Chapter 23: "How are you, Paola?"

POV: Beatrice

My eyes lifted from the white paper, tears still streamed, and my mind was still trapped, unable to think of anything else. I didn't know how, but Stefano's hands were on my arm, his body close to mine, and his half-closed, less angry eyes stared at me with a hint of understanding, not because he was being kind or suddenly liked me, he just seemed to know exactly what I was feeling at that moment.

"Breathe, Beatrice," he said again, focused on my eyes but more impatient than the first time.

I closed my eyes for a moment, focused on the breath I had forced to synchronize, trying to calm my tormented mind. I did as Stefano told me because, somehow, he instilled confidence in me.

As I continued to breathe slowly, the panic began to subside, and my mind was able to return to reality. The trance that had overtaken me started to unravel, and I opened my eyes, realizing only then that Stefano had pulled me out of the panic he had caused himself. I pulled my arms away and distanced myself from him as if he could destroy me at any moment. His eyes darkened again, his fists clenched, and his veins bulged. I looked around for an escape from him when I felt my still-fragile stomach.

"I've done everything I wanted to. Please, Stefano, leave me alone," I said, almost pleading, my voice barely coming out, but he still heard me.

"I hope you've finally learned, ragazza," he snarled before spinning on his heels and leaving, I ran to the bathroom, this time letting all the snacks from the previous night come out of my mouth and into the toilet in a futile attempt to rid myself of the disgust. I was still hunched over, my back against the door, and my hands covering my face, wishing I could disappear from there, when I realized that since I had arrived there, Stefano was bringing out the worst in me in every way. At that moment, no more tears flowed; there was only unbearable pain.

**-----**

"Be ready by eight and come down to the garden; we have dinner tonight, Stefano."

That was all that was written when I opened the envelope and read those words, minutes after my nausea had passed, and I had gathered the strength to get up from the floor. I slipped the contents into my now steadier hands and began to scan the paper for anything else, but there was nothing. My eyes landed once again on that writing, whose handwriting was clearly from Stefano's, which I was sure was characterized by its perfection and elegance. Besides, he would never bother to write something for me in that manner.

My hands clutched the letter delicately, and my eyes filled with a subtle mix of regret and helplessness as I read those words. I had fallen into his trap and was now trapped, with no apparent way out. My mind was still confused, immersed in my chaos, and I felt overwhelming exhaustion take over. My chest ached incessantly as memories of the present and the past mingled, draining my energy as if I were a vampire's prey.

However, despite all, I felt and the emotions Stefano was still capable of stirring in me, I knew I couldn't allow myself to completely surrender to this feeling. Davide was in the corridor nearby, needing me and begging me to free them from this web of problems. With a quick gesture, I tossed the paper in the trash; the box was already closed and now exuded an even worse odor than before, almost making me sick.

Without giving myself the luxury of looking or thinking too much, I put my hand on the box and impulsively went downstairs in search of Giovanni. He had to get rid of that box. It was only when I looked at my reflection in the living room window that I realized I was still wearing my pajamas, but I didn't care enough to go back and change. My distraction meant that I collided with someone in front of me just as I reached the bottom of the stairs.

"Excuse me," I mumbled, even before identifying who I had bumped into.

"Beatrice, isn't it?" That soft and provocative voice enveloped my ears as I turned my gaze in her direction. The fake red hair and the blue eyes that discreetly assessed me from head to toe were revealed.

"How are you, Paola?" I limited my response to that, fully aware that she knew exactly who I was. I forced a friendly smile, although the image of her offering herself to Stefano permeated my mind.

"I'm doing quite well, thank you... I love your pajamas, although it's a bit vulgar," she commented with a smile on her face as if I were a fool incapable of understanding her veiled criticism. Her white overcoat, jeans, and a very simple blouse all matched perfectly, but it was hard to tell if this was her style or if she dressed like this just to please Stefano, trying to appear as a conservative, obedient, and discreet woman everything the mafia boss claimed to appreciate in a woman.

"You have good taste too, although you seem excessively modest," I retorted, still observing her body while noticing a rectangular object wrapped in brown paper in her hands, just below her red bag.

"I'm sure that's the Don's preference. By the way, how are things with him?" She asked, but her smile was now more forced and weaker, her eyes focusing on the scenery to hide her insecurity from me. She was looking at me now, her eyes curious, wanting to know about us, as if there could be an "us."

"I would dare say it couldn't get any worse, but when it comes to your boss, I think I should measure my words." I r, plied automatically, my eyes still fixed on the paper, barely noticing her softening expression. "Do you like art?" I asked, noting that the object had the shape of a frame. Her eyes followed my gaze, realizing I was talking about what she held in her hands, while I saw the name of the same gallery we had been to, although the name of the painting wasn't there.

"Not, just like the Don, but he decided to buy one more of these at the exhibition they attended... Perhaps a tribute to your father..." She said, scanning the room for Stefano, I was sure Paola knew a lot about Stefano and hated all of this, judging by the way she incorporated him into each of her preferences.

"Do you know which artwork it is?" I asked, still searching for any information.

"The Don wants to see you; he's in his office." I heard Giovanni's voice beside us, interrupting us, accompanied by one of the family members who always stood at the door, armed. I should feel relief that Stefano was not in sight, avoiding our early encounter, but my body was only frustrated by not knowing what the wrapped frame was.

"Of course,e I'm going." She said this, her smile widening even more as she turned her back, her heels clicking on the floor. As soon as she left, I approached Giovanni and pressed the box against his chest, surprising him and getting his attention. His fingers held the object while the other man moved away enough to give us some privacy.

"Tell your boss I hope the garden is ablaze tonight, destroying any chance of seeing him." My words came out, still trying to maintain my repulsion for my son's father, even though he had helped me before, even though maybe he had bought that painting, despite his arrogance. Giovanni remained calm and unsurprised, unlike Stefano, and unlike the day his hands gripped my wrist and shoved me into the back seat of the car. This was the first time we had exchanged a few words, and I knew he wasn't taking me seriously as a low, sarcastic laugh escaped his lips. Giovanni looked into my eyes, his smile restrained, as if he were contemplating what to say to me if he could even do so.

"Beatrice, do you think setting the garden on fire would make any difference to Don? He deals with much bigger things than that; nothing will stop him if he truly wants something." He paused for a moment, studying my expression as he continued to hold the box. "You shouldn't meddle where you're not called, miss... Act under if you're just rebellious or if you enjoy the attention the Don gives you." It was my turn to smile smugly, accepting his words as a joke. Attention? Is Giovanni insinuating that about me?

Giovanni was completely mistaken. I could barely care about Stefano and longed, more than ever, to break free from that situation. Although there was a whisper within me that hinted that maybe I liked danger, and perhaps I enjoyed this risky game, I was firmly convinced that it didn't apply when it came to the man I was dealing with the leader of the Cosa Nostra.

"Oh, Giovanni. Rest assured that I love the attention that men are always willing to offer me, but that would never be true for Stefano, so don't worry."

"You should know that we should never say 'never'," he concluded, with a penetrating gaze that seemed to probe my soul. It was disturbing to feel that he was trying to decipher me. Then, Giovanni adjusted the box he held in his hands and turned indifferently towards the hallway, leaving me behind, completely alone.