by Sienna Mynx
"You did plenty for me," he mumbled. "I told you. We aren't done until I say we're done. I plan to see my Don and he'll decide your future." He picked up his gun and tucked it behind his back into his belt.
"I thought you said you called your boss last night, and he told you not to harm me?" she asked.
"I said I called my boss. My Don is the boss of all bosses," he winked. He started to the door and just as he reached for the door knob he paused. He cast his gaze back over his shoulder at her. "Wear your hair like you did before. Curly and with the pink stripes. Tonight. And the Shalimar. Wear it. You understand?"
She glanced at the bottle of perfume lotion and then to him. Before she could answer, he was gone. Adara dropped back on her pillows, both confused and curious. When she looked at her watch, she realized how late in the morning it was. There were a million and one things left for her to do. She found her dress on the floor and put it on. There were a few snags and rips to the shiny mini dress, but it was decent enough to escape this prison. She glanced to the bed at the stack of bills he left behind. It pissed her off that he tossed money at her like she was a piece of meat. But to his defense, he had no idea who she was. To him, she was nothing but some whore to enact his weird fantasies with.
One day she would take pleasure in teaching him a different lesson.
She collected the money. To leave it behind would blow her cover. When she found her purse and headed out of the door, she barely looked up because she was lost in thought. If she had, she would have been prepared for the man standing on the other side waiting. He was tall and lean with a birthmark that covered the right side of his face. He was there for her. She was certain.
"Carlo sent you?" she asked.
"I take you shopping and bring you back. Boss’s orders," the man replied.
"Change of plans," she said and started to walk off. He caught hold of her left elbow. It was a gentle gesture, not aggressive in nature. But the last of her patience snapped. She turned and shot her hand toward his throat. The young man gagged and stumbled back. The sudden eruption of violence overpowered him. Adara delivered three consecutive punches to his face and a chest kick. He went down. Then she fled. Without delay, she ran for the stairs and out of the hotel. She was down the street before she stopped to catch her breath. She dared to glance back. The man with the birthmark on his face was not in pursuit. A cab approached, and she waved down the driver. She got in the back seat and closed her eyes, but her heart kept racing.
***
"Boss, she's here."
Giovanni looked up from the ledger of checks he was signing. Dominic stood to his left with another folder of contracts that would take the rest of the day to review. He didn't have much time. The clan bosses would arrive after midnight for their meeting. Dividing up his territory legitimately on paper was a different task than taking it by gun. He had to get his house in order.
"We can stop for now, Gio," Dominic said.
He glanced up to his brother and gave him a weary smile. They could never stop. However, for his Bella, he would take this meeting and hold her hand. Armando had attempted to stop all imports and exports out of Sicily by the clans of the Camorra. Giovanni’s relationship with the La Cosa Nostra blocked him at every move. And he was only beginning. He relished the future and Armando's demise.
The war was on.
"Take the doctor out to the terrace and keep a man on her. Ask the Donna to come here. They will meet her together," Dominic said to Umberto.
"Gio, about the doctor. I forgot to tell you. With so much going on it slipped my mind."
Lorenzo looked up, and so did Giovanni. Nico walked in and sat in the chair near the window. Dominic gave a sly smile and shook his head as if he were about to tell a joke. "The doctor, she sort of looks like Fabiana."
"Huh?" Lorenzo asked.
Giovanni frowned. "Sort of? What does that mean?"
"It's weird. She has red hair and her eyes, her smile... it’s her mannerisms," Dominic started.
"Many women have red hair and smile," Lorenzo scoffed.
"You have to see her. She could be a relative they look so much alike."
"And you wait to tell me now?" Giovanni asked.
"With everything going on it slipped my mind," Dominic said.
"How the fuck would a detail like that slip your mind?" Giovanni asked. "My wife's therapist looks like her dead friend who she needs therapy for? How does that slip your mind?"
"Gio?" Mirabella said from the door.
He glanced over to Mirabella. She smiled at him. "The doctor is here. Let's go."
