon, home and in your own bed.”
She glances at the monitors and then moves to Candi’s bedside. After asking how Candi is feeling, the doctor listens to her lungs and then waves a small flashlight in front of her eyes. I watch this examination with a tightness in my chest that I can’t banish.
“Well, good news. Everything’s checking out great,” the doctor tells us breezily. “Let’s go over your labs.”
She pulls up the info on her iPad and nods as she scrolls through the labs, muttering here and there as she reads over everything.
“Oxygen level in the blood looks good, arterial blood gas is good, carboxyhemoglobin and methemoglobin levels all looking great,” she says.
Candi and I nod along. I’m not sure what all of that means, but I’m hanging onto the wordgoodand the way the doctor is nodding to herself.
“And don’t worry,” she adds. “The baby’s just fine.”
My gaze snaps to Candi. Her eyes are wide, her face gone even paler.
“What?” I sputter.
The doctor smiles reassuringly.
“We ran a pregnancy test before we performed Mrs. Bellanti’s chest x-ray to check her lungs for smoke inhalation,” she says. “It’s routine for women admitted to the ER. The test indicated elevated levels of hCG, consistent with pregnancy.”
“I don’t understand,” Candi murmurs, sounding dazed.
The room suddenly tilts around me, spiraling into the narrow end of a funnel.
