La Vita Dolce Ch. 17

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theDuskyGirl
theDuskyGirl
1,103 Followers

Natasha squeezed his eyes shut. "He assaulted me." Her voice wavered. "My uncle wasn't around. I was by myself with him. It's why I ran away with Gianni.

When she opened her eyes, Luca was looking at her with an inscrutable look on his face. "Why didn't you tell me this?"

Natasha shrugged lightly. "I wasn't aware that my personnel preferences held any sway with you with regard to your employees."

Luca eyed her. "I think you should get to bed early." He released her and smoothed his dark hair back into place. "I'll make your excuses to our guests."

He left her then, and Natasha let the trembling she had been resisting take over her limbs. She stumbled and collapsed into one of the armchairs, her nerves frayed.

She nearly screamed in fright at the soft knock on the door. Marcella quietly entered the room looking incredibly distressed. "Are you alright, Signora?" she near whispered. "I saw Alejandro coming and I tried to stall him but he paid me no attention. When I saw him on you I went to get Signore Angiolini." She clasped her hands together nervously. "I'm so sorry, Signora. I did not know what else to do."

Natasha managed a weakly reassuring smile. "It's okay, Marcella. You did the right thing. But I need something from you now."

"Of course, Signora." She sat in the arm chair next to Natasha's.

"Tomorrow," Natasha said, running her hands over her hair and leaning forward. "I need you to take Gabriel tomorrow, just like we talked about."

Marcella's eyes widened. "Signora, so soon?"

Natasha grimaced. "I know. I know it's soon," her voice cracked. "But I've got to get him out of here, Marcella. Those people I told you about—they're good people. And they will take good care of you and Gabriel. They're like family to me." She drew a shaky breath. "Just go tomorrow like you're going to the park. Just take him and go. Take multiple flights from New York if you can." She swallowed. "The passports have the same last name. No one should question you. And there will be no record of Marcella Santorini or Gabriel Angiolini leaving the country."

Marcella reached out and grabbed Natasha's hand. "Come with us, Signora, per favore."

Natasha's weak smile crumpled. Tears glistened in her eyes. "I wish I could, but after tonight I will be watched so carefully. I can't. I'll figure something else out." She met the other woman's gaze steadily. "I just need Gabriel to be safe, okay?"

"Of course, Signoa," Marcella rose and made to leave when Natasha stopped her.

"Marcella," she bolted upright in her seat. "Do you have your phone on you?"

"Yes, of course."

Marcella handed Natasha her cell phone and slipped quietly from the room to give her some privacy.

After a couple of attempts at remembering the number, Gianni answered.

"It's me," Natasha said, relief crashing over her at the mere sound of his voice. "I'm fine," she blurted.

"Jesus Christ, Natasha!" he exploded. "Are you okay? What the fuck is going on? I get these faxes from you and then you call and I hear Luca screaming before the phone goes dead? I'm on my way."

"No!" Natasha shot to her feet. "I'm fine, Gianni. He didn't hurt me. I'll be out tomorrow. Find me. I'm ready to leave him."

"Natasha—"

"Just find me okay? Don't use this number. I'll be at the Basilica di San Pietro tomorrow, near the back exit of the Capella Sistina around noon. Meet me there. I've gotta go."

"Natasha—"

She ended the call. He was frustrated with her, she knew. He was probably furious. But there was nothing to be done about it at the moment.

She returned the cell phone to Marcella and readied herself for bed thought she doubted she'd find sleep easily.

She had little doubt of what would be done with Alejandro. He would be tortured until he offered answers to questions he did not truly know the answers to. And then he would be killed. Luca did not tolerate betrayal.

She pulled the covers up over her body and squeezed her eyes shut. She felt little remorse for Alejandro. As soon as he had grabbed her she knew that she knew that he was going to pay the price for what she had done. She regretted the loss of the sweet boy he had once been, and she wondered at the vicious man he had become.

La vita. This life—it changed people. It made them hard and unfeeling. She wondered at the ease with which she'd shifted the blame to Alejandro, knowing what it would mean. He would not have hesitated to end her life and in turn she had callously ended his.

She huddled under the covers frightened—not frightened of Alejandro or even Luca, for once. She was frightened that she had become as unflinchingly ruthless as her husband.

