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“You were getting love letters and flowers signed Ivan and thought it was me?” I ask again in disbelief. The connection comes so quickly that I almost laugh.
Ivan Ratchekovsky—he really was in love with her, but there’s no point in telling her now.
“I’m sorry you misunderstood,” I say with finality and leave her to sort out the mess in her head.
I head to the stairs, desperate to find my girls and make sure they’re safe. Behind me, Alexandra starts weeping, but I refuse to turn around.
Whatever she’s dealing with, it has nothing to do with me anymore. The only thing I’m going to do now is hand her over to a nice psychiatric facility.
“Enzo!” she calls, forcing me to stop. I’m halfway up the stairs, so close to the exit now, but I turn around. She’s slumped against the wall, eyeing me sadly.
“I’ll always love you,” she whispers. I can’t bring myself to break her heart again, so I just nod and turn my back on her.
As soon as I step out of the cabin, a sense of peace hits me. Having gone through that horrible ordeal really showed me what matters—my girls.
And that includes Alessia as well, whether or not Alexandra was telling the truth about her being mine.
The helm looks empty when I peek through the windows, but I know they’re in there. I can hear Valentina softly humming a song through the open door.
I quietly peek inside to find Matilda curled up in her arms as Lenny strokes her back. Alessia lies on the floor next to them, keeping her distance.
That poor girl. What have the first seven years of her life been like?
I shudder at the thought, resolving to find a way to help her through it.
Whatever it takes, my girls will be taken care of.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Valentina
I hum a pop song softly,rocking Matilda in my arms. Her crying has died down now, and she’s staring blankly at the wall, processing everything she witnessed tonight.
The sun has started to rise, illuminating the tiny cabin we’re hiding out in, and my gaze drifts toward Alessia again.
I can’t take my eyes off her. She’s so delicate and tiny, even being a year older than Matilda by my calculations.
Like a little bird.
“Alessia,” I whisper, and her eyes meet mine. “Would you like a hug?”
She closes her eyes again, not answering me, and I wonder if she might not speak English. Alexandra went to school in America, though, so that’s probably not the case.
I sigh, accepting the fact that it’s going to take more than the offer of a hug for her to open up.
“Mama,” Matilda whispers, glancing up at me.
“Yes, honeybee?”
“Can Alessia come stay with us?” she asks innocently, glancing at the girl. “She told me her mama isn’t very nice to her.”
So she does talk—just not to me.
“We’ll see about that when we get home, okay?”
The door creaks open, and all three of us tense, ready for the next layer of hell, but Enzo’s exhausted face appears in the doorway instead.
“Hi, girls,” he breathes, slipping into the cabin and falling onto the floor. He’s covered in scratches, bruises, and bite marks like I am.