Page 11 of Sin and Redemption

“I know, Mom. But life has to go on.”

Mom’s eyes glistened, but she nodded resolutely and picked up her phone. “I’ll see if your father or Flavio have time to take you there. I’m sure it’ll do you good to talk to Isa.”

Thirty minutes later, Dad and Matteo picked me up. I was surprised to see my uncle.

“Your mom said you are determined to see Isa in the gym. Are you well enough to go out?” Dad asked as he held the door to the black limousine open for me while Matteo sat in the driver’s seat.

“I’m not injured,” I said. The abrasions were hardly worth mentioning, and the soreness was better by now. Dad wasn’t referring to physical scars, though. The two showers I’d taken this morning had definitely helped a lot—not only with the soreness but also with the icky feeling.

I got into the back seat. Matteo smiled at me.

“I didn’t expect you,” I told him.

“It’s been a while since I’ve visited Gianna in the gym. Today’s a good day to change that,” he said after a searching look at my face.

Dad sat down in the back seat with me. I gave him a curious look, but he only smiled. Did they think I didn’t know what was going on? They were upping my protection. I’d seen Marcella and Isabella lose many freedoms after they became victims of our world.

I tried not to think about the fact that Matteo had probably seen the video of me too. If I wanted to live my life, I needed to forget about that.

When we stepped into the Famiglia gym, my cousin Isa was indeed behind the reception desk, but she was immersed in a book propped up against the computer screen. Isa’s mother, my aunt Gianna, owned the gym. Through the glass wall on the right, I could see her giving a yoga course to half a dozen women, all of them familiar faces.

“Your vigilance is lacking,” Matteo said to Isa as he approached her and pressed a kiss to her temple. She made a face. “Oh please, guards are everywhere.”

Her eyes moved past her father to me. She didn’t smile, for which I was oddly grateful. I didn’t really feel like pretend smiling either. Her glasses were propped up on top of her head, hugging the messy bun in which her maroon hair was put up. She reminded me a lot of my aunt Gianna.

“I’ll sit here while you chat,” Dad said as he sank down on one of the chairs in the small waiting area.

“I’ll take over the reception,” Matteo said.

The gym area with the machines was on the left, and several women working out there kept throwing curious looks our way.

“This is a women’s gym. Our customers won’t feel comfortable if men are everywhere,” Isa said.

Matteo sank down on the chair behind the counter and propped up his feet on a second chair. “They’ll be fine.”

“Mom won’t be happy,” Isa said with a small shrug as she motioned me toward her. Everyone’s eyes seemed to be on me by now. I cringed and followed Isa into the office.

She still carried the book that she’d been reading. She pointed at the plush sofa. “Get comfy.” Then she walked toward an old-fashioned coffee maker where everything still had to be done by hand. “Espresso?”

I shook my head and plopped down on the sofa, sinking into the soft cushions. “Too strong for me. I prefer tea.”

“I live off caffeine. I’m trying to channel my inner Stephen King without resorting to taking heroin or booze.” She prepared an espresso. The rattling and whizzing of the machine filled the room, and I decided I quite liked the sound. Isa was focused on preparing her espresso, so I got the chance to watch her closely.

Her own kidnapping had been three months ago after Amo’s wedding. From what I knew, neither she nor her mother had been hurt seriously during the incident, but I still noticed changes in Isa whenever I saw her. She was even more serious and withdrawn than before, always immersed in a book or scribbling on a notepad.

She headed over to me with her espresso cup and a bottle of water. I realized she wasn’t wearing shoes, only oversized wool socks she’d pulled up to her knees. One was pink, the other purple, and the only dash of color in her otherwise black outfit of leggings, pinafore dress, and turtleneck shirt. She held out the water bottle. I took it but didn’t drink. Isa sank down beside me and took a sip from her espresso. “Did you know Stephen King wroteThe Shiningwhile under the influence of alcohol and heroin? And he doesn’t even remember writingCujo.”

“I hope you’re not thinking about trying the same,” I said. “But considering the disturbing nature of many of his books, I’m not surprised.” Not that I had read many of them. I didn’t have the stomach for them, and now that my own life had been touched by darkness in this life-altering way even less.

Isa made a shocked face. “Disturbing but genius. And if you don’t like disturbing books, you shouldn’t read mine.”

“You wrote a book?”

Isa flushed and took another sip from her espresso, which meant the cup was already empty. I never understood the need for an espresso. I liked drinks that lasted. Nothing was better than hugging a big mug of tea in my palms and feeling it slowly grow colder as I inhaled the comforting scent. “I’m mostly working on short stories and novellas, but I’m also working on a book, yes.”

“Wow.” I searched her face. “Do you use it to work through what happened?”

Isa put down the tiny cup and leaned back against the armrest, pulling one of her legs against her chest. She looked straight into my eyes. I could tell she was weighing how much to share. I doubted she was someone who talked about things that bothered her with many people, if at all.

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