She lay her bed staring at the ceiling for hours, listening to the tinkling of crystal Baccarat glasses and laughter downstairs. Luca was never one to let a little thing like murder and mayhem get in the way of a good time.

Lost in thought, she bolted upright at the soft tapping at her door. A shaft of light parted the darkness of her room and Renaldo Pezzini entered. "Nipote? Natasha?"

"Uncle Renaldo?" She flicked on the bedside lamp and pushed her dark hair out of her face.

Quietly closing the door behind him, Renaldo came to sit on the edge of the bed. "You did not return. I worried. How is Gabriel?"

Natasha swallowed and forced a reassuring smile. "He's fine. I actually wasn't feeling quite well myself."

Renaldo looked at his niece, his beloved sister's only child. She looked tired and a bit dull behind the eyes. He didn't like what he saw. He gently cupped her cheek. "Are you sure you're alright, bambina? I can't help feeling that something is going on with you and you're unhappy." He lifted one ebony brow. "Does this have anything to do with Gianni Angiolini being back in Roma?"

Yes. No. Natasha studied her uncle's handsome face, touched by the concern there. She could trust him with anything she knew but knowing might put him in danger and it was unlikely that he'd go along with her plan anyway. Too risky. It was better that she kept him in the dark for the time being.

"I'm fine, zio," she assured him. "I'm just mentally exhausted and Luca suggested I forgo the evening's activities for some rest."

Renaldo leaned down and kissed her brow. "Call me, bambina. We'll have lunch soon."

She gave him an agreeable smile as he stood and closed the door behind him, leaving her alone in darkness once more.

She reached in the darkness for her bedside drawer, sliding it open and fumbling around for the pill bottle inside. She opened it with familiar fluidity and tapped the bottle to dump to a couple of pills into her palm. She blindly felt around for the glass at her bedside and swallowed the pill, a moan of pain breaking free of her bruised throat.

She leaned back against the pillows, waiting for the self medication to do its job and allow sleep to take over.

***

Morning was hash—like a lot of mornings lately. She felt Luca's arm heavy over her naked torso. She vaguely remembered him moving roughly over her in the darkness, flipping her over onto her stomach and entering her in a swift and ruthless fashion.

The sleeping pills did more than allow her to sleep at night. They dimmed her memory into blurred and disconnected bits and pieces, a blessing most times.

She shifted uncomfortably only to have Luca tighten his arm around her and pull her into the curve of his body. Feigning a luxurious yawn, Natasha turned to Luca and found his intent mercurial gaze on her. He lifted his hand and tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear.

His voice was low and husky when he spoke. "Good morning, little one."

Natasha forced a weak smile and swallowed. Her throat ached fiercely. "Hi."
Expression unwavering, Luca trailed his fingertips lightly over the shell of her ear down her jaw line. He then closed his hand around her neck.

Natasha's heart beat a rapid staccato behind her ribs as his fingers tightened slightly. He rubbed a disconcertingly gently thumb over the column of her throat and then released her.

"He left a mark." Luca remarked tonelessly though Natasha noted the slight hardening of anger behind his eyes.

Odd, she thought, that he should object to bruises on her body when he so often left them himself. She said nothing, continuing to meet his steady gaze.

"I have some things to take care of today," he told her. "What are your plans?"

Natasha pursed her lips pretending to mull her options over. "I think I'm going to go to church."

Luca's lips tugged upwards at one corner. "You do that." He threw back the covers and rose from the bed, quickly pulling his pants on. "I'll send Matteo after you to keep an eye on you."

Natasha smiled at him. "Thank you," she said, as though she truly believed he was doing so for her own protection.

The second Luca closed the door behind him, Natasha was up and pulling on a pair of skinny jeans and an v-neck tshirt. She shoved her feet into motorcycle boots and wrapped a scarf around her neck.

She brushed her teeth and raked her hair back into a haphazard bun as she swished with mouthwash.

Grabbing her Ralston hobo bag she left her room and hurried down the hall to Gabriel's room.

"Mommy!" he squealed when she entered and tottered across the room, his arms raised for her to lift him up. Marcella straightened from packing up his little Bob the Builder backpack.

Smiling, Natasha bent and lifted the little boy into her arms, pressing her face against the warmth of his chubby little cheek.

"Mommy!" Gabriel exclaimed. "We're going to the park today!"