"Bella, maybe we should cancel the meeting today," he said and pushed back from the desk.
"No. She's here. Let's at least meet with her. Come..." Mirabella extended her hand. Giovanni approached his wife and kissed her hand, and then her cheek. He wasn't sure what to expect. He hated being caught off guard. They walked down the hall with Mirabella telling him of the latest thing his daughter had done. He listened and smiled, thinking that Eve was more like him than his sons.
A woman waited for them on the terrace. Her back was to them, and even from the back, her vibrant red hair and body shape reminded him of Fabiana. He glanced down at his wife to see if she had the same impression. She didn't at first. When the doctor turned and smiled at them Mirabella's hand fell from his. His wife’s face registered both shock and disbelief. Dominic was wrong. This woman held more than a mere resemblance. She embodied everything he could summon from memory about Fabiana physically, including her eyes.
"Ciao, mi chiamo Dr. Sera Marchetti. So nice to meet you both." The doctor said and extended her hand.
"Is this some kind of joke?" Mirabella asked her husband. "Did you do this?"
"I... I didn't know, Bella. I swear," he said.
"Is something wrong?" the doctor asked.
"Are you kidding? This is cruel, Gio. Cruel!" Mirabella turned on her heel and stormed off. The doctor looked on, alarmed. Giovanni had no choice but to go after his wife. He caught her in the kitchen by the arm.
"Why did you do this?" she asked with tears in her eyes.
"Bella, look at me. I didn't know she looked like Fabiana. Domi just told me when you walked in. I hadn't met the woman. Had I? How would I know?"
"So Domi did this to me? On purpose?"
"I'll send her away. I'm sorry."
"I'm so embarrassed. She looks just like her!" Mirabella paced. "I feel like someone just stabbed me in the heart all over again. How could she look just like her? That can't be a coincidence. Do you think it’s Isabella?"
"Isabella?" Giovanni frowned.
"She could have sent her. Sent her here to make me crazy. To kill me."
"Mirabella... what are you saying..."
"Maybe it's Kei. Maybe he isn't dead. Maybe he sent her..."
"Kei is dead."
"Maybe not! Or he could have hired her before, and they both... maybe they want to kill the kids."
"Stop!" He grabbed his wife by the arms. She had the madness in her eyes he'd seen before.
"She resembles her, yes. But not that much. I think you're making too much out of it. I will get rid of her. Okay?"
"I need to catch my breath." Mirabella shrugged off his touch and sat in a chair. She put her hand to her breast. Breathing came in short gasps. The anxiety walls crushed in on her lungs. Giovanni got down on one knee and kissed her free hand. The moment his lips brushed her knuckles the tightness in her chest eased. She smiled at his tenderness. What he didn't know was that she had a nightmare last night. A short, painful one. In her dream she watched Fabiana burn. How could that be a coincidence that she saw Fabiana today? Or her twin.
Giovanni looked up into her eyes with those violet gems of his, and she touched his scruffy cheek. When was the last time he shaved?
"Don't be upset. I truly didn't know," he said.
"I'm not mad at you, baby," she said to her husband. "I thought... I saw her and figured I was hallucinating. Seeing Fabiana a
gain. It hurt and felt crazy at the same time."
"Let me take you upstairs. We can talk. Or I can lay down with you. Do you feel stressed?"
"No. No, I'm fine. Don't worry. She came all this way to meet me. I'm all right."
"Bella? We are not meeting with this doctor. Even if she can help, you are too agitated."
"I am agitated, Gio. Because I keep being blindsided by...” she paused. She put a hand to her brow. “I’m not upset, sweetheart. Give me a second. I didn’t expect to see that woman, looking the way she does.”
“Let’s get rid of her.”
“No. That won’t solve anything. What I need to do is face my fears, not run and hide from them behind you. You need me healthy. My children do, too. Damn it; I won't cower."
"I can take better care of you than a stranger. We go to America and take a vacation. I'll make plans for us to leave in a few days."
"That soon?" Mirabella asked.
"Sooner if you wish," he kissed her thigh. “Just relax. Let me handle everything.”
