CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
MIRABELLA.
Am I truly living? Or am I yearning for death in order to truly live?
Is a question that I’ve continuously asked myself for years.
I live because death is promised.
Through the promise of death, I breathe.
Through the promise of death, I yearn for the ability to truly live.
When I’m faced with death, I expect it to be the happiest day of my life. Almost like finally seeing your long, lost friend.
I hope for death’s embrace to be soft and warm, to make me feel like I’m at home—the home I’ve always been in search of for as long as I can remember.
Sincerely, I’ve become very impatient as I await death’s call upon me. So, I remind myself with each passing day that I am one day closer to being faced with death.
And today is that day.
When against all opposition, I’m adorned in a leather body tight jumpsuit, fully strapped with guns and blades, ready to take on the bastards who were brave enough to abduct my daughter.
We all file out—men and women trained for war.
It’s with heaving breaths that we all take our positions.
It is with a shaky voice that I bark out my orders to my soldiers.
It is with a raging heart that my husband barks out series of instructions to his men.
“I don’t care if we all die here today, but make sure that my wife, daughter and son makes it out of this shit hole untouched and unharmed. They’re your priority.” Has been my husband’s chant.
A prayer.
A plea.
I look at him and his eyes are bloodshot red. His orbs are intentional. He stares at me and all I see is a man willing to give his all to protect his family.
I see a man who’s scared of losing because we all know that today, we toss a coin of two sides.
To win or to lose, no in between.
But we’re nothing but hopeful.
Today, the man whom I once looked up to as a father is waging a great war against me—to his own detriment.
He might have had a few years to prepare but I’ve had my entire life.
All the pain accumulated in my heart has prepared me for this day, and there’s absolutely no going back. I’ll walk out of here a winner.
I’ll no longer lose.
As though the heavens desire to witness the bloodshed, the sky envelopes us in its darkness, thick silver clouds rumbling with a rage so loud that I don’t register the sound of the first gunshot.
Or maybe it is I who is lost in the realm of imagination.
“Shit! Baby, please focus.” Rigid arms engulf me protectively. The deep rumble of that familiar voice draws me back into reality.
I am his priority.
I go mad, pressing down on the triggers on both the guns in my hands until my index fingers are close to falling off.
Minutes pass but the crossfire looks unending. People drop down dead, and yet, nobody appears to be giving up.
“The blue van, Mirabella! Mariana is in the blue van!” Ares grunts into the comm. For the first time since this unending war began, I begin fighting viscously—with purpose.
Like an unspoken rule, the entire battlefield goes silent the moment the van slowly makes its way into the middle of the landscape. All that can be heard are hushed whispers and light footsteps against the ground—everything becomes silent, but even the silence is twice as loud as the initial chaos.
Matteo and I run through the field as quietly as we can, our guns pointed at the van, fingers itching and ready to press down on the trigger at the slightest inconvenience.
“Stop moving, Bella, you’ve been surrounded.” Ares whispers into the comm. I and Matteo come to an abrupt halt.
The both of us turn around—his face turned away from me and mine turned away from him. Both our backs lean against one another, our guns aimed forward.
“You look so hot in that outfit, wife.” He grunts, dragging a sneer out of me.
“Stop talking, Matteo.”
“Turn around and shoot, Mirabella. Two bullets to the left. Be precise.” I obey his instruction. With one swift motion, I spin around and hug into his chest before firing my gun twice. His gun is fired just at the same time as mine.
He grunts out a breath and I do same, weirdly finding comfort in the chaos of the moment.
I go to move away from him but he doesn’t let me go. With eyes so weary, my husband looks down at me, causing a wobble of my bones.
I don’t know what melts away the anger in my heart. . .is it the shakiness of his breath? Is it the tremble of his lips? Or the plea in his eyes? Perhaps the manner at which my heart jumps in excitement?
There’s not an idea.
“I love you, Mirabella.” His words are whispered, the air of it sweeping across my face. I gulp.
“I heard you say those words before, and yet, you gave up on us. You pushed me away and ruined us. . .”
A lone tear slides down his face, his jaw ticking with irritation. Regret, perhaps. “I made a mistake. Please, give me another chance to correct my mistakes.”
I offer him a shake of my head. “This isn’t the time, Matteo. We’re here to get our daughter back–”
“We’re here to make our family complete, baby. Please don’t keep me away from you any longer. . .” His voice breaks, another tear sliding down his cheek. I fist my hands to stop myself from reaching for his face. “We’ll surely get our baby back, but give me a chance to be there for the three of you, please. I want to be there for us.”
My lips part but before I’m able to get a word out, gunshots ripple through the air. My head along with Matteo’s whip to the side and there she is, my daughter, my princess, pushed out of the truck, left for ruin in the middle of the chaos.
She looks confused and exhausted.
The look of excitement that passes through her orbs when she sights her father and I sends tears pooling from my eyes.
I go to move forward but Matteo pulls me back, holding me steady.
“Would they really go through all this trouble just to let her go?” The implication of his question hangs in the air.
I’m discouraged.