Natasha forced a smile and squeezed her eyes shut against the impending tears. "I know, sweetheart," she blinked back tears and nuzzled his dark curls, breathing in his clean baby scent.

She handed him into Marcella's arms and brushed a hand over his curls. "I love you, angel." She kissed his brow and looked into his face, "I'll see you soon sweetheart, okay?"

Gabriel nodded, letting his head against head drop against Marcella's shoulder as he regarded her in that startlingly intent way of his.

Barely able to wrench her gaze from her son, she met Marcella's eyes, communicating wordlessly.

Marcella nodded in understanding.

Feeling as though she were going to be sick, she backed away and turned to leave.

"I'll take good care of him, Signora" Marcella said. "We'll see you soon."

Natasha held back tears as she glanced over her shoulder and gave a small wave.

She moved quickly down the hallway and down the stairs. She slipped her sunglasses over her face to shield her eyes—the tears welling along her lower lids—from view. She crossed the foyer in long strides, her heels clicking on the marble.

The Range Rover was waiting in the front drive, keys in the ignition.

Matteo was parked behind the SUV in a black Renault. Natasha gave him a smile and a seemingly nonchalant wave before climbing behind the wheel.

Why Luca allowed her to drive herself anywhere, she didn't know. Perhaps it was a contrived means of giving her some illusion of freedom. But it was just that—an illusion. Usually he had her followed by a near invisible detail but today he wasn't bothering with the formality. It was fine with her. I suited her purposed better that way.

Natasha drove toward the Vatican city center, tears streaming down her face. She brushed at the tears in frustration as she pulled up in front of the St. George hotel. A valet was immediately at her door.

"Signora Angiolini, checking in?" the young valet queried. When Luca had guests in town, they almost always stayed at the St. George and she and Luca would often join them.

Natasha shook her head. "No, just parking." She jerked her head towards the black Renault behind her. "Matteo too, si?"

"Of course, Signora," the valet nodded.

Smiling, at Matteo who was exiting the car she nodded towards the valet and started walking, knowing he would be behind her.

She strode briskly down Via della Meloria and crossed over Via Angelo Emo where she turned down a narrow back street and continued on toward Viale Vaticano. She wasn't just going to any church; she was going to San Pietro but she was going to take in some art first.

She moved quickly past the horrendous line of tourists snaking around the walls of the Vatican City, shaking her head in pity. They would be there more than half the day. "Reservations, people. Reservations," she mumbled under her breath digging into her purse for her blackberry. She approached the guards near the revolving front doors of the museum and flashed him her blackberry, the reservation she'd made the previous evening visible on the screen. Without word, he stepped aside and let her pass. Natasha smiled at him and entered the ticketing area.

She cast a quick backward glance to see Matteo stopped by the guards, furiously gesturing to Natasha.

Natasha quickly purchased her ticket and moved up the stairs into the museum. She didn't hesitate at any of the sculptures or works that hung upon the walls. Instead she made her way down the long corridor that led to the Capella Sistina. She entered, slipping in and out of tour groups whose upturned faces failed to notice her at all. The low hum of murmurs was periodically broken by the museum guards shouts of "No fotos!"

While the majority of the tour groups filed out the door to the left at the back of the chapel to exit, Natasha exited the right and made her way down the stone steps that led her to the narrow passage between the Vatican Museum and the Basillica di San Pietro.

She scanned the space and the line of tourists who had just come from San Pietro for Gianni but did not see him. A rough hand closed around her upper arm and she stifled a scream, half expecting Matteo or some other Angiolini associate to be there. But it was Gianni, his grey gaze fervent with worry and concern.

She let out a shuddering breath, turning towards him. "Gianni," she murmured as he pulled her into his arms and embraced her tightly. He pressed his fingers into her air at the base of her skull, mussing her ponytail as she pressed her face against his chest.

"Are you alright?" he asked her, pressing a kiss into her hair.

She nodded, turning her face to press her cheek against his heartbeat. "I am now."

She pulled back from him, mindful that people were beginning to watch them.

Gianni looked down into her upturned face. "Where's Gabriel?"

Natasha withdrew her Blackberry from her pocket to check the time. "They should be boarding their flight soon." Gabriel's brow furrowed in consternation and Natasha rushed on. "I had to leave—with what happened last night—I might not have gotten another chance anytime soon." She heaved a sigh, momentarily squeezing her eyes shut. "I sent him with Marcella, our nanny, to the states—to my friends. I had to get out, and I didn't want Gabriel with me if Luca caught up with us. I just want him away from all this."

