Chapter 6

Soraya

The rain soaked through my clothes in seconds. I stood in the courtyard and cried, then laughed, then cried again, until one of the maids ran for Concetta.

She had me dragged inside. Then she took the towel herself and scrubbed at my dripping hair like I was ten years old.

"Have you lost your mind? You just had a baby, you've barely healed, and you're standing in a storm? Do you want to die?" Her voice cracked. "Your hands. Dio mio, your hands. Who did this?"

I stared at the wall. I felt like I was watching myself from somewhere near the ceiling.

"Nonna," I whispered. "I want to go home."

She went very still. I think she knew exactly what I'd overheard.

She sent for the family doctor to set my fingers. Then she laid a document on the table between us.

Divorce papers. Tiziano's signature slashed across the bottom.

"I slipped them into a stack of contracts," she said. "He didn't even read them. A few more days and you leave Velmora. Go as far as you can, and don't look back."

For the first time that night, something flickered back to life inside me. I thanked her, curled up on the bed, and slept like the dead.

The next morning, I'd barely made it back to the west wing when Dario's nanny, Marisa, came running, twisting her apron in her hands.

"Mrs. Scaffidi! It's Dario. He's burning up, and the Donna won't let anyone call the doctor!"

Dario had lied about me. He'd hit me. He'd called the guards on me. None of it mattered. He was my son.

I followed Marisa to his room. He lay limp in bed, cheeks flushed, breathing too fast. I pressed the back of my bandaged hand to his forehead and almost flinched. He was on fire.

"He needs a hospital. Now. If this goes on, it could damage his brain." I turned for the door.

Rosalinda was standing in it.

"And where do you think you're going?"

I was shaking, but I made myself say it. "His fever has to come down. If something happens to him, you won't be able to explain it away."

"Boys run fevers." She shrugged. "And if he fries his brain? Nobody's going to blame me."

She was right, and we both knew it. Tiziano would forgive her anything.

My knees gave out, and I knelt in front of her.

"Donna, please. Let Dario go. Whatever you want to do to me, do it."

Pleasure spread across her face, slow and cruel.

"How touching. Fine," Rosalinda sneered. "Go out to the driveway. Kneel on the gravel and beg. If you can entertain me until I'm satisfied, you get him back."

My bandaged hands curled into fists. I didn't move.

"Beg," she snapped.

A tear slid down my cheek. I walked out into the rain and dropped heavily onto the harsh gravel, pressing my forehead against the wet stones. "Please let him go."

The skin on my knees split. Blood mixed with the rain, stinging my eyes as I pleaded until my voice cracked.

Above me, Rosalinda finally let out a dark, satisfied laugh and stepped aside to let her guards pass. "Give her the kid. You're done here."

So I gathered Dario's burning little body into my arms and ran. Down the driveway, out through the gates, the gravel cutting through my thin slippers, his face tucked against my neck. I don't know how far I ran before a cab finally pulled over.

At the hospital, they got an IV into him. A while later, his long lashes fluttered and he opened his eyes.

He saw me, soaked and muddy with blood on my face, and froze.

I braced myself for whatever cruel thing he'd say. Instead, his voice came out small and thick.

"Did you save me?"

Rain still dripped from my sleeves. "Yes."

The room went quiet.

"Thank you," he mumbled, head down so I couldn't see his eyes turning red.

Something in me softened.

He was a sharp kid. I think he'd sensed for a long time that something in that house was wrong. After a moment, his voice wobbled. "People say you're my real mom. Is that true?"

"Yes."

My heart pounded. Maybe, before I left, I'd finally hear my son call me Mamma. Maybe, if Rosalinda kept hurting him and he wanted to come, I could take him with me to Port Marisol—

"Then why did it have to be you?" He burst into tears. "Why did you have to show up? It's your fault Mamma doesn't love me anymore! Mamma says Papa Alfonso's going to die soon, and then she has to marry Zio Tiziano. So please let her have him. Then she'll stop hitting me. Then she'll love me again."

I stood frozen. The last bit of warmth in my chest went cold.

"Okay."

He blinked his wet eyes at me. "Really?"

My voice trembled. "Call me Mamma. Just once. And I promise."

He hesitated, sniffling. Then, so quietly I almost missed it: "Mamma... are you really going to leave?"

Eight years. I'd waited eight years to hear that word from him.

I smiled, a smile worse than crying, knelt beside the bed, and wiped the tears off his cheeks.

"Yes, sweetheart. Mamma's leaving."