Page 13 of Brutal Husband

My fingernails break as I scratch the door, and the sides of my palms bruise as I hammer on the wood. Desperation has iron hooks in my flesh. The panic and misery are too much, and I hit my head against the door over and over. The splintered old wood cuts into my forehead, and I feel warm liquid trickle down my face.

Tears and blood stiffen my cheeks. My head hangs low. Every scream feels like razor blades in my throat. I can’t think or see. I’m going to die down here.

I’m going to die down here.

There are heavy footsteps in the hall. I can’t even summon the strength to lift my head and hope.

The door is ripped open, and I’m blinded by a blaze of light outlining a dark figure. I topple forward into strong arms.

Nero picks me up and cradles me against his chest, rocking me back and forth. “Cara mia, what is going on?”

I reach out blindly and cling to his shoulders, whimpering, “Don’t leave me.”

“I won’t. I’ve got you. What has happened to you, my sweet girl? What has she done to your beautiful face?” He gently strokes my tangled, sweaty hair back. I press myself into his chest and wrap my arms around his neck, hungry for his warmth and the steady beating of his heart. I’ve never heard a more beautiful sound.

Nero carries me into the living room and lays me on the sofa. He presses gentle kisses to my bleeding hands.

I panic and grab him, leaving red stains on his white shirt. “No, don’t leave me!”

“Just for a second. Only for a second. I’ll be right back,” he assures me, and I’m finally able to let him go.

Nero vanishes from my side, only to be back a moment later with a warm, wet washcloth in his hand. He gently daubs the blood and dried tears from my face. Some of my fingers are raw and bleeding, and he opens the first aid kit we keep under the bathroom sink and bandages them up.

All the while, Nero mutters and swears to himself. “What did she do to you? What kind of mother is she?”

I was trapped in the dark, but he saved me.

Nero gives me a drink of water and tenderly kisses my lips, and then he growls, “Wait here.”

Nero goes out and stands in the hall. He roars up the stairs, “Giulia Bianchi, get the fuck down here.”

Mom comes down, blinking sleep from her eyes and tying the belt of her red silk robe. Her mouth hardens in disapproval when she sees me sitting on the sofa, hunched over my glass of water. Nero has moved back to stand by my side with his hands on his hips.

“Why was Rieta locked in the basement?” he demands.

Mom’s eyes narrow. “Nero. I don’t understand what you’re doing in my house uninvited. While Rieta lives under my roof, she’s my—”

“I said, why was Rieta locked in the fucking basement?”

Mom eyes him warily. “Sometimes my daughter is too stubborn for her own good. She should never have behaved the way she did today.”

“That is between me and Rieta,” he says tightly. “Did I ask you to interfere with matters that are between me and my fiancée?”

Mom splutters, “But you are no longer engaged, and—”

Nero strides toward her until his face is just inches from hers, and he seethes, “Are you aware that your daughter is terrified of the dark?”

There’s a beat of strained silence, and then Mom says, “Rieta can be dramatic sometimes. She only carried on like this for attention.”

Nero turns and looks at my bandaged fingers, bruised hands, and cut forehead. My breath rasps in my raw throat.

I couldn’t control what I did to myself in the basement. I was panicking, and I couldn’t stop.

“You knew Rieta would be so terrified that she would hurt herself, and you locked her down there anyway,” Nero accuses.

I’ve never seen Nero talk so much in front of other people. Anger must banish all his social awkwardness.

“Apologize to your daughter.”

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