Page 36 of Married to the Mafia Devil

The question hangs between us, charged and challenging. For a moment, she looks away, gazing out at the sea, as if searching for answers in its depths. When she turns back to me, her resolve is palpable.

“I don't know if I can be what you need,” I confess, the words a weight lifted and yet another barrier erected all at once.

She steps back, creating a physical distance as the reality of our situation settles heavily around us. “I’m going back to the hotel,” she says. “Better start packing if we’re leaving tomorrow.”

FIFTEEN

Emma

Our last day dawns bright and clear, the kind of day that promises new beginnings, yet for me, it's a countdown to a return to a reality I’ve been avoiding. He’s not just any husband. He’s a mafia boss used to being in control of his entire world. Can I really expect him to change just for me?

As I move around the room, packing the last of my things into my suitcase, the silence between us is a tangible thing, heavy with the things we've left unsaid. I have to make a decision soon. Do I stay with him or leave?

My phone rings as I pack. Glancing at the screen, I see my sister's name flashing, a lifeline in the midst of my turmoil. “Hey, Amelia,” I answer, trying to keep my voice light.

“Hey! Guess what? I actually did it—I went outside today. Like, only the stairwell but I did it,” Amelia’s voice is a mixture of excitement and disbelief. “All thanks to your husband’s therapist. Will you thank him for me?”

I glance across at him. “That's amazing, Amelia! I'm so proud of you,” I reply, warmth spreading through me at her news.

“Yeah, it was scary, but I did it. I wish you could have seen it,” she says, a hint of wistfulness in her voice.

“I wish I could have been there too. But there'll be more firsts, and I promise I'll be there for the rest of them,” I assure her, feeling a pang of guilt for not being present. “Might even let you buy me a coffee if you can make it to Jitters.”

“We’ll see. I even bumped into Mr. Petrelli. He looked terrified. I asked him about the rent but he just said not to worry about it. It’s all paid up.”

“I guess Dad must have paid him. Look, I'll be back by tomorrow night. Come see you as soon as I can.”

After we say our goodbyes, I hang up, feeling a mix of pride for Amelia and a deep-seated worry for what awaits us back home. Not just my father and the shadows of my past, but the unresolved tensions between us—tensions that have only grown during our time away.

There are times I’m certain Matteo loves me. His eyes light up with warmth. But then it’s like clouds crossing over the sun, the light fades and he’s miles away, not with me at all. I’ve no idea of the pressures on his shoulders as he won’t share them but something is gnawing at him. That’s when I think there’s no chance of this working. He becomes a closed book.

That’s often when we have sex. At first, it worked as a distraction but the more I get to know him, the more I see he’s doing it so he doesn’t have to think, not to get closer to me.

He looks at me, questions in his eyes. “Everything okay?” he asks, his voice gentle, again trying to bridge the gap that's formed between us.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak, the complexities of our situation swirling in my mind. My sister's progress, my father's weaknesses, and the looming presence of Petrovitch all combine into a knot of anxiety.

I haven't needed any of my rituals here, in this place far removed from my daily battles, but the thought of going back, of facing my old fears and insecurities, is daunting. Will my OCD come racing back, my anxiety? I haven’t had a single panic attack since we left. Are they just waiting for me back home?

As I look at him, I realize that our return is not just a return to geographical familiarity but a dive back into the complexities of our lives, a test of whether the fragile peace we've found can withstand the storms awaiting us.

He’s saved my sister, kept her safe. He says he loves me. But how strong is his love? Will there always be an enemy waiting to be fought? Another step before he’ll relax and be himself?

“Did you pay our rent?” I ask. “Apparently our landlord is now terrified of us.”

He nods. “Your landlord’s a worm. Fear’s the only thing that works with men like that. Fear or money. I gave him both to stay out of your way. You ready to leave?” He holds his case and mine like they weighs nothing at all.

“I guess. Can’t stay on vacation forever, right?”

The drive to the airport is filled with a palpable tension. He stares out of the window, lost in thought. Our driver sensing the mood, saying nothing.

“What are your plans when we get back?” I ask. My voice sounds small, almost hesitant, against the hum of the car.

He spares me a glance. I spot a brief flicker of something unreadable crossing his features. “To finalize the deal. Get the file back and ensure everything is resolved in time,” he says, his tone all business, the mask of the formidable man I met slipping back into place.

“And my father?” The question hangs between us.

He sighs, a momentary break in his resolve. “I will leave him be, as I promised you.” His voice is firm, but I detect an undercurrent of something else—restraint, perhaps, or the weight of the promise he's made. “I believe you’re making a mistake but I will honor your wishes as long as he doesn’t put you in danger.”

---