Page 58 of Wrathful King
Dante’s message flashed across my screen.
Marchetti and his wife are on their way from Italy. He’s bringing the entourage.
Fuck.
Only one thought filled my head: I couldn’t let him get to my wife before me.
21
AMON
Iarrived back at my compound exactly an hour before Marchetti. Thank fuck.
My wife had been home for two weeks already. All the while, Cesar searched for Phoenix with Dante’s diligent micromanaging, Romero lingered on my property, and Reina’s grandmother continued to offer her two cents whenever possible.
None of it concerned me as much as Reina’s progress. She kept slipping further into herself, refusing to talk to anyone.
For the first few days, she hardly spoke at all. I’d find her staring blankly out at the ocean. Mostly, she offered no reaction, which was a far greater indication of her mental health for me than any other test done by the doctor. Reina adored the sea, simply being near it should’ve been enough to at least draw out a small smile or softening of her eyes.
Seeing her like this hurt like fucking hell, and all I wanted was to hand her the pieces of my heart and give her something to hold on to. But she refused any help, even from her papà. Wouldn’t even let me come near her. If I got within a foot of her, she flipped out.
I had a therapist, Dr. Anna Freud—no relation to Sigmund Freud—visit daily to work with her. I hoped the Harvard psychologist would somehow work a miracle, being closer in age to Reina.
In the beginning, it did nothing. Reina refused to say anything for the most part, but within the last few days, she’d finally begun to acknowledge Dr. Freud. It was a small change, but I would take it.
Isla, Athena, and Raven were visiting today. It was impossible to keep them away any longer. And while I hated that Enrico Marchetti accompanied his wife, I was grateful he’d come so far. Reina needed her girlfriends.
“How is she handling everything?” Enrico asked, taking a seat next to me. We were in my office that had somehow morphed into a surveillance station. Some nights when Reina was under sedation, I’d sit in her room, in the darkness, and listen to her breathe.
And the days I couldn’t sit in her room because she couldn’t handle me being anywhere near her, I’d watch her from here. Was it healthy? Fuck no. But goddammit, I was already well on my way to madness.
“She’s alive,” I answered, though I wasn’t entirely sure it was the truth. She was breathing, but there was no life in her eyes. She was barely existing, hiding in her own shell and refusing to let anyone in.
“It takes time.” He sounded surprisingly understanding. “When Isla returned home after her… kidnapping, it took her a while to heal. Reina was held captive for over a month. Just give her time and space and she’ll start talking and smiling, and then everything will fall into place.” His dark eyes found mine. “She’ll be up, down, and sideways for a long time.”
I glanced over the horizon and the blue ocean, the images from last night still fresh in my mind. She thrashed and whimpered every night, her raw screams tearing her vocal cords. I hated sedating her. I’d tried waking her up carefully, but the invisible demons she fought sent her into full attack mode.
Last night was the first time my reassurance helped her more than it frightened her, and she’d fallen into a dreamless sleep until morning.
But then, like clockwork, the sun rose and it was back to the same routine. She wouldn’t move. She wouldn’t talk. She wouldn’t even meet my eyes, and I had no fucking idea how to help. I’d be damned if I gave up though. I would save her, even if it was the last thing I did in my life.
It made me feel helpless, and I fucking hated it. So, I put all my energy into finding Hiroshi and my mother. I needed an outlet while I waited for Reina to let me know she was ready for me.
My gaze caught on my grandfather’s painting. Even before his death, my idiot cousin never learned that the painting in his compound was actually a copy that I’d commissioned after I stole this one right out from under his nose. I stood and made my way to the portrait our family commissioned three generations ago. Lanterns floated over Ojisan’s Zen garden, the midnight-blue sky above it.
Fuck, I missed my wife. I missed the cinnamon girl who danced with me and lifted the weight off my chest. I wanted to lift the pain for her, but I felt like I was failing.
“She’s going to get through it, Amon,” Marchetti assured, picking up on the distress clouding my eyes.
“I know she will. She’s the strongest woman I know,” I agreed. “Which brings me to my next topic,” I started coldly. “I won’t bring her to the Omertà to be questioned about Angelo Leone.”
Tense silence filled the office, and for once, I really wished Dante would appear and crack one of his tasteless jokes. I didn’t want to risk smashing Marchetti’s head and having both Reina and I marked as enemies of the Omertà.
“You’re part of the Omertà, and the rules apply to you in that same order.”
“And how am I part of the Omertà?” I asked coldly.
“You’re Romero’s legitimate son. Therefore, his seat goes to you.”
