Ruthless Monarch

He’s somewhere in this house.

Locked up.

For all I know, he’s being tortured.

The thing is, I should hate him. He shot me, but something tells me there is more to this story.

Lots more.

Beside me, Matteo stirs, and then he is moving his body until he hovers over mine. He is careful not to rest his weight on me, although for a little pain, it would be worth it. I’ve been home for days, and other than a small peck on the lips, he hasn’t touched me.

“Don’t even think about it,” he says, his early morning voice rough and husky.

“Think about what?” Mine is coy.

“You know what. You’re still healing.” He scolds me as though I have just been summoned to the principal’s office.

“Fine, but you’re no fun.” I pout, and he shuts me up with another damn kiss.

He laughs against my lips, and the sound is heavenly. It also reminds me that we can’t live in this bubble for long.

We do have to deal with the mess in the basement first.

“I’m ready,” I blurt out, and the confused look in his eyes is cute.

It’s funny how much he’s changed over the course of this week. I saw glimpses of this man before, sweet and caring, but now that he’s admitted he loves me, it’s so much more.

“Ready for . . .” he trails off. “Sex? I thought I just said no.”

I playfully swing at him. “Not sex, perv. I’m ready to go down to the basement and talk to Jonathan.”

His mischievous stare from only a second ago is now long gone. It’s replaced by narrow eyes and a line between his brow.

A deep scowl across his face.

“Are you sure?” Even his voice has changed. There is no lightness at all. This is all mob boss. The playful and dutiful husband replaced by a killer.

“Yes. Help me up.”

He stands from the bed and pulls me up to be beside him.

Although the doctors have had me walk each day, it still feels weird to be on my legs. Like a fawn learning their first steps, I’m wobbly and unsteady.

Matteo helps me into the bathroom, and as I get ready to go downstairs, so does he.

It takes me a good hour to get myself pulled together. I might have miscalculated the extent of my injuries.

“You sure you want to do this?”

“Yes. I need too. I need to know what he knows.”

The truth is, that’s the scary part. I’m not sure if my father told him anything, and I’m not sure how he will react if he doesn’t know the truth.

My stomach churns with nerves.

“You okay?”

I nod my head, but Matteo places his finger on my lip, the lip I’m currently biting, my tell.

“Talk to me.”

“What if he doesn’t know the truth? What if my father finds out I told?”

“Do not worry about your father,” he scolds. “I’ll handle him, and I will take care of everything. You will never have to worry about being under your father’s thumb again. Do you understand me?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now, let’s go.”

Each step we take seems harder than the last. Heading toward the basement feels like I’m a prisoner walking to death row. I’m scared, but I keep my head held high.

After we walk down the stairs and turn the corner, I see him.

He’s in a cell.

Tied up.

He’s dressed, his clothes ripped and shredded.

His hair is dirty, filled with grease from the days he’s been kept here.

There is a stink in the air.

In the corner of his cell is a toilet, a bucket of water, and an old tray of food.

At least they are feeding him.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” he chides from behind bars.

“Jonathan,” I say, stepping closer. “Why?”

“As if you really have to ask,” he fires back.

“I think we need to talk.”

“The time to talk was twelve years ago, don’t you think?” he bites out.

If I ever wondered why he had such animosity toward me, now I know.

“Are you ready to talk?” Matteo asks, throwing the gate open. At first, I’m afraid he will spring out and attack us, but that’s when I see that in the corner of the cell a metal chain is attached to his foot.

Bile collects in my stomach as I remember the story Matteo told me.

Seeing this place, I realize how important it is that we don’t let Salvatore succeed.

Not being able to look at his smug face, I step up to Jonathan and slap him across the face.

“How could you work with him?” I hiss. “Look around you . . . do you have any idea what he wants to do? My father is willing to turn a blind eye to Salvatore’s desires . . . but you. How would you feel if Julia was traded like sheep? Locked in here like an animal.”

“And it’s okay, what your precious husband is doing? I’m trapped here like a ‘sheep.’”