Page 43 of Stolen By the Enemy

"They were good people, hardworking and determined. We were well-off, since my father worked with Carlos’ parents, but they made sure that we lived a simple life, never too fancy. We were never too busy to spend time together. My dad, he had this knack for telling stories. He used to spin these tales about our family's roots, the struggles they faced, and how we were meant for something greater. My mom was the heart of our home. Always there with a comforting word or a warm meal, even when times were tough. They were my foundation, Grazia. The constant in a world that could be uncertain. But then, life took an unexpected turn, and they were gone. It happened so suddenly. A car accident, and just like that, they were taken away from me. I was left alone, navigating a world that suddenly felt so much colder."

I let him continue uninterrupted.

His anger from earlier now seemed to be completely gone, and he had even finished half of his glass of wine.

When he had been quiet for a while, I return the trust and start to tell him stories about my own parents.

We laugh, and I end up crying, but the whole night is spent sharing stories.

I can feel Marco letting his guard down again, and I’m careful not to do or say anything that might cause him any concern again.

This emotional rollercoaster has exhausted me, but I prefer it when I have a little bit of control over the situation.

It’s past midnight when he looks at the time and decides he needs to leave.

I nod and yawn, eager for bed anyway.

A part of me is holding my breath in case he wants to handcuff me again while he’s gone.

He doesn’t, though, and as he’s leaving the house he stoops down and kisses me quickly.

“Thank you for listening, but don’t try anything stupid while I’m gone.”

My heart sinks. He still doesn’t really trust me.

I wonder if he ever will, or if the fact that I am a Baldini means that I will forever be the enemy in his eyes.

Chapter Thirteen

Marco

Despite the way that Grazia is looking at me as I leave, I make sure to double check the lock on the front door once I’m out of the beach house.

I also check on the big windows, and make sure there aren’t any strange weapons left lying around the property.

We’ve had a good chat, but I need to know that she’s securely locked in here, since there might still be a chance that she’s trying to escape.

Her eyes seem to be honest, but I’ve seen women lie through their teeth before, and I don’t think I can ever trust one of them again.

If I ignore all of that, however, I have to admit that spending this time with Grazia has helped my stress immensely.

My shoulders feel lighter while I’m driving back home, although I have a bit of a headache from all of the feelings I dug into with Grazia.

I’ve always thought that therapy was ridiculous, wondering why anyone would pay to speak to someone about their problems.

My thoughts were that it would never help anything, but maybe I was wrong.

Even though my mind is still all over the place, something about talking so openly to Grazia, and for so long, has lifted some of the burden and stress I’ve been feeling.

There is still no way that I can trust her fully. She is an enemy, and as much as she is pretending to be happy to be with me, she is still in my house against her will.

I doubt she would pass up the next opportunity to try and escape. But I’m not about to let my guard down enough to give her that chance.

I’m already kicking myself for the way that I acted last night.

I should know better than to be so vulnerable with anyone, let alone a captive toy whose only purpose is to help me get what I am after.

She’s good, though, at sympathizing with me. It felt like she understood, like she wasn’t judging me, and like she cared about my stories of my parents. But who knows if it was all just an act.

---