Chapter 30 Fiorellina ❀
❦ Rosalind ❦
The car ride home was as silent as a graveyard.
I twisted my prosthetic, not nervously, but in a stunned haze. The events of the last 24 hours and the expression on Viktor’s face replayed over and over in my mind like a broken record.
His gaze had been so hateful, and cold.
I tried to convince myself that he had pointed the gun at Orlov, but a tiny voice kept saying he had meant to kill me.
I didn’t blame him, it looked bad, it really did. I didn’t want him thinking I was working with Orlov or the Mexicans. I’d have to schedule a meeting or at least call him to straighten things out. It didn’t feel good making an enemy out of Viktor.
I spoke only after we arrived, and Marcus, Orlov, four soldatos and I exited the car.
“We left Dante behind,” I stated, my shoulders sagging under the first few rays of sunrise.
“He can take care of himself. He probably escaped. But we’ll send a party back for him,” Marcus assured me.
No, he couldn’t possibly escape. Not after the way Viktor pummeled him into the ground back there. I shivered at the memory. Viktor had looked possessed with rage. I wondered if he had followed us, but the blast seemed to have slowed him down.
I’d walked into the house before I realized who was leading me inside.
I snatched my arm back. “What are you doing?” I demanded.
Orlov smirked.
“I lost my men and my ride saving you. The least you can do is give me cover until I recover.”
I bristled. If he thought I would let him live under my roof, he was mistaken.
“You’re uninjured. I’ll be happy to send some men to escort you back to your place.”
Marcus and my soldatos stood stiffly behind me, wordless, watching the exchange.
Orlov stepped closer to whisper.
“You’re smarter than this. You need me now more than ever…”
“I’ve never needed you. And right now, you need to leave,” I hissed, a migraine already budding in my skull. I needed him out of my vicinity, out of my life.
Tears stung my eyes, but I fiercely held them back. His jaw clenched like he would love to bend me to his will. But the tremor in his fists and the vein pulsing in his temple told me he knew he couldn’t. I had power, I had choice. He didn’t own or control me anymore.
“Fine,” he said finally, brushing past me to walk out of the door.
As soon as the door slammed shut behind him, I slumped against the grand piano, the tears falling without care.
Marcus made to approach me, but I held my hand out, stopping him. He stood still, watched me sob for a moment, then left with the soldatos, leaving two buff ones that looked like my newly assigned bodyguards.
Claudia walked in then, her apron covered in a light sprinkle of flour. She smelled like sauce, and home.
“Povera fiorellina,” (poor flower), she murmured as I held her tight, my tears dampening her shoulder.
My shoulders shook with sobs, her palm tracing soothing lines on my back. She let me cry for a moment more, then I pulled away.
She peered into my eyes, wiping my cheeks with flour-scented fingers.
“You’re strong, like your mama. I know she’s so proud of you.”
The mention of my mother sent a hot rod through my chest. I squeezed my eyes shut, desperately trying to preserve her memory. It horrified me to find out I would need to look at a photo of her again to remember all her features, her wonder, and her magic.
The image of her sprawled on the floor after my father hit her that summer when I was five rose up unbidden.
Their marriage wasn’t perfect, and even then, I’d started to understand that my father wasn’t just the man who spoiled me. He had a darker side too, one I thought he’d never turn on her.
Mama had been so beautiful, it sparked quarrels.
Papa once accused her of flirting, and the first time I saw him hit her, a day I would never forget, was the day my trust in marriage as an institution shattered.
I’d escaped lessons with Claudia, looking for my mother to show her my latest Lego tower, when I’d heard them.
“You think I’m blind?!” Something crashed to the floor. “What on earth would excuse such inappropriate behavior with the man?”
I’d just turned the corner to their bedroom, frozen at the tense atmosphere inside. Mama was crying, dabbing at her face with a handkerchief.
“I didn’t mean to upset you. His mother died. I only meant to console him!”
My father kicked the dresser. The antique ceramic lamp crashed to the floor.
He whirled on her, tightly gripping her wrist as she tried to pull free.
“His death is on you. You never, ever touch another man! Don’t you ever forget.”
“Don’t kill him, Cuore mio…”
That was when he hit her, her yelp tore into my heart as I watched her fall, palming her face.
He’d turned and seen me then, regret in his features, but years later I learned he’d also had the habit of cutting off her allowance for months just to punish her for entertaining other men.
Claudia had whisked me away just as I tried to go to my mama, the door slamming behind us.
That was the last time I saw my mother.
How could he love me, spoil me, but abuse his wife? Aunt Carina hated him for being a criminal and had never supported the marriage in the first place.
I’d been told that my mother left the house that day in anger and stayed at a hotel. She unknowingly walked into her death, Mama died from a stray bullet during a skirmish during a rival clash. And Aunt Carina whisked me away without a fight from my father.
She had raised me alongside her daughter.
No matter how I pled, he never let me return, opting to visit me only.
Heavy knocking on the front door startled me out of the past.
I wiped my eyes, pulling myself together. I suspected it was Orlov at the door again.
If Orlov thought he could bully me into bending my boundaries, he had another thing coming. I stalked to the door, Claudia behind me, as the soldato who opened the door stepped back to reveal the guest.
“Hi Rosa!”
Dressed in black fishnet stockings underneath a scandalously short skater skirt, her ample chest trying to escape a “Miss Universe” crop top, was Juliana, my cousin.
The large pink bubble of her gum popped as she closed the distance, wrapping me in a vanilla-scented hug.