"Va bene. We as a family do need a break. Catalina should take Rosetta and go to Paris. You and I can take the children to America. That will make me happy."
"Done!" he said with a lopsided grin. He stood. He towered over her as if he were her champion again. "I will get rid of that doctor!"
There was something in his tone and the look in his eyes as he said the words. She didn't like it. Of course, it wasn't the doctor’s fault for the coincidence. Her husband had to know that.
"Don't, Gio. I want to meet with the doctor."
Giovanni's smile faded.
"I won't let you and Dominic decide who gets to step into my head and analyze me. Not anymore. This is my choice. I want to meet with her. Alone."
"Alone? No. Definitely not."
"Fine. Talk to her with me. But after you're done, she and I meet privately. It's how therapy should be. I need to work with her without you looking over my shoulder. I can do this. I can."
He pulled his hand away and wiped it down his face. The muscle in his jaw flexed. He was ready to reject her reasoning but didn't know exactly how to do so without sounding like a heel.
"You're certain?" he asked.
"I'll prove it," she stood and took his hand. She led him her way. So many emotions gnawed away at her insides as they walked down the hall to the terrace. Fabiana's resurrection had occurred many nights in her dreams. To see her friend or someone who looked similar, had shaken her to the center of her being. The inexplicable sadness she felt as she approached the doppelgänger made her eyes well with tears. Mirabella blinked to disperse them. If Giovanni sensed her distress, the doctor would be sent away at gunpoint. And deep down inside she didn't want the doctor to go. She felt desperate to know more about the woman. Could it be a long lost relative? Fabiana had a hard childhood and had escaped abuse by her stepfather. Often Fabiana would speak of her relatives in Italy. But she never named a person or family. Could this doctor be her? Mirabella felt her hands shaking. The anxiety was so tight in her chest it was as if she had run up six flights of stairs. She breathed slowly and managed to mask her distress. The doctor waited. The woman looked genuinely concerned.
"Dottore, buongiorno I'm Mirabella Battaglia. Prego. Welcome to my home," she said and extended her hand.
"Mirabella, so nice to finally meet you." The doctor shook her hand, and air kissed either side of Mirabella's cheeks. "Forgive me, but I'm confused. Did I do something to upset you earlier?"
"No. I, uh, no. You remind of someone."
"Fabiana? Your partner?" she asked.
Mirabella glanced to Giovanni who was now scowling at the woman. She then looked back to the doctor. "Yes. You know about Fabiana?"
"Dominic Battaglia told me that I resemble her. I think it's the hair."
"It's more than the hair," Giovanni said.
"Let's sit down and talk," Mirabella gestured toward the wicker chairs at the edge of the terrace. The doctor nodded and walked over.
Before Mirabella could follow Giovanni grabbed her hand. "I'm not sure about her."
"I'll decide. Okay? Please?"
He relented. They joined the doctor and sat across from her.
"So, how does this work?" Mirabella asked.
"It typically depends on the patient. I'd be happy to share my experience with patients who suffer from depression, anxiety, or PTSD. Anything you want to know. Or we can just talk about you, and how you feel about therapy."
"I think we begin with you telling us who you are, Dr. Marchetti," Giovanni stated.
The doctor looked up at him and smiled. "Sure. First, please feel free to call me Sera. I live in Firenze. My practice often takes me from Italy to Sweden. I..."
"That is about your work. I know about you work, that's why we invited you. I want to know who you are. Why you show up here looking as you do, to work with my wife, knowing who we are."
"Gio..." Mirabella put a hand on his knee.
"Let her answer the question, Bella."
The doctor nodded. "I don't have a husband or children. My parents were born in this region of Italy. I've always loved it here. I wanted to be close to them. I've spent more time in school than in politics or the social scene. So, I'm not truly familiar with your family. I have done my research since my talk with Dominic Battaglia. I understand your suspicion. Your family is very complicated."
Mirabella stared at her husband from her corner vision. He didn't seem convinced. But she knew that the doctor’s direct manner garnered her a bit of respect. Giovanni preferred people who looked him in the eye and spoke directly.
