"How are you?" I asked Lino after chugging the contents of my glass. Donatello took it, refilling it in front of me and handing it back.
"Better than you at the moment, I expect." The sheepish smile he turned my way was a welcome sight, and I even returned it.
"Samara?"
He winced. "Going through a rough divorce."
I nodded. It had been years since I'd seen her, but the man she'd gotten herself hitched to had never been a good man. "I'm surprised it took so long."
"You know her, she's stubborn." I nodded. "Like you," he added.
I glared at him. "I just want to go home."
"You are home," he said, tucking me into his chest when fresh tears welled in my eyes.
✽✽✽
Lino had long since gone back to Matteo's office, doing whatever it was the two of them called work where Matteo's employees were completely content to watch me cry over being trapped in his house. Staff moved around me, unpacking my things without regard for what I might want. They didn't even ask me where I wanted everything to go—the only person who had bothered with that being Donatello.
I suspected they knew I'd say to keep everything in boxes.
Locking myself in the bathroom, I thought over my options.
I only had two.
Let it happen.
Or call Adam.
The phone in my hand rang when I pressed his name on the screen, and I had to wonder if I knew what I was doing.
I just wanted to go home, but alerting Adam might be like declaring war. He was unpredictable and there was absolutely no way to know how he might react to me being a prisoner in Matteo's home.
"Hey pretty girl," he answered, affection always in his tone. When I was silent, I could feel the way he radiated tension through the phone. "Ivory?"
"I need your help," I whispered, sobbing over the line.
Twenty-Two
Matteo
Ivory knew the moment her uncle arrived, if the wide eyes she threw my way when I stormed out of my office were any sign.
"You think you're clever, don't you?"
She didn't respond, staring at me silently as she stood from the couch and making her way to the door. I blocked her, stepping into her path and catching her up in my arms. "He will not take you from me. Do you understand?"
"You already lost me, so what does it matter," she hissed, the wildcat in my stubborn little angel rising to the surface after her temporary shock.
I looked forward to her wrath when I took her to bed later.
But in that moment, I needed to remind her who called the shots. I stepped back from her, going for the door. Her sneakers squeaked against the floor behind me, a reminder she hadn't changed after her arrival although all her clothes were being unpacked systematically. "She doesn't step foot outside," I ordered Scar, passing through the space he allowed before he closed it to block Ivory in.
"Yes, boss," he grunted, absorbing Ivory's slap to his chest.
"Let me out! Matteo!" she yelled, and I closed the door behind me to drown out the sound.
I didn't need her uncle thinking she was being tortured.
"Bellandi," Adam greeted, crossing his arms over his chest and attempting to stare me down. He knew I wasn't so easily intimidated, but he still had to try. "I'm taking Ivory with me."
I knew there was a gun in his holster, the man went nowhere unarmed. But I didn't even consider needing to proceed with caution. He was too smart to pull a gun on me in my turf.
If he did, he'd be dead. Shot down by any of the guards undoubtedly on edge after I gave the order to let him in the gate.
"Ivory is with me now."
"I know your reputation. I know what you do. Ivory isn't the woman you involve in that kind of shit, Bellandi. You know that and I do."
"She's mine. Always has been," I grunted.
He sighed, nodding. "I know, but you threw her away. Now she wants to leave, and you have to let her."
I pulled the tiny box from my pocket, fingering the velvet and holding it up so he could make no mistake about what it contained. He eyed it warily, a deep sigh rattling in his chest. He hung his head, knowing what it meant for a man like me.
Men like us didn't let go of what was ours.
Not when it came to wives.
"Fuck," he whispered, and the way he warred with himself almost made me feel bad for the poor guy.
"If you hurt her or let anything happen to her, I'll make her disappear, and even you will never find her. Got me?" Adam asked, glaring at me.
I nodded. I could live with those terms; after all, it was much easier than I'd anticipated it would be to convince him.
"She loves you," he sighed. "Always has. She's scared, but I have to believe she'll find a way around that.”
"I'll make sure she does," I said, reassuring him. I'd always envied the relationship Ivory had with her family. The way they loved each other and wanted what was best was admirable.
"Can I see her?" he asked. I nodded, stepping back to the door and watching as Scar opened it.
Ivory raced out, flinging herself into her uncle's arms. "Thank you!" she said, breaking my heart when she took solace in him. Solace from me.
"You call me if he hurts you, yeah?" Adam grunted; voice thick with emotion. Ivory backed up, staring up at him in confusion.
"Wh—what?" she stuttered.
"This is the safest place for you, honey. Adrian Ricci is no joke. You do what Matteo tells you," Adam grunted, wincing when she tugged fully from his grasp. "Love you," he murmured, turning and going for the driver's side of his car.
"Adam!" she yelled as he climbed in. "Adam!" she screamed when he started the car and inched down the driveway.
I stepped up behind her, wrapping arms around her waist and containing her when she lunged for the car with horror in her eyes.
My angel broke, crying while I held her in my arms and wished there'd been another way. That she'd let me ease her into it.
But it didn't matter.
We'd always end up with her living with me.
I couldn't regret it being sooner than I planned.
Twenty-Three
Ivory
Waking up trapped underneath Matteo's weight had become far too comfortable. Normally he woke up before me and stayed with me until I woke up. It was an unspoken thing between us, that he insisted on doing it so I could get my first quality rest in years. I didn't want to talk about it—didn't want to acknowledge the fact that Matteo was far too astute not to suspect there was a reason for my restless sleep.
Not when the reason felt so insignificant. Some women survived much worse. Some women dealt with the true trauma that came from horrific circumstances.
They were stronger than I was. Stronger than I would ever be.
So, when I woke up the next morning to the familiar press of his chest against my back and his leg draped over mine, I revolted against the feeling of comfort. Even with how angry I'd been yesterday, how broken I'd felt knowing he would completely disregard my wishes, I hadn't been strong enough to resist when he rolled me underneath him and made love to me.