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This was the second time I’d seen him react so carelessly with violence. He had such a polished façade, but maybe that’s all it was—a façade that hid a darker persona.
What had Matteo meant by Nico not being the villain? I looked at Dario with new eyes.
This man had stabbed someone in front of me in cold blood. This man had been about to choke his own brother to death.
He was scary, a monster, and I couldn’t help but wonder what plans he had for me. I couldn’t help but feel fear.
Last night, he had protected me. He had been gentle and reassuring.
I’d seen a side of him that I didn’t know existed. I felt like those moments had been a dream and the rude awakening was knowing that I was married to a psychopath and having his baby.
I thought back to the photos in the boathouse. Perhaps, they could be my safety net. I could find a way to tip someone off that they were there, see if that implicated him in anything. It was worth a shot, right?
“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he said once we were back on the boat.
I didn’t know what to say, so I stayed silent.
“My mother,” he started and then paused. Finally he said, “She’s a sensitive subject.”
“What happened to her?”
“She committed suicide.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“Most people don’t…she was chronically depressed when she wasn’t on her pills. But a ball of sunshine when she was feeling better. That day she died…” he shook his head, memories overwhelming him.
I waited for him to continue but he didn’t. Instead, he just walked away and left me standing there.
Any other wife would have gone to comfort him, but I knew he wanted to be alone. He didn’t want to appear vulnerable.
I understood what it felt like to lose one’s mother…and from the sound of it, it seemed that he lost his when he was quite young. I couldn’t imagine how he’d grown up.
He never spoke about his childhood, but knowing his brother, and rumors of the person his father was, led me to believe that his childhood hadn’t been all sunshine and rainbows.
I thought of what he had said. His father had thrown him into the pool when he knew he couldn’t swim. It was likely one small tale from a terrible childhood.
Was the violence inside of him just a byproduct of his environment or was that who he was? It seemed that he loved his mother—fiercely.
Was that just who Dario was? On one side of the coin was a man who loved and the other a man who only knew how to hate?
He’d never harmed me. He had had plenty of chances.
And he hadn’t let me die. He could have.
Maybe he just didn’t want my blood on his hands, or just maybe I could trust him, even understand him…and maybe even love him… if I just gave him a chance.
I touched my belly. I couldn’t take chances. I had another life to protect.
I couldn’t let my conflicting feelings for him make me vulnerable. I couldn’t start caring about him. I couldn’t start to empathize with the man who had blackmailed me into marrying him.
And if he knew that I was carrying his baby, I knew my chances of getting away from him were zilch. I didn’t know what to do.
Later that day as I rested in bed after feeling a little queasy, I heard voices and looked out the little windows that lined one side of the boat. Someone I didn’t recognize had shown up with a car and a package for Dario.
Their voices were low and at one point, they turned and looked in my direction. The man didn’t take his eyes off me as Dario spoke to him. He only nodded and then abruptly walked away.
“Who was that?” I asked when Dario came to find me.