"I've had many successes in clinical practice. But I'm not as accomplished as I would like to be. My work is my life. It's all I do."
"Why do you think you can help me?" Mirabella asked.
"You were kidnapped. Before you were abducted, your best friend died in front of you. There is what we call Normal Stress Response. I've seen many patients with it."
"What is it?" Mirabella asked.
"It's when healthy adults who have been exposed to a single traumatic event experience bad memories and nightmares, feelings of unreality, of body tension and distress."
"Yes. That's how I feel most of the time, well before, and maybe still," Mirabella said. "Is that what I have?"
"Those kind of people typically recover in a few weeks. It's been several months for you. I can't diagnose you from a single conversation. I need to know more.”
"Try harder!" Giovanni snapped.
The doctor smiled in the way that Fabiana often did when she suppressed her own biting come back. "You may have Acute Stress disorder, which is a form of PTSD, but not as severe."
"What's the cure?" Giovanni demanded.
"Gio!" Mirabella said and put her hand over this.
"It's okay. It's a good question. Treatment includes being removed from the scene of trauma. Immediate support of your family and therapy to help balance out grief and anxiety."
"Grief? Funny, that's the one word we never use. But that's how I feel. Some days. Like I'm grieving." She looked over to her husband. "And coming here, last night with us, being in Chianti, I feel less tension. She's right."
"Melanzana was not the scene of the trauma," Giovanni said.
"But it’s close to where everything began," Mirabella said.
"So we don't need her then. We will just take some time away from Sorrento, and you will get better."
"Not exactly," the doctor said. "Donna Battaglia, that's what they told me to call you."
"Call me Mirabella," she said.
"Mirabella, you need more than a vacation for Acute Stress Disorder. When trauma is lasting, like yours appears to be, there is therapy that must be done to deal with the many layers of the human mind. A healing where we separate the event from your day to day life. And I'm not sure without knowing more about you if you have a more advanced stage of PTSD or something not as complex."
"I've seen a therapist before. My issues then wer
e different."
"Why did you see a therapist in the past?" the doctor asked.
Mirabella looked to Giovanni who had never bothered to ask her the question before. He now stared at her as if he too wanted her answer.
"My grandfather died, I moved to New York, and I was... lonely, depressed. My friend... ah Fabiana, she recommended I see one. She was... in therapy for her own reasons."
"Did he die violently?" the doctor asked.
"No, of course not," Giovanni answered for her.
"Yes, well sort-of," Mirabella answered. She avoided his questioning stare. "He died defending me."
"Defending you? What does that mean?" Giovanni asked. "You said he had a heart attack."
"It's okay if you don't want to speak on it just yet," the doctor said.
"Shut the hell up!" Giovanni dismissed the doctor. He turned Mirabella's face to force her to look at him. She couldn't conceal her shame now. "What happened?"
"He had a heart attack while defending me. He lapsed into a coma and never woke up. He died," she said.
"Defending you from what? From who?" Giovanni asked.
"Maybe we can talk about this at another time. When you are ready..."
"I said shut up!" Giovanni shouted at the doctor. "From who, Mirabella?"
"I'll tell you about it privately. Not now, please."
"We're done!" Giovanni stood.
"Gio! No." Mirabella stood. But Giovanni had already snapped his fingers. His men came from the distance and started toward them. She forced her husband to look at her. "We'll talk. Let me finish with the doctor. Okay?"
He stared down at her. He shook his head as if disappointed. But he wiped a trace of tears from her cheek with his thumb. "Why not tell me any of this, after all we've been through?"
"I don't know," she admitted.
Giovanni put up his hand and the men backed off. He turned and walked away. Mirabella smiled for the doctor. "Let's take a walk."
"Are you okay?" the doctor asked.
"He'll be fine. Walk with me," Mirabella said.
The doctor nodded and stood. But she kept looking at the men who were close enough to see their eyes. They glared at her. Mirabella touched the doctor’s shoulder. "They won't do anything to you."