I nodded tentatively.
“Like I said, stupid, and that motherfucker Maxim would never allow it. He might give me some shit job fetching his slippers, make sure that every day I knew who was in charge.” He shook his head vehemently. “I’m nobody’s bitch, Daniela.”
“Santo…please,” I said.
His demeanor changed again, the tumult gone as quickly as it had arrived, replaced with something almost like serenity. He reached for my face, cupped my cheeks gently, stared down at me.
“Don’t worry. You just keep doing what you’re doing, keep your new husband happy, occupied. Your daddy will take care of the rest,” he said.
My blood turned to ice in my veins.
This couldn’t be good. The wild mood swings I understood, the anger, followed by calm, followed by little moments of kindness. Those were simply a matter of life with Santo.
But the way he looked at me now, the certainty in his eyes, told me that he had something planned.
Who knew if I’d survive it?
Twelve
Daniela
When I finally got back to the car, I let the tears come.
And come they did, hard, fast, and enough that I eventually had to pull over. I reached for tissues and wiped my face and then I started to drive again.
I drove aimlessly, unfocused, but as I continued, I realized I was driving toward my house and not Sergei’s. I was again reminded I didn’t live here anymore, that I might not again. Was torn between the closeness that would come from living with Sergei on a day-to-day basis and sadness about the loss of my old life.
Still, I didn’t regret coming. I couldn’t go back to Sergei’s, not now. Seeing Santo had shaken me, but seeing Rita had been worse.
She’d been like me once, hopeful, thought she had the world in front of her. I’d been supportive, listened to Rita’s fairy tales about what life with Davey would be like. Yet inside, I’d thought her foolish. Now, I was doing the same thing I had ridiculed her for.
I’d let myself think those things about Sergei, had allowed sex, amazing, mind-blowing sex and a few smiles wipe my memory and my common sense. It was good now, but it had been good for Rita once too. And where had she ended up? The same place I would, and that was if I was lucky.
I’d probably end up dead, or in a place where I wished I was, everything I’d ever wanted for my life gone, a broken, used-up victim of my father’s world in a way I’d promised myself I never would be.
And it would be my fault.
Because I wasn’t like Rita. I’d gone into this with my eyes open, but was letting myself sink deeper. I feared I was powerless to stop.
Instead of turning into the driveway, I parked on the side of the street and waited, focused on the nice rosebushes I had worked so hard to maintain. They were good, but they would never compare to my mother’s.
Just as I never would.
The tears threatened to come again when I thought of how much I had failed her. She never would have allowed this to happen. She would have found a way to protect Santo from himself.
The irony was her death had brought this all upon us.
Never, not on his best day, was Santo stable, reliable. But after Mother’s death, he had gotten worse, far, far worse, and it had been terrifying to watch as he disintegrated.
We had all lived in relative peace when Mother had been alive, but as soon as she was gone, it was like hell breaking loose. The stories became more frequent, more brutal, and I had comforted my share of widows.
And now…
I’d married Sergei to save him, but somehow I knew there would be more causalities.
I wished my sister Giovanna was still around, could practically hear her voice as she’d watch me with angry eyes and tell me the cost of my blind loyalty.
But Giovanna was not here. I was alone.
After I heaved a sigh, I got out of the car and walked toward my house, familiarity coming over me at the same time as my gloomy mood darkened even more.
After Sergei had kicked down the door, he hadn’t even tried to prop it up, and my sadness intensified when I thought about my poor home left open, exposed. Not too different from me if I thought about it, which was something I did not want to do.
I glanced at the house and then stopped, narrowed my eyes on the door.
The door that was completely intact.
Sergei had definitely kicked it off its hinges, yet it stood now, the bright blue completely smooth and unbroken.
I approached cautiously and then reached out, brushed my fingers along the smooth surface. The color was exactly the same as it had been, but this door was solid, wouldn’t give, even under one of Sergei’s kicks.
He had replaced the door.
For me.
I started to smile.
* * *
Sergei
It had been a grueling day, more for Santo’s men than me, but it was thankfully nearing an end.