Page 15 of Merciless Queen (Moretti Mafia #1)

Harlow

Serena Moore was a middle-aged woman with light brown hair, tanned skin, and kind, dark eyes.

Lizzy said she would understand what I needed and would be able to help me process my trauma.

I didn’t know how a woman who didn’t understand what I experienced could help me, but I’d give her a chance for Lizzy.

I didn’t want to talk to her, but I also wanted people to stop hovering over me like I would break.

I didn’t want to be here. Why did I agree to do this when I never wanted to?

I sat on the edge of the couch, ready to run if this went south.

The room was too calm, and the clock on the eggshell white wall was too loud.

There was a fake plant, a shrub, in the corner collecting dust. She had two bookshelves with a variety of self-help and psychology books with paperweights scattered around.

I focused on the calendar with today's date and a quote. Today’s quote was, You will smile again .

Would I?

“I’m Dr. Serena Moore,” she said softly. “How are you?”

I shrugged. There were no words I had to share. Not now. I didn’t trust her.

“That's okay. We can go at your own pace. This space can be whatever you need it to be.”

At least she didn’t tell me I was safe like everyone else.

Everyone kept telling me I was safe and that everything was over, but it wasn’t.

I might’ve been in a fancy house, but I wasn’t safe.

There was a shiny target painted on my back, and Vincenzo was waiting for his chance to strike.

I wouldn’t be free until he was dead—or I was.

“We can start wherever you’re comfortable,” she said, crossing her left leg over her right, waiting for an answer. She wouldn’t get one.

I kept my lips sealed.

She scribbled something on her pad. The sound was similar to nails on a chalkboard.

I didn’t know why it made my skin crawl as much as it did.

She was analyzing me. It was her job, but it felt off.

Dr. Moore wanted me to spill my guts like I was a sinner in church, but I couldn’t.

How did I tell a woman I just met about the years of torment I endured?

The pain? The loss? This was a job for her.

“What’s on your mind?” she attempted again. Did she ever give up?

She didn’t want to know what was going on inside my mind.

It was a dark place filled with even darker memories.

She wanted to morph me into something she could understand; something that only I would be able to understand.

There was a hurricane of emotions in my mind.

She wanted answers, but so did I. I could just talk, but that was something I wasn’t ready for. I didn’t want to relive it.

“I saw you look at my books,” she continued. “They are helpful. You can borrow some if you’d like, and during your next session, we can talk about it.”

Next time. There wouldn’t be a next time.

This was a mistake in the first place, but Lizzy wanted me to do it.

Caterina implied she wanted it done as well, but she didn’t exactly say it.

Talking meant remembering. I already did enough of that on my own.

I didn’t want anyone else to see past the cracks.

I tugged the sleeve of the cardigan, picking at a frayed strand.

It was a mistake because this was what she was looking at.

Every little thing I did, she was assessing so she could diagnose me.

I didn’t need a diagnosis. I already knew what was wrong with me.

A fancy doctor didn’t need to tell me I was traumatized or screwed up.

“You know, that shade of blue looks really nice. It reminds me of the summer sky. My favorite color is teal. What’s your favorite color?”

I frowned. It was a simple question. I could answer a simple question like that. “Green,” I whispered, my voice meek, almost inaudible.

She smiled, her fingers folding together. “Is there a particular shade of green you like?”

I shook my head. “Green reminds me of nature, of peace.” Green reminded me of my mom and the life we had before it was taken. We liked going to the park and taking walks in botanical gardens.

I shifted uncomfortably on the couch and brushed a strand of hair behind my ear.

Serena gave me an inquisitive look, her eyes landing on my hand.

I pulled my hand down in front of my face, wondering what she was looking at, before I remembered the diamond ring on my hand.

My brows furrowed. The ring wasn’t as heavy as Vincenzo’s was—physically or mentally—but it was still a symbol that I belonged to someone, only Caterina was painted in a different color.

“You’re getting married?” she asked as if she was trying to process the diamond on my finger. It was like she recognized the ring. I nodded. “Caterina?”

I nodded again before taking a deep breath. “S-She said it would keep me safe.”

“She is marrying you as in…she’s using you?

” I shrugged. It seemed that was the appropriate word for it, but why did she sound so upset over it?

Serena cleared her throat and closed her notebook.

“You did great today, Harlow. We will meet again in a couple days. If you need me for any other reason, just reach out to me.”