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It’s just the three of us in the room now, but Alessia has been sitting in dead silence the entire time, not taking her eyes off the tablecloth in front of her.
The poor baby. I wonder what she’s had to endure with Alexandra as her mother.
“So, were you always insane, or did you just forget to take your meds recently?” I ask, not even realizing I’m speaking. Her gaze drifts from the doorway back to my face, and I stare back, prepared to do everything in my power to keep her from running out there and checking on Enzo’s “progress.”
“Actually, I’ve been watching you for years, Valentina,” she spits, slumping onto the table and resting her chin in her hand. “You’re the one that’s delusional… running around the country, thinking you’re such a big, tough mafia boss. Look at you now, huh?”
“Right,” I agree. “Look at me now. You finally got what you wanted. Was it worth it?”
“Worth it?” she hollers. “It’s not just worth it. It’s what’s right. Everything is in balance again.”
“You really think you deserve Enzo?” I ask, genuinely interested. My fingers cramp up from picking at the bindings around my wrists, but I stretch them and keep going. “What makes you think so?”
“Because it’s meant to be.” She shrugs. “The witch told me.”
“The witch?” I pause.That’s unexpected. I need to know more.
“Yeah, yeah, when I was a little girl.” She stops, eyeing me, wondering how much to share. “Ugh, no matter. You’ll be dead soon, might as well tell you. My mother took me to the village witch, you know, a fortune teller, you might say.”
“Uh-huh,” I encourage her to keep talking. My gaze slips to the door, but all seems calm and quiet up there.
“She told me that when I'd move to America, I’d meet a man who’d change my entire life,” she recalls, smiling dreamily to herself. “He’d chase me first, sending flowers and writing love notes and poetry. And that man is the one I’ll marry.”
“And you think Enzo’s the one?” I snort, thinking about how Enzo never understood poetry.
“He is,” she says definitively. “He did all that when we first started dating. He just used a fake signature to throw me off, to make it more fun.”
“What?”
“He would sign the love letters asIvan, of all names.” She laughs, her wild eyes twinkling with insanity. “Isn’t that funny? But I knew it was him. He just likes to have fun with these things.”
Ivan. Ivan Ratchekovsky. The guy from the freezer.
“Why would you assume they were from Enzo?”
“Because,” she says, stretching out the word, “we were together at the time. Who else would it be? He would see theflowers or notes displayed in my room and comment on them like it wasn’t him, but I knew it was him. He’s so sweet and playful.”
“Alexandra,” I breathe, putting the puzzle pieces together. “That wasn’t Enzo.”
“You’re so annoying, Valentina,” she chastises, pulling herself out of the seat. “You’re not going to convince me he didn’t love me. Didn’t you see how he kissed me? Me. Not you.”
She glances at the doorway, making a move toward it. “What’s taking him so long?”
“Alexandra!” I call, desperate to distract her.
Just then, a gunshot rings out, and I jump in my seat. One of the ropes snaps, loosening my bindings just a bit. She spins around, a maniacal smile on her face.
“See? He chose me. He’ll always choose me,” she gloats. Another gunshot stops her in her tracks, and she cocks her head, listening intently.
“You know what he told me?” I yell, trying to get her attention again. “That he’s never loved anyone except me. I’m the love of his life.”
She glances at me, ready to brush me off, but my smile floods her face with rage. Another gunshot rings out, and she rushes at me, slapping me so hard I’m knocked back onto the floor.
“Take it back!” she screeches. I flail wildly with my arms and hands crushed underneath me.
Somehow, I manage to roll over onto my side, still attached to the chair. Alexandra dives at me, slapping and kicking as I try to shield myself.
“Take it back! Take it back!” she screams, wrapping her fingers around my neck.