Chapter 25 An Imperfect Agreement

Chapter 25 An Imperfect Agreement
Nadja Ironside

To forget.

It's such a small word, yet so impossible for me. But the way she says it, as if it were a collective project or a duty of her family, leaves me breathless. I look at Lúcia, who is setting an extra plate on the table, and she smiles at me, a nod confirming Joana's words.

"Now," Joana pulls out a chair and sits beside me, serving herself a generous portion of fruit, "let's have a girls' talk. Tell me, how was your first night with Dragon? I hope he was gentle, or I'll beat that idiot myself."

I swallow dryly. The coffee seems to rise up my esophagus. I feel the heat climb from my neck to my cheeks in a wave of fire. The events of the night and his touch, my response, our forced intimacy and then… voluntary. They flash through my mind in an embarrassing instant. I shrink in my chair, my fingers twisting the linen napkin. How to answer this? How to put into words the confusion of sleeping beside a stranger who is your husband, who is a mobster and who touched me like a lover, but respects me like a… I don't know what.

Joana studies my silence, my reaction, and her expression melts into remorse.

"Oh, dear, you don't have to speak! My God, I'm teasing you! Sorry, sorry," she places her hand over mine in a quick, comforting gesture. "I'm an incurable busybody. Ignore me. Dragon always says I have no filter." She laughs at herself, and the sound is so free that, against my will, a small smile tries to bloom on my lips.

"It's okay," I murmur.

"No, it's not. I'll behave," she promises, making a cross over her chest. "But speaking seriously now. Dragon asked me to help you choose someone. A professional you can talk to, without judgment."

"A psychologist?" I ask, still feeling frightened in such a domestic and peaceful environment.

"Yes," she states, her tone now soft but firm. "It's not a weakness, Nadja. It's a tool. Like… a personal trainer for the soul. All of us here have ours. Even Marcus, and believe me, getting that bear to sit on someone's couch was a miracle."

The idea is surreal. I frown, trying to imagine mobsters in therapy. But the natural way she speaks of it removes some of the stigma.

"Joana, if you don't mind… I'd prefer to find someone with Dragon." The statement comes out before I can rationalize it. "I think… we'll have to have some kind of couples' conversation. At least to understand how we can manage not to panic and fulfill a small agreement we made."

I speak softly, looking at my tea. When I look up, I see Joana watching me with a strange expression, a mixture of surprise, tenderness, and a hint of worry.

"Alright…" she says, and her gaze becomes empathetic. "Honey, can I tell you something? As someone who has known Dragon for a long time?"

I nod, cautious.

"Dragon is many things. He's stubborn, he's dangerous, he's absurdly protective of those he considers his. But he is not a man who makes 'agreements' that involve sharing his bed, his name, and his home out of pure convenience. Not like that. Marcus, maybe. But Dragon…" she shakes her head. "He asked me to find a therapist for you and not for you both. He wants you to heal. To feel safe. The rest… he seems willing to figure it out together, in your own time."

Her words echo in the silent kitchen. Lúcia stops tidying the sink, listening. I feel exposed, but not in a bad way. It's as if she is drawing back a curtain I didn't even know was there.

"He said that?" My voice is a thread.

"He doesn't need to. I know him. He speaks of you in a… different way." She sighs. "But you're right. Talking together is important too. Think of it as the need for someone not to hurt someone they care about."

From the way she spoke, it's obvious we are two hurt people. It's the first time I can see Dragon in that equation. I've always seen him as the strength, the power, the executioner. Never as someone who also carries scars.

"He has… many scars," I say without thinking, referring to the marks on his back that I saw.

Joana grows serious.

"He does. Physical and others. His life… hasn't been easy. The organization is a dysfunctional and violent family. But he is different. Marcus is too, deep down. They are trying to change things, from the inside out. It's slow and dangerous. But that's why what you did was so courageous."

"Courageous?" I ask, feeling the shame returning.

"Surrendering yourself to a stranger like Dragon, after hearing the threat that he would take your younger sister in your place, makes you even more courageous." I look at her carefully and see she knows much more than I do. "You have a strength you can't even imagine, Nadja."

She holds my hand again, and this time I don't hesitate, I let my hand rest in hers. It's a simple human contact that makes me feel anchored.

We spend the next hour talking. Not only about the heavy things we are forced to see and experience. But she is willing to talk about light things; she begins to tell me how she met Marcus. It's a story involving a bar fight and a baseball bat, which she recounts with irreverent humor. She talks about the city and her favorite places, about how Lúcia makes the best chocolate cake in the state. We laugh, and it frightens me.

My smile is a strange sound in my ears, just as it's something I'm not used to doing spontaneously. All the times I've smiled were to calm my sister. And this smile is good and light.

Gradually, the woman behind the title of "Mrs. Reed" reveals herself: she is intelligent, sharp-witted, and has a huge heart, but she is not naive. She knows exactly what world she is in, and she chose to stay in it not only out of love but also out of a belief that she can make a difference.

"You and I are going to be friends, Nadja Ironside," she declares at the end, while Lúcia clears the plates. "I've already decided. And I am terribly persuasive."

"I believe you are," I say, and the smile I give her is genuine and without fear.

"Good. Now, about this therapist. I'll do some research, give you a few names, and you discuss it with Dragon. Agreed?"

"Agreed."

She gets up, comes to my side, and hugs me again. This time, my arms rise timidly and wrap around her back. The hug is comfortable and real.

"He will take care of you, you know?" she whispers in my ear. "But don't let him do everything. Taking care of him is your job now too. They are strong, Nadja, but they are also lost babies inside."

When she leaves, with a promise to return soon for a "home spa day," I remain sitting at the kitchen table. The morning light is higher now, bathing the room. Lúcia returns, sits across from me.

"She's a hurricane, isn't she?" she says, smiling.

"She is. But a good hurricane."

"Yes. And she is right, my dear." Lúcia's wise eyes fix on me. "Mr. Dragon… he brought you home. And here, we take care of what belongs to the house. With all due respect, of course."

I stand up and look out the window; the garden is well-kept. The morning's panic, the confusion, the shame… they haven't gone away. But now, there are other things with them. A thread of hope. The memory of a touch that didn't hurt. The echo of shared laughter. The promise of a friendship.

And the understanding is slow and profound, that Dragon is not my savior in shining armor. He is a complex and dangerous man with his own battles. And perhaps, our "agreement" can be more than a deal. It can be the beginning of a pact, a truce between two wounded souls, learning and groping in the dark, finding in each other's touch not the violence of the past, but the fragile and courageous possibility of a new beginning.