Valentina: Woman Empowered (Tied In Steel Book 1)

by Mj Fields

  However, hands got slicked, and as real as the world is round, she was allowed back in.

  She pled and begged me to accept the lawyer she and her family had sent.

  I turned away.

  I again told her to leave.

  She flipped even worse that time and was put on the hospital’s no-trespass list.

  Two days later, she was kicked out of Central Reception and Assignment Facility in Mercer County when I demanded no visitors. I was kicked out, as well, and sent directly to max when I sent two men to the hospital.

  When I arrived at New Jersey State Prison in Trenton, I filled out paperwork to ensure no one whose last name was Segretti or Steel was allowed contact.

  All those saints and the Virgin Mother who Valentina prayed to that day at my bedside must have been looking out for Valentina, granting her prayers in a way she wouldn’t understand, yet granting her the peace she deserved. There was no contact, outside of the letters I received and never read.

  Now I have spent in nine years and three months in New Jersey State Prison. The only prison that caters solely to maximum security inmates. Ninety-nine percent of those are violent criminals.

  I am one of them.

  In nine years, I have been stabbed over seventy times and had stitches at the prison hospital thirty-five times, while the others I did myself. I have had bones broken, been jumped by groups of men from several different gangs, busted lips, and I have even been held down and fucked.

  Tomorrow was to be my release day.

  Tomorrow, I was to walk out with a taxi ride to Newark and a plane ticket to Italy, where I would go to grow old and die, or just die.

  Therefore, I am more than surprised when I am given my walking papers a day early, and one day in the United States to get my affairs in order.

  I’m not a stupid man. I know how this comes about, just like I already know how I am going to deal with it.

  I will let her spit in my face, or beat my ass, or both.

  You see, I was a stupid man for believing the saints and Virgin Mother had answered her prayers that day. They had actually answered mine. She left.

  Today, today is the day a woman will learn the saints and the Virgin Mother were not telling her no. They were telling her I wasn’t the man for her. They were telling her she would have her chance to get back at me. And I was going to make it easier on her.

  Standing in my cell, I am dressed for the first time in clothes that aren’t orange or economy cotton. The material of my own clothes is soft against my skin, though they have seemed to have gotten smaller in the back, chest, and arms. I’m wearing leather on my feet again, and not canvas.

  As I walk through the corridors, I look down until I come to the end of the steel cages where the one man I respect here, Crowe, stands and gives me a nod.

  “Till we meet again.”

  “Till we meet again.” I nod and keep walking.

  The sounds of the gates unlocking as I pass through each one should be music to my ears. It is not.

  Once outside the first gate, I am handed a backpack and an envelope.

  I have lost my manners. There are no thank yous within these walls, so I don’t thank the guard. It’s hard to tell if he’s corrupt like so many other inside, passing drugs and SIM cards amongst the convicts for extra money to afford them their own habits and luxuries.

  I walk outside toward the main gate, not expecting one of those theatrical moments you read about in books or hear about in inspirational movies about men who have been rehabilitated or have come to find Jesus after doing their time. There is no silver lining or beautiful life waiting for me beyond these gates.

  As I get closer, the armed guard in the tower above looks down at me as the gate opens.

  Walking through them, I watch as a black Lincoln pulls up, the license plate reads: STEEL08. Then I take a deep breath when the window is rolled down and Vincent leans out and nods.

  I walk to the car and open the passenger side door, not knowing what to expect. When I get in, I am pleased she’s not inside.

  Vincent takes the toothpick out of his mouth. “A day early?”

  “Apparently so,” I sigh out.

  “My day off. You lucked out,” he says, putting the car in drive.

  “Sorry to intrude,” I tell him.

  “You don’t owe me an apology. Tammy, on the other hand, she’s been waiting all week for me to take her out on my boat, throw a line in, catch some dinner, and then, well, