Chapter 1
There’s a war brewing in my chest. A fight of some sort. But I don’t know who I’m fighting. Is she female? Is he male? Who exactly I’m I chasing after? The figure runs and I chase after it, my breath running on its last gallon.
The figure is wearing a long black jacket and the figure is unusually fast. I stop in my tracks and the figure stops, with its back turned to me. But the stance, it seems more like a threat than a surrender. Slowly, the figure turns around, hands raised in the air, and a gun in its left hand. The figure has a black mask on. I’m frozen in my stance as the figure takes off the mask.
The figure—is me. I mask my shock as I swallow my screams and I pull the trigger of my gun. But she beats me to it. With one perfect aim at my forehead.
POP!
But I’m not dead. My racing breath rings in my ears, confusion kicks in, my throat locks, my vision goes completely dark. It becomes a true war to get my eyes open again, there is a rather distinct beep in my head, that just refuses to stop. I look for the noise, and in my apparent blindness, I try my hardest to follow the sound to its source. It’s loud, disorienting and I want it to stop. I want whatever is happening to stop. The beep doesn’t stop, it continues, and then I hear it, a strange yet familiar voice somewhere in my subconscious.
“Mia Cara, wake up, you can wake up now,” a voice filters its way into my ears, I know it, and I also don’t know it. It’s male, rugged and deeper than the Atlantic. I follow it, but the closer I get to it, the closer I also get to the never-ending beeping. It’s almost as if they are connected in a way I don’t quite understand.
“It’s okay,” the same voice repeats. It’s softer this time, and heartwarming in a familiar way. My eyes remain shut, as I crawl in what seems to be the direction of the voice, but also, the fucking beep. Suddenly it feels like I’m swimming in an unending pool and when my eyes open, it’s dark, except for the light coming from the left side of the water. And then I see her again—me again. This time she is swimming towards me, with a force and a speed I can’t explain. I can’t hold it in anymore, I scream, I scream but I cannot hear the sound of my voice.
She—me, she comes closer and I cannot swim anymore. She forces my head under water and it becomes a struggle, the endless beeping becomes a soundtrack to my impending demise. She—me, brings my head above the water and in seconds, she shoves me under water again. This time around, I struggle underneath her grip, against her strength, against the urge to just let her win. And when I’m finally able to break free from her—from me, the atmosphere is different. The beeping is louder and my eyes search an unfamiliar space for the producer of the infuriating sound.
It feels like I am restrained—are those wires? My eyes finally find the beeping sound. The monitor. A medical monitor. Wait. Where I’m I? Strong cold hands hold mine and I find myself following the trail of human life. The hands are gloved and as I look up, my eyes meet a man in a long suit jacket, black tie, essentially all black attire. It is his eyes that catch me first. They are different coloured. One a distinctive green pattern and the other a distinctive blue with some hazel. A sharp pain pierces the back of my head as I stare at him, from his eyes to his facial hair, his medium lips and the smell of the rich oud on him. Once again, where I’m I?
“Mia Cara,” he says. The same voice. It registers to me that he is the owner of the voice I followed earlier. But as far as I can remember, and even with the sharp pain in the back of my head, no one has ever called me that—Mia Cara. So who is he? Where I’m I? And most importantly, what is happening?
“Laura,” he says a name, a name I don’t quite recognise. I say nothing. But then I notice him waiting, it’s almost as if he’s waiting for me to respond. But I’m not Laura. I am someone else. I am Vittoria and I still have no explanation as to why I’m here.
I say nothing and as the strange yet familiar man examines my body with a touch that feels too intimate, I can’t swat him away. A door in the corner of my eye opens and another man walks into the room.
“Don Hidalgo,” the man calls. I see the moment the brows of the man in front of me furrow, but he doesn’t move to answer. When he does, his voice creates a halo in my brain.
“Send the doctor in,” he says, his eyes still focused on me.
“Christ, she’s awake,” the man gasps and from the look on his face, he also appears to know who I am. The problem? Who exactly do they think I am?
“I’ll entertain you supposed surprise later, Enrico, get the doctor here, now,”
“Si,” the man dashes out of the room.
Don Hidalgo continues to examine me with those eyes of his. I don’t tell him about the pain in the back of my head yet, even though it hurts like hell. I’ll live, but nothing bothers me like the never-ending beep of the monitor. My eyes dart to it and back to Don Hidalgo.
His lips part for a minute and they go shut. When I look away from him, he speaks, “Do you know who you are?” He asks, his gloved hands still rubbing my palm. There’s an IV line going into both of my wrists and his eyes trail on the one on my left hand before they lock onto mine.
“Do you know who I am?” I ask instead of giving him an answer. It is then I notice it, the cold golden wedding ring on my ring finger. My gaze freezes on the ring and I gulp. Something’s wrong. I don’t remember a ring, I don’t remember a wedding and most importantly, there has never been a time in my life where marriage was an option.
