Page 119 of Twisted Addiction

Isabella’s hand lingered over mine, her thumb brushing gently as her eyes filled with unshed tears. “Your twenty-fifth birthday,” she said softly, voice trembling. “You were supposedto cut your cake with us. You said you’d attend Dmitri’s wedding... but you never came back. Not even after midnight.”

Nonna’s voice joined hers, quiet but heavy with the weight of months of fear. “Your father sent his men to search every corner of the city. When days turned into weeks, we called everyone we knew. And then—” she hesitated, her wrinkled hands tightening around her rosary— “we found out that monster had taken you to Lake Como. Forced you into marriage.”

“It was torture not knowing where you were,” Isabella whispered, her hands twisting together in her lap. “Every night, I kept thinking—what if he’d killed you?”

I forced a shaky smile, squeezing their hands, letting the warmth of their touch anchor me. “I’m here now,” I said softly. “That’s all that matters. And Isabella...” I gave her a weak grin. “I’m betting you’ve already made a feast to welcome me home.”

She laughed, swiping at her tears with the back of her hand. “Your favorites—lasagna, tiramisu, garlic bread—all waiting for you.”

“And Nonna,” I teased, smiling through my exhaustion, “you’re more beautiful than ever. Age be damned—you’re glowing.”

Nonna chuckled, eyes twinkling with that familiar mix of pride and mischief. “Flatterer. Wait until you taste what we’ve made. You’ll eat until you forget the world.”

For the first time in months, the walls around my heart began to crack.

The car filled with the comforting scent of Nonna’s lavender perfume, the faint hum of the city outside, and the warmth of the women who had raised me.

Home smelled of love, safety, and everything Lake Como had stolen from me.

As the car rolled through the quiet streets toward the Romano estate, I let my head rest against the window, the lights blurring past.

I had escaped one prison—but a new chapter was beginning. And this time, I would live it on my own terms.

At the mansion, I slipped into my old room, the familiar scent of lavender and oak grounding me instantly.

The walls had been freshly painted—a soft cream now, replacing the pale blue I remembered.

A new quilt adorned the bed, its vibrant patterns a splash of color against the muted walls.

On the nightstand, a framed photo of Mom and me at Coney Island smiled back at me, a small, grounding reminder of a life before Lake Como.

I fought thoughts of Dmitri—his touch, his lies—focusing instead on the divorce papers I expected, the tangible proof that I could finally reclaim my life.

In the shower, a sharp pang of panic seized me.

Blood trickled down my thigh, thin and dark, snaking toward the drain.

My chest constricted. Since when? Had it started in the chopper? Or in the car on the way here?

My pulse spiked, dread curling in my stomach. Would this bleeding ever stop? Maybe once I began the medication the Russian doctors prescribed... maybe then it would.

I rinsed quickly, water scalding against my skin, praying Mom and Nonna hadn’t noticed. The thought of their worry—or worse, their questions—made my cheeks burn. I just needed to get out, dry off, and breathe.

Calm down, Penelope. It’s going to be fine... it has to be.

The living room was a feast, a banquet of comfort and care: lasagna layered with rich cheese, garlic bread golden and crisp,tiramisu dusted with cocoa, and a bottle of red wine glinting under the chandelier.

I sank into my chair, inhaling deeply as the aroma of garlic and baked cheese filled the room. “There’s no way I’m finishing all this in five days,” I said, forcing a laugh to mask the knot in my chest.

My stomach growled, betraying me.

Isabella’s laugh rang out—soft, melodic, but tired around the edges. “Then we’ll help you try, sweetheart. You’ve lost weight... it’s time you started eating again.”

Nonna’s fork clinked softly against her plate.

Her gaze lingered on me—searching, heavy with questions she didn’t ask. “You need it after everything,” she said quietly. “Your eyes look... older.”

The words landed like stones. I managed a small smile, blinking back the sting in my eyes. “Guess I missed home cooking.”