Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 282(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 282(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
“Can I get a ride somewhere?” I ask. “I need to see my aunt.”
“I’ll need to clear it with Mr. Moretti,” she murmurs.
“Clear it?” I say. “What if he says no? Will you keep me here?”
“It’s not like that,” she replies. “It’s for your safety. Please. It won’t take long.”
I bite my nails as she makes the call. It’s a quick conversation. Clara hangs up and smiles at me. “He’s sending a car for you now.”
The ride takes around forty-five minutes as we leave the upscale neighborhood where Dario’s townhouse resides and travel across the tracks to the cruddy apartment where Aunt Rosa and I have lived for almost ten years. I notice people in my neighborhood turning their heads at the fancy chauffeured vehicle, clearly shocked to see something so upscale in a place this grim.
Giulia meets me in the living room. She’s a petite woman with a bob haircut she’s had since we were kids. I wrap my arms around her, sharing a quick hug. It’s only been a day since we last saw each other, but it feels longer.
“I feel like I’ve returned from a different world,” I say.
“Don’t worry. We haven’t forgotten you.”
I laugh, but my laughter dies when I walk into Aunt Rosa’s room and see the look on her face. Aunt Rosa’s Guillain-Barré Syndrome has rendered her bedbound and often leaves her seriously confused and disoriented. Before the Mafia offer, I wasn’t sure she would get the help she needed, but I hold tightly onto what Giulia said. She did well at therapy this morning.
“Aunt Rosa,” I say, rushing to her bedside and gently taking one of her hands in both of mine.
“Oh, my girl,” she moans, squeezing me with as much strength as she can muster, which isn’t anywhere near as much as it should be. “Sweet, sweet Elena. You came home.”
“I’ll always come home,” I tell her. “Always.”
“I thought I might be gone by the time you returned.”
I don’t have to guess what gone means.
“We’ve talked about this,” I say. “I made a deal with Dario Moretti, remember? You’re going to get the help you need. Giulia said you did great at physical therapy earlier.”
“Physical … therapy.” Her expression knits in confusion, and then she mutters, “Oh, yes, yes. I did some walking or what passed as walking.” Some of her old wit returns to her face. She seems suddenly more lucid. It’s often like that, a seesaw of mental clarity and cloudiness. “Wait, Dario Moretti?”
“I told you about this.”
She winces as she tries to sit up, then accepts she can’t. “You told me he’s a Mafia boss.”
“We don’t lie to each other, Aunt Rosa. So yeah, I told you the truth.”
“Is he the one who paid for my therapy?” She sounds disgusted.
The strange and absurd urge to defend Dario comes to me. I push it deep down, knowing it would make no sense to Aunt Rosa and that it should make no sense to me, either. There’s no way to justify feelings like these, but hopefully, I can ignore them from now on.
“You need therapy,” I say firmly, “and he’s paying for it. What do you want me to do? Tell him I don’t want his money? Tell him to let you suffer? The doctor said this could worsen if we don’t get you the help you need.”
“We’ve always lived an honest life,” she says. “We’ve never committed a single crime. Do you remember when you were eleven and stole that candy?”
“Yeah, I remember,” I mutter, not my finest moment.
“I walked you fifteen blocks and made you apologize to that man, and then you even offered to stay for hours to help run the store. That was your first job. Honest work. Remember?”
“I don’t want to get into an argument about this,” I plead.
She blinks, her eyes glistening. I gently rub at her cheeks as a tear falls. Her emotional state has made her quicker to tears than she ever used to be.
“I want you to live a good life,” she murmurs. “A good life, Elena. I don’t want you to be some Mafia man’s whore.”
I grit my teeth. She’s not herself right now. She’d never usually speak to me like that. She’d never even think of saying something like this to me in a million years.
“It’s all an act,” I tell her. “It’s not real. I’m pretending to be his fiancée. It’s short-term. Soon, you’ll be healthy, and I’ll be home. We’ll be able to go on with our lives.”
She sighs, then winces as if it hurts her. “I love you, Elena, but can I be alone? I’m just glad you’re home. Please don’t go traveling again.” She lets her eyes fall closed, and the discussion is over.
Leaning forward, I gently kiss her forehead and then leave the room. Giulia approaches me and pulls me into a hug.