What life? A question surfaces in my subconscious, mocking me. But the voice isn’t wrong. What life? When I don’t know where I am, when who I am seems like a bad dream, a nightmare I just escaped.
Don Hidalgo looks into my eyes and when his eyes drop to my lips and back to my eyes, it’s almost as if he’s restraining himself from something. Something I refuse to understand.
“You are Vittoria Lombardi,” he says, I see his throat visibly work as he utters the words and name, unlike the name he called me earlier. I want to ask him about the name, but more importantly, I feel the urge to get out of here.
“I am,” I concur to his words, because no words have ever been truer, “That’s exactly who I am,” He knows my full name. Most men don’t know me by my birth name. They know me by my code name. I can’t get over how familiar his eyes seem and how long I have allowed him to rub my palm in those slow circles.
“Yes,” he says again, and now he looks away from me. He rises from the bed, dropping my palm gently and he begins a pace. The door to the room opens and the man from earlier walks in with another man in a white coat and a stethoscope hanging on his neck. Don Hidalgo refuses to move out of the way as the man approaches, his eyes practically gawking their way out of his face.
“It’s a miracle,” he says, his eyes focused on me, searching my appearance for something I don’t seem to understand. “She’s awake.”
“Just last week you wanted us to pull the plug on the machines,” Don Hidalgo mutters, once again his eyes search mine.
“I was giving the best advice I could give based on my diagnosis and my experience,” the doctor quivers as he makes his way to me. “May I check her?” He asks Don Hidalgo.
“Do your job right, or your headless body will leave this room.” The other man whom Don Hidalgo referred to as Enrico says, his voice filled with an intensity of making good on his word. Don Hidalgo remains silent, his
“Of course,” the man I assume to be the doctor trembles. He makes his way to me and he begins what I think I know to be a check up. He points a particular light at my eyes, he checks my IV line, he checks the monitors. In the end he gives me something for the pain in the back of my head. He asks me a few questions, to which I nod and shake my head to, and then he exits the room, leaving me with Don Hidalgo and the stranger.
Don Hidalgo follows after the doctor, leaving the stranger with me. The urge to ask questions suffice and so with an open mind and a calculated thought to escape whatever kind of confinement this is, I engage the man.
“Enrico, is it?” I ask as I sit up further. I don’t know but whatever the doctor administered to my body seems to be working. The pain in the back of my head reduces, slowly, giving me a small sense of clarity.
“Si, Signora,” he answers without looking at me, but for some reason I can see his restraint. He knows me, but he can’t say.
“Where I’m I?” I ask the first obvious.
“The Don’s Villa in the Sicilian countryside,” he answers immediately, his voice bearing an oddly familiar warmth.
“How did I end up here?” I ask again, building momentum.
“I’m not allowed to say,” he responds, and yet, he doesn’t look at me.
“Yes you are, or you wouldn’t have bothered to answer me,” I counter.
“Signora—” he finally looks at me, this is my cue to ask more caring questions.
“You do know who I am, right?” I interrupt him before he can get another word in.
“You are—” he starts again, but undoubtedly, I have more to say, more to ask and my confusions make their presence known.
“And the ring on my finger, I’m I engaged, betrothed, promised?” I continue as memories of my father flood my mind, “My father coveted my identity and strength for himself so there’s no way I would be engaged, he was against the matter, he was always against the fucking idea,” I breathe, and fear creeps in alongside my confusion,
“He envisioned a more violent future for his only daughter, or some would say, no future at all,” a memory creeps in, this time my father has his goons surround me. I beat the best of them, the majority of them but in the end they are too strong, too damn strong and they overpower me in the most brutal way possible.
“Signora, the Don will answer all of your questions,” Enrico taps his feet against the floor, his stance wobbly, bearing a sense of discomfort.
“I see a ring similar to mine underneath his black gloves—” I voice out the one observation haunting me, but as soon as I say the words, the door to the room swings open, revealing Don Hidalgo.
“Enrico, you may be excused,” He glares daggers at Enrico, who nods and exits the room immediately. Don Hidalgo shuts the door behind him, the click of the door delivering a strange sense of finality.
“You didn’t have to walk him away,” I suck in a breath and a gulp follows. I see the way his eyes watch my throat move and his gloved hands find their way to the pockets of his jacket.
He walks towards me in a stride that looks awfully familiar, but I can’t seem to place it. My chest heaves and he makes himself comfortable on the side of the bed that faces me directly. He releases his gloved hands from his pockets and I see it again, the unmistakable outline of the ring underneath the gloves. I suck in another breath and when I look at him, I see that his mismatched eyes are already focused on me.
“I can answer all of your questions, Mia Cara, but I believe that of all the questions that weigh in your mind, you have one pressing one that you must ask,” he says, his eyelids unblinking.
“So. Ask.” The words hang in the air like pandora’s box ready to be opened.
“The ring on my finger, what does it mean?” My lips fight the urge to tremble as I say the words.
“Well Mia Cara, you are my wife.”
