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Chapter 6

POV: Beatrice

I laid awake, curled up in the corner of the concrete, with my son on my head. I had handed David over to the boss of one of the biggest mafias, without knowing his fate. The dark, damp atmosphere seemed to close in around me, while my makeup remained flawless, contrasting with my now completely dirty dress, the result of the place Stefano had ordered me to be taken to.

I raised my face expectantly, my heart racing as the bars creaked and opened slowly for the first time after I had been there for hours, but all they had brought me was food and water. When the sound of the bars opening sounded again, I didn't bother to look up.

"You need to eat," Stefano's voice echoed, sliding the tray with my meal towards me.

"What have you done with my son, Stefano?" I finally asked, my eyes fragile and desperate, lacking the strength to scream.

"Call me Don, Beatrice!" he replied ignorantly, changing the tone of voice that until then had seemed calm, his eyes keeping a cold grip on me as if he didn't have a heart in his chest. "Why couldn't you just follow orders?!" He asked, closing his eyes, trying to control himself, but I wasn't the least bit tempted to give him peace.

"Your orders are ridiculous, considering you're not a God, even though you believe you are."

"Get up!" he ordered, raising his voice, feeling the frustration and disgust of my words.

"Where are you taking me?"

"To the bedroom. You needed to change; the bambino is waiting for you."

I did as he asked, feeling relief fill my chest, at least for the moment. As I walked in silence down the narrow, dimly lit corridor, with its white walls and dark wooden floor, the air was stuffy and there was a faint smell of mold, and Stefano seemed distracted. Although I didn't want to be, I couldn't help noticing his slightly exposed tattoos and his well-defined abdomen, thanks to the tank top he was wearing.

He led me up a small staircase, and as we climbed, the atmosphere began to change. Soft, warm lighting replaced the dimness of the corridor, revealing a warm and inviting air.

We arrived in a large living room, with walls in a soft shade of pale blue that conveyed tranquility. Large windows let in the moonlight, providing a lovely view of a well-kept garden. The sofa was luxuriously comfortable, covered in soft cushions and a shaggy rug stretched across the floor, but it wasn't long before we were climbing more steps to the bedroom floor, which was to the right of the corridor.

However, instead of entering, he stopped me in the corridor, holding my forearm. The electricity of his touch coursed through my veins, again like a dangerous current, making me swallow hard.

"Your clothes are on the bed," he said, his voice hoarse and steady above my face, thanks to his height. "Don't take too long; I don't usually wait."

I pulled my arm away, turning away from him, wondering if Stefano always masked a friendly attitude, such as waiting for me cordially outside, with idiotic words that demonstrated the extent of his power and how submissive I should be when I was there.

The walls were painted a soft shade of lavender, emanating serenity. A canopy bed, covered in flowing fabrics, occupied the center of the wall. Over the bed, a delicate lace curtain stretched to the floor. Next to the window, there was a small desk with a velvet chair, providing the perfect space to enjoy the view.

When, minutes later, I was back, now wearing more comfortable clothes, although short enough to attract attention, I could feel his gaze on me, as if he still wanted me, touching my waist to accompany me. Anxiety coursed through my veins as I waited to see Davide. My heart was conflicted, torn between love for my son and hatred for Stefano.

"This is the last time you'll see him, so you'd better make the most of the time I'm giving you," he said, with a coldness evident in his tone.

"You can't do that; he's only five!" I retorted, my eyes brimming over again. "What kind of person are you?!" I squawked, stepping forward to punch him in the chest when he held me in place, not letting me continue.

"Don't do anything stupid, ragazza. They're ready to kill you. One wrong move, and they'll finish you off," he warned, looking deep into my eyes before letting go of me, and stepping aside.

Stefano's eyes saw me enter, as he stood in the middle of the corridor. Davide was asleep, probably tired from the busy night. I adjusted the blanket over his small body before kneeling beside him and caressing his face. His eyes opened at my touch.

"Mom. Are you crying?" he said, reaching out and touching one of my tears.

"The mommy missed you so much, you know?" I pulled away and touched his nose, making him smile as I tried to dry my tears and smile back, my heart squeezing in my chest.

"Me too; Aunt Chiara isn't as nice as you, but don't tell her, I don't like to see her sad," said the boy.

"Okay, my love, that's going to be our secret, okay?" I smiled weakly, his innocence making me want to put him in my arms and never let anyone else touch him again.

"Okay... Did you know Dad's back from his trip?" He looked at me, curious, raising his teddy to the ceiling.

"Yes, I did. Did you like him?"

"Yes, he was very nice and handsome, just like you, Mom."

"That's why you're the most handsome boy in this country," I tickled his belly, causing him to laugh loudly and happily until my eyes accidentally met Stefano's in the doorway. The smile that had lit up my face faded, replaced by a mask of pain and hatred that burned in my eyes and t wanted to pierce Stefano's heart if he had one.

Leaning against the side of the door, I could almost see a discreet smile on his lips added to something in his irises that looked nothing like all the darkness Stefano was showing, before he looked away, wet his lips, ran his hands through his hair and pulled away from the door frame.

"Hey, Mom, what's wrong?" asked Davide, just as Stefano disappeared down the corridors.

"It's nothing, darling. You need to rest now, okay?" I felt the weight of the world on my shoulders as I struggled to hide the despair that was consuming me.

He nodded in the affirmative, receiving another kiss on the cheek, and I lay down next to him to make him feel safe. A few minutes later, still holding onto one of my fingers, Davide fell asleep next to me, shortly before I was forcibly removed.


POV: Stefano

The next morning, I was in a terrible mood, with dark circles visible on my face, the result of a terrible night's sleep. I drank the whiskey in one go, but it wasn't enough to stop the headache I felt when I thought about what I had seen last night when I found myself paralyzed by that scene. I hadn't cared about something for a long time, but when I noticed the pain in her eyes, as if something inside her chest was dying that night, something in me shuddered, remembering how I wished I had a mother like that. The love was visible in her gaze. I didn't want to, but seeing her there made me feel even more attracted to her body, which was a mistake, and that's why I'd left, that's why I was so stressed.

My dark past was like a ghost that followed me around every second, always present, always haunting me, always reminding me that the only way to survive there was to follow in the footsteps of my father, the man I used to hate, the man I swore I was better than when I was a kid, and I definitely wasn't.

"Fuck!" I shouted, punching the table in front of me, before putting the gun away in its holster and walking briskly towards the room where Beatrice had spent the night.

My fingerprint was all it took to gain full access to the room, my eyes unprepared to find her taking a shower, the curves of every inch of my body fully visible through the gray glass. The water flowed gracefully down her body, and she lingered there as if it were the only thing that could soothe her after such a terrible night, like mine. I knew it would be better to look away, but the tantalizing sight didn't allow me to, reminding me of her loud moans against the pillow the night we'd been together.

My imagination began to run wild when she turned off the tap and touched the towel. I made no effort to stop looking at her when Beatrice entered the room again, dressed only in the cloth, her eyes on mine, with a hint of anger that she makes sure I see. I also notice the red in her eyes, indicating that she had been crying all night, but she doesn't want me to see that, even though she knows that a man like me would never feel sorry for her. Beatrice hates me, and she doesn't try to hide it, and all she manages to do is make me stare at her even more intensely. From there, I could almost hear my heart beating like a wild drum.

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