“Are you still planning to?”
Looking up at her in vague disbelief, I shake my head. “God, no. I’m not here under some veil of deception, Francesca. Everything I’m guilty of ended the night Mateo brought me here. I’ve been completely earnest ever since. And this fucking Salvatore person—I’ve never seen him before in my life. I don’t even know who he is; I’m certainly not some spy for him.”
Francesca nods, seeming to believe me. If only her brother was so easily convinced.
“I’m really sorry for all this, Meg. I can’t imagine he’ll keep you down here long. Just… I don’t know. Is there anything I can bring you? A blanket, a pillow?”
“I’m not really in a position to say no to either of those things,” I murmur, glancing around my empty cell.
Francesca nods. “I’ll go get them.”
“Where’s Lily?” I ask, before she can leave. “Is Lily—is she okay?” I ask, my voice breaking in the middle.
Francesca nods, her face a mask of sympathy. “Lily’s fine. She’s still in with Isabella at night. Ju’s taking care of her like normal. She just thinks you’re at work.”
My chest feels just a little bit lighter. I’ve tried hard not to imagine Mateo would ever hurt her, but all I have to do down here is stew. In the darkest moments, I’ve recalled Mateo’s original assurance that Lily would be fine as long as her mother didn’t do anything stupid.
When Francesca returns, it takes a minute to get the blanket and pillow passed through the bars, and she looks really sad. I’m too drained emotionally and physically to put up any kind of brave face for her benefit.
“This’ll all be over soon, okay?” It sounds like a lie, like she knows it’s a lie, but she wants to reassure me anyway. I guess it’s a kindness. Tell the dying woman what she needs to believe.
“I would never hurt him, Francesca.”
With a pained look on her face, she nods. “I believe you.”
At least someone does.
—
Mia visits me next.
I’m happy to see her, even if that means it’s Sunday, and I’ve been down here for two straight days. She’s wearing a pretty dress and the new shoes we picked out when we went shopping with the girls. It doesn’t seem like it was long ago, but considering I’ve gone from that to an actual prisoner, it also feels like a lifetime ago.
I’m more than a little surprised to see she has the key. Without speaking, she unlocks the door and sets down two plates—one dinner, the other a slice of cassata cake. She reaches into her bag and pulls out a box, holding it out for me to take.
“Adrian wanted me to give this to you,” she says.
I take the box. It’s barely taped shut, so I have it open in just a few seconds. I’m a little confused when I pull out a portable CD player with a black and white tin the size of a CD case—Sinatra. He gave me music?
I glance up at her questioningly and she shrugs. “I guess he thought you’d get bored down here.”
I nod, glancing down at the present. “How’d Mateo seem at dinner?”
“There was no dinner. Dinners are cancelled for the time being.”
Dread moves through me at that.
“I didn’t know,” she adds, indicating her dress and shoes. “Keeping people updated isn’t really at the top of his priority list right now.”
“Well, have you seen him?”
“I’m trying not to,” she says, avoiding my gaze.
I don’t want to ask, but I do. “Why?”
Finally, her gaze snaps to mine, faintly accusing. “Because he probably wants to hurt you.”
I wish I didn’t understand, but I do. Mateo’s story about his father replays in my mind, how his father tried to use his mother to hurt his first wife. A bad strategy, he declared, since the first wife didn’t love him. Not a bad strategy because it’s inhumane and not the kind of thing you would ever do to a person you cared about, but because it wouldn’t have accomplished what he set out to do—it wouldn’t have hurt her.
“Did you do it?” Mia asks, crossing her arms and looking in at me.
“No,” I say quietly.
“None of it?” she asks sharply.
I don’t know if Francesca filled her in or not, but I’m too tired to rehash the same story. “He thinks I’m fucking someone I’ve never even met, Mia. This is… all in his head.”
Whatever shield of anger she brought down with her slips at that, and she seems to sag. “He’s so goddamn paranoid. I told you it wasn’t cute.”
I don’t say anything for a moment, trying to organize my thoughts. I don’t know what to say to her. I don’t know what to do. I need Mateo to talk to me, but he won’t believe anything I say. Apparently, he’s too busy even to come down and see me again, since now it’s been two whole days.