"What happened last night?" Gianni demanded.

Natasha winced involuntarily, her gaze darting around them. "Can we talk about that later? Like, somewhere else?"

Gianni looked as though he would refuse her but relented. Taking her hand firmly in his, he led her through the crowds past the massive doors leading into the Basilica di San Pietro and down the stairs onto the piazza. They threaded their way through the Vatican crowds until they turned down a narrow side street.

He turned to her abruptly, holding out his hand. "Your phone."

Natasha dug into her bag, coming out with the blackberry. "What about it?"

Gianni took it from her and dropped it into a planter outside a small trattoria.

Natasha felt a momentary lurch of panic as they left her means of communicating with Marcella and Gabriel behind but she knew it was for the best. Gianni gave her hand a reassuring squeeze at her look. "We'll keep in touch another way, alright?"

Natasha nodded mutely and allowed Gianni to settle her into a black Mini Couper with tinted windows.

She settled down into the seat, silently watching the streets pass as Gianni expertly wove in and out of traffic.

Gianni glanced at her as they drove through the countryside heading north. She gazed out the window, her face turned away from him. She was different than when he had known her. She was more reserved, aloof. She was a very different woman and he hated himself for it.

I didn't want to think of what she had endured over the last three years. He thought back to the day he had confronted her on the street and the bruises on her wrists, on her jaw. Luca had not handled her lightly and she seemed resigned to it. Her handbag had been stuffed with sleeping pills, painkillers. It was evident to him that just her daily life required heavy medication in order be bearable.

How alone she must have felt, keeping her secret and having everyone she loved believe that she had betrayed them. Giannini felt that he, himself, had betrayed her love and her trust. She had endured it for his sake all these years while he was occupied with hating her with every fiber of his being.

He had clung desperately to that hatred the day on the street when she had looked to tired and lost. The trembling in her hands, the dull look in her eyes, and the rigid way she held herself had inflicted a web of cracks across the emotional wall he had so carefully constructed between them.

He was fighting himself from that moment even as he coldly told himself that she was getting what she deserved, that she had brought it upon herself.

His guts twisted. He had abandoned her and his son when they had needed him the most. He tightened his hands on the steering wheel, the blood leaving his knuckles.

"Feels familiar, doesn't it," she murmured, breaking into his thoughts though she didn't turn to him.

He swallowed thickly, unable to form an answer, his voice stuck in his throat.

"Running from Luca, I mean," she said faintly. "It feels like I've been running or wishing I could run my whole life."

The despair in her voice shredded him. "We'll fix this, Natasha," he said softly, and then his voice hardened. "I'll fix this."

She didn't answer him, merely continuing to stare out the window.

They drove throughout the night, stopping occasionally to buy petrol or grab a bite to eat. Natasha was largely silent, her mind clearly occupied elsewhere. Anxiety rolled off her in waves, but he could think of nothing to say which might comfort her.

The sun was rising when he finally pulled the car onto a narrow lane, hedged by grape vines.

"Where are we?" she asked.

"Amboise," he told her.

She glance at him. They were in France.

Gianni pulled the car to a stop on the circular drive before a stately white chateau and got out of the car.

Natasha hesitated when the front door of the chateau opened and an older white-haired gentleman exited.

She watched as the gentleman and Gianni embraced, speaking briefly before they both turned toward the car.

Natasha undid her seatbelt exited the vehicle hesitantly.

The older gentleman went to her immediately, taking her hands between his own.

"Welcome, cherie," he said. His face was friendly and open and creased with age. The sparkle in his eye and his smile was genuine. "Welcome to my home. I'm Bertrand Devalier."

Natasha attempted to return his smile but failed miserably, her smile wavering.

He gently tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and led her into the chateau. "You must be exhausted. Let's find you a room to rest."

Gianni followed closely behind.

Bertrand led her to a homey rom with elegant touches overlooking the vineyards.

"I'll place Gianni just across the hall," he said patting her hand consolingly.

Natasha nodded absently as the door closed behind her. She could hear Gianni and Bertrand speaking in hushed tones as the moved away from the door but she had no interest in their conversation.

theDuskyGirl
theDuskyGirl
1,103 Followers