If it were another person standing in the middle of that dead zone, I’d turn my back and walk away. But this is my daughter. What kind of mother would I be if I left my daughter for death just to protect myself?
A selfish mother I suppose.
There’s nothing to protect anyway, I’ve always desired the embrace of death, and if today is the day, I’ll gladly go.
Mariana’s tiny legs move against the ground. She runs towards her father and I as speedily as her legs can move. Another wave of chaos ensues.
Gunshots are fired repeatedly but somehow, Mariana succeeds at navigating her way unscathed.
I go to run but Matteo’s grip on me tightens. He blows out a breath and whispers, “will you take me back?”
“Now’s really not the time.” I hiss.
“Answer me.” He demands.
“No.” I state my answer with a tone of finality. My husband scoffs, his head bobbing a few times. His tongues darts out and swipes across his teeth.
“Till death do us part.”
Those are the words that flow through the air before another side to my husband is activated. He runs through the rain of bullets, doing his very best to protect himself until he’s gotten to our daughter.
With one swift motion, he sweeps her off her feet and with the same speed, he runs like his life depends on how fast his legs move.
It does, technically.
A smile coats my lips when they reach me, a choked sob escaping the back of my throat when my princess hugs into me.
I bask in the joy of having my daughter back in my arms that I don’t realize my husband has walked back into the battlefield, this time without his vest nor his guns.
He throws his hands into the air in a surrender, as if inviting death.
I push my daughter aside and stumble, repeated screams escaping my throat.
“No! No! No! No! No!!!”
It’s futile because the first bullet pierces through him, causing him to stumble.
“Ares! Do something!” I scream, my legs still moving twice as fast.
Another bullet pierces him.
Another.
Another.
Another.
And by the time I get to him, he’s been knocked onto the ground, his eyes at the verge of closing shut.
A puddle of blood gathers beneath him, slowly expanding across the field. My body tremble. I fall on my knees, an excruciating wail escaping my throat.
What have they done to my husband?
He’s soaked with blood—his blood.
My breathing is labored.
I whimper as though at the verge of death.
Gasps continuously escape my mouth.
I cradle his cheeks, sniffing and punching my fist into the ground. “Matteo. . .please.” I plead. “Please, don’t do this to me, to us. . .Matteo!”
He chokes out a strained, “baby.”
I screech, my eyes almost popping out of its sockets.
“Why did you do this, Matteo? Why?”
For a moment, I think he sees me. He sees me beyond my facade, beyond the mask of hatred I have on. Regret flashes his strained orbs.
It’s more like a plea when he murmurs, “of what good is my life without you in it?”
“Mi amore,” I weep, my body vibrating.
“Mi vida.” He drawls, his breath unstable, his blinks slowing. “This is what I do. I’m always causing you pain. Things tend to get ruined when I’m around.”
“That’s not true, Matteo. I’m happy when you’re around. Please, don’t leave. I’ll lose my mind without you. And the kids, the kids need to grow up with their father.”
Matteo groans painfully, the veins around his neck pronounced. Strained. “You shouldn’t be crying for a man like me. I’m not worthy.” Shaky hands cradle my face, thumbs swiping off each rope of tear that slides down my cheeks.
He’s not unworthy.
He’s my husband, my love, the father of my children. . . I love him.
I love him.
I love him.
I love him.
I love him.
I love him.
He’s worth every laugh and every cry, every joy and every sorrow.
Cradling his face, I lean down, kissing his forehead gently. “Matteo. . .Te amore.”
A whimper.
A screech.
Tears.
Pain.
Regret.
“Te amore, Mirabella. Te amore, mi vida.”
I won’t accept this. It doesn’t get to end like this. This cannot be happening.
My shoulders slump, my throat tight with pain when a hand significantly smaller than mine comes into view. I don’t have to look up to know that it’s my daughter witnessing her father in what could be the last seconds of his life.
I look up into her eyes and she holds my stare. She’s hesitant, hesitant to speak, hesitant to show affection towards her father in fear that my pride might be hurt.
“Mariana. . .” I whisper, guilt weighing heavy in my heart. “Go on, say something nice to your father, baby.”
Her tiny hands swipe across his sweaty and bloody face. She gulps, her small hands cradling her father’s face.
“Papá. . .” She drawls out her whisper and tears stream down her face. She understands the gravity of the situation, and I cannot help but blame myself for having a hand in it. “Te amore, papá.”
She whispers and burrows her head into his neck. Her words are like a wake up call to Matteo because his eyes are instantly wide open, his struggle with death evident. Even more regret flashes his orbs.
“Mi dispiace.” He chokes out a sob whilst stroking our daughter’s hair gently. “Mi dispiace, piccolo.”
I stare between my husband and daughter, the memory of my unconscious son taunting me and all that is left of me is my sanity all snapped, disfigured, disdained. I lose myself to the point where the only thing I desire is to rain hell on everyone who has caused my family pain.
And that’s what I do.
All I know is that I’m continuously shooting until I’m pulled into a car. I’m unable to understand or even come to terms with the reality of things until I arrive at my safe house.
