Amapola Beviláqua

We exited through a door that led directly to the parking lot. Quickly, a security guard handed me the keys to a car, and I was led to the black vehicle, as dark as the night and the soul of its owner.

It was strange to feel safe near the man who had just killed another right in front of me, or rather, on my body. Why did he do that? I asked myself this repeatedly, especially while washing my blood-soaked body, but I found no answer. The man was his employee, and I was his prisoner. Why did he take another's life without hesitation?

Was he not that bad after all? Was I seeing something he did not allow anyone else to see? He confused me; I could not truly understand anything when I was near him. I felt as if Salvatore were my personal storm: sometimes he stirred me up, taking everything around me in a constant and untamable fury; other times he was calm, and that calm was as feared by me as it was desired.

Taking a shower naked in front of him was uncomfortable, especially after going through such a situation, but I did not feel that he would do anything to me against my will. Would he be capable of killing me? I was sure of it, at any time and without doubt. But I was equally certain that he would not abuse my body or rape me. I would bet my life on it.

As he promised, he did not look at me with malice or desire, only with concern. Something in me was unsettled by this distance. I found him attractive—well, he was gorgeous, with a wild beauty like that of the fallen angel, the demon. It was not the first time I thought of him this way, and I was sure it would not be the last. Even though it was not the right time, or the right moment, I wanted him to look at me differently. I still wanted his respect, but at some point, a small part of me also started to want his desire.

He drove in silence, and I saw that the route was leading to my house with my father. Indeed, I had heard that the mafia bosses lived around here.

“My father,” I said, breaking the silence that had been in the car since we left the casino.

“He is fine,” I heard his deep voice.

“Let me go, let me stay with him?” I pleaded, hoping that the compassion I saw in him would speak louder and allow me to be freed. I needed a hug, the care of the person I loved most in the world.

“I can't, ragazza. Ask me for anything but that,” he said, and I felt my chest tighten.

“So that's it? Will I remain your prisoner forever? The only thing that will change is my confinement?” I asked, my throat raw with impending tears.

“Don’t see my house as a prison, but I cannot let you go,” he tried to soften, but I was overcome with anger and despair. He should have compassion. How could I recover from what I experienced without my only family around? How could I forget what I went through if the shadow of it all was the man who kept me captive? He saved me but would not set me free. What was the point?

I continued crying all the way until we entered through immense gates of a property I did not even know existed so close to my home. It was an enormous contrast to the poverty I lived in and the imposing property completely surrounded by a garden that I was sure was beautiful during the day, as at night, illuminated by the moon and artificial lights, it left me speechless.

I saw three houses, or rather three mansions, but he parked the car in front of the one located in the middle, centered between the two.

I stood still, not knowing what to do when he got out of the vehicle, so I remained motionless until he opened the door and extended his hand to me.

“Come,” he said.

Hesitant, I took his hand, unsure of what to expect from this man, but he only led me inside, opening the immense doors and revealing a room of beauty I had never witnessed anywhere else.

The decor was white with wooden details, the peace of the place contrasted entirely with the fury of its owner. Was he married? Everything was so organized that I dared to think so. On the other hand, being who he was, I knew he must have a thousand employees to maintain this environment in perfect condition. I could see him in every detail, the place had his personality stamped in every corner.

“Angela?” he shouted with his thunderous voice, and I flinched a little. I expected his wife to come to us, but an older woman who appeared to be around sixty entered the room, hurriedly drying her hands with a cloth.

“What is it, boy?” she asked, but froze when she saw me standing there. “Sorry, sir, how can I help you?” she asked, changing her entire posture to the formal demeanor of someone who serves her boss.

“Didn’t I tell you to rest?” he questioned, raising his eyebrows.

“I was just making some bread, sir. I was going to my room,” she justified. “Do you need anything?” she asked, but her eyes never left me for a second.

“Prepare a room. Amapola will be staying with us for a while.” She looked at him with an unreadable expression, as if demanding an explanation from him. Did she really not fear her boss?

“I will call someone to arrange that immediately. May I take your coat?” she asked directly to me, and I realized I wasn’t wearing anything underneath it.

“No need, she’s fine like this,” he answered for me.

“I’ll bring a piece of cake and a cup of coffee for you while I arrange the room. You can wait on the sofa,” the lady said and left.

The sofa was so white that I was afraid to sit and dirty it. Had I managed to clean all the blood off my body? I thought about what I had been through, and my eyes filled with tears again.