“That doesn’t mean I like it.”
“I don’t like it either, but someone has to,” I said, then tickled Simona’s belly, making her smile.
“Right?”
“Father should never have forced you into this position. You are too young to take care of two small children, who are not even your own.” It was beginning to bother me that everyone kept saying this. Mom, now Christian, and even Alessio kept calling them her children. We hadn’t been married long, but I wished he could see how much I already cared for them. “I can do it, Christian,” I blurted out.
“It’s not easy, but I’m stubborn.”
“True.”
I gave him an indignant look, but I couldn’t stay mad at him seeing the smile that had accompanied my childhood. Once I finished with Simona, I put her in her crib. I could tell she was tired. She had refused to come down for her midday nap. She cried when I stepped back, so I leaned over her and rocked the crib until her eyes drooped once more. But the moment I tried to leave, she started wailing again. This time I did not go to her, hoping she would settle down. Some people said you have to let the children calm down and let them cry, but I found that incredibly difficult to do. “She’s really demanding,” Christian commented, leaning against the door with his arms crossed. I took Simona in my arms, trying to figure out what was wrong. She continued to whine, then without warning she spat on me and herself.
“Eww,” Christian said.
With a sigh, I changed her clothes before putting her back in her crib. This time she calmed down after a couple of minutes. I motioned Christian to be quiet as we left and closed the door. He looked at the vomit on my shirt and hair.
“Aren’t you going to change?” I huffed. “No. I like to smell like a bar on Sunday mornings.”
“Like you know what a bar smells like.” I didn’t. I had never been allowed in, and not necessarily because of my age. Alessio probably wouldn’t allow me to set foot in there once I turned 21. I entered the bedroom, trying not to pay too much attention to my ruined shirt. The smell was bad enough. Christian looked around in curiosity. Would Alessio be upset if I brought someone else into his private rooms? He and Christian had worked together for years, but they certainly weren’t friends.
“I need to take a quick shower. Can you check on Simona if she starts complaining again? I’m afraid she’ll throw up again.”
“Sure. I’ll wait for you in the hallway while you get ready. After all, I can’t let you out of my sight without a bodyguard.” I rolled my eyes and headed for the bathroom. It was not easy to take off my clothes without having vomit on my skin. Throwing on a robe, I hurried down to the laundry room to put the dirty clothes in the washing machine, despite Christian’s questioning look. I breathed a sigh of relief when the hot water finally ran down my body, dispersing the lingering smell of vomit. I was drying my hair when I heard some commotion. Turning it off, I listened. A distorted male voice reached me. I took a step forward toward the bedroom door.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Alessio growled. I put down the hair dryer and rushed out of the bathroom, wrapped only in my towel, my hair still damp. What I saw in the bedroom shocked me. Alessio pushed Christian against the wall, his forearm stuck in my brother’s throat. Alessio’s gaze struck me. Slowly his eyes slid over my half-clothed state, and his expression turned to pure rage. He threw Christian to the ground, pulled the knife from its holster, and knelt on my brother’s chest. My blood froze. Alessio pressed the gleaming blade against Christian’s throat. The blood gushed out immediately. What was going on here?
I rushed forward and grabbed his arm, trying to pull him away.
“Alessio, what are you doing? Stop it! Stop it, please!” Alessio leaned down, bringing his face closer to Christian, ignoring my futile attempts to stop him.
“What the fuck are you doing alone with my wife?” It took a couple of beats for his words to filter through the fog of my terror. “Alessio, have you lost your mind? That’s my brother! Let him go now!”
Christian tried to free himself, but with Alessio’s weight on his chest and the knife against his carotid artery, he was trapped. He could not speak either. His face was getting redder and redder, and his eyes were frantic.
“Please, please let him go. Whatever you think is happening, it’s not!” Alessio did not react. A drawl resounded in the hallway. I looked toward the door, but saw nothing. Alessio froze, following my gaze. It had to be Daniel. Alessio suddenly let go of Christian and leapt to his feet, hiding the knife behind his back a moment before Daniele appeared in the doorway.
His hair was tousled and his face sleepy. He shifted his gaze from Christian on the floor to me kneeling beside him to Alessio.
Christian pressed his palm to his bleeding throat so that Daniel could see nothing.
Alessio held his knife hand behind his back as he approached Daniel. The previous terrifying fury was hidden behind a pleasant mask. He crouched down in front of his son. Daniele looked at me, obviously uncertain of what was going on. That made two of us. My heart was pounding in my chest and terror still clogged my throat, but I managed to smile.
“Why don’t you go to your room and play another game? I’ll take you to bed soon,” Alessio murmured in a forcibly calm voice. Daniele clutched his tablet and slowly walked away. I heard the door to his room a few seconds later and Alessio turned toward us, closing the door. Christian staggered to his feet, his body tense. I positioned myself between my brother and my husband, determined to stop Alessio from another attack. Alessio’s eyes pierced me with a twinge of cold fear.
He looked only at Christian.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw my brother draw his knife.