Realization dawns on me and I take to my heels, drowning every sound around as I run through the hallway into the one room where I know my husband might be kept in. If he is still alive.
That dreadful feeling courses through my bones when my eyes settle on my unconscious husband and son. I stagger into the room, tears wetting my face.
My eyes move from my husband, to my son, and then to my daughter who’s torn between two worlds.
She’s silently questioning herself, considering whose hands she should hold onto in this moment. Her father, or her brother?
I shatter all over again, my ass crashing on the couch. I attempt making a sound but all that escapes my parted lips is a breathy exhale.
I don’t realize how lost I am until I feel a pair of hands cupping my face. Slowly, I look down to find Ares crouching down in front of me, a forced smile plastered across his face.
“They’ll live.” Is all he says. But even his words are laced with disbelief.
I manage a nod.
Ares’s thumbs are continuously swiping the tears streaming down my face.
“You’re injured, Mirabella. You should get treated.” He urges. I nod at him once, my eyes darting from my son, to my husband, and then back to my son.
I stand abruptly, “not in here. Let’s go someplace else.”
I’m lost, so lost that I don’t even feel the sting on my skin whilst my injury is being tended to.
My eyes are void, teeth clamped together painfully, hands balled into fists, and feet tapping away against the floor.
“Why did you refuse him?” Comes Ares’s whispered question. I don’t provide him an answer, but I’m certain he’s unnerved by the devilish glare in my orbs.
With a clear of his throat, he asks the same question one more time. “Why did you say no to him when you know how impulsive he can be?”
I snap. “I didn’t ask him to run into the rain of bullets and get hit!”
“But telling him that he can no longer be a part of your life is just about the same thing!” Ares growls. “You love him, the kids adore him, and he very obviously feels the same way. He loves you so much. You know it, I know it, everyone knows it, but why? Why do you keep running away? Why are you denying yourself a chance at happiness? Why are you denying your children a chance at having a complete family?”
“How’s this my fault?” My voice shake, each word slipping out like a hushed murmur. “He pushed me away! He hurt me too many times to count! He destroyed my soul!” I stand abruptly, wincing painfully. “How can you blame me? How dare you put this on me when that selfish asshole was the one who kicked me out of his life and never cared to look for me for five years?!”
“He looked for you!” Ares vibrates with anger.
“He did not look in the right places!”
Ares shakes his head, a dry chuckle escaping his gaped lips. “He looked for you, Mirabella. In the right places.”
“What?”
I understand completely the words coming out of Ares’s mouth, but I’m unable to comprehend the implication of those words.
He looked for me. In the right places.
A gasp is all I manage.
“Ares. . .why do you mean?” Again, I question. My voice a hushed murmur, my mouth gaped open.
Silence—the discomforting kind stretches in the room.
Ares lowers his head, as if avoiding my gaze. “He came to Milan, to the lab.” He breathes out and a tear rolls down my cheek. “He was outside everyday for months, but you were too sick to have realized. I saw him everyday and when I got fed up, I had asked him to stop coming. I told him to stop showing up if he wanted you to get better. After the third month, he stopped showing up.”
“Ares,” I whisper in disbelief.
He doesn’t stop talking. “One day after he stopped showing up at the lab, we got a delivery of flowers. He had written you a letter, promising that he’d return to you and that he was sorry. . .I tore the letter apart and discarded everything he had sent. And then, I began pressing for a change of scenery. I convinced us to move and here we are.”
Tears vigorously stream down my face, my veins strained, my soul shattering at the new found knowledge.
“Why?”
Silence.
Silence.
Fucking silence.
“You watched me suffer everyday, you watched me through my pain, you watched as I begged the universe to bring him back to me for over a year, but it was you who kept him away from me? Why?”
“I had to do what was needed. I’m sorry.”
A choked sob erupts my throat painfully. “I suffered.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I hated Matteo for abandoning us.”
Ares blows out a staggered breath. “I’m so sorry.”
“My children kept asking.”
“Mirabella, please.”
“You were a lie, Ares.” My hands ball into fists at my sides, my teeth diving my bottom lip. My whimper is strained, pained, distant. “Why?”
“Mirabella, please.”
I laugh—absentmindedly, void of any emotion, I laugh. That word ‘please’—people just hurt you over and over and over, then they say that word and expect all the hurt they’ve caused to just go away.
Rage courses through my bloodstreams, my voice booming with anger. I scream, yell, and vomit careless words at Ares. “My husband is fighting for his life because all you did for years was a lie! I refused him because I thought he didn’t love me enough to look for me after I left but he did! He looked and you knew, everyone knew, everyone except me! Was I really that stupid?”
“I was protecting you!” Ares roars.
I don’t relent.
“Did you have a good laugh behind my back after making a fool of me?! Did you talk amongst yourselves and call me a fool after comforting me with all your lies?! Fuck you! Fuck you all!”
“Mirabella, just. . .please.”
“Fuck your fucking apology and tell me why!”
“Because I loved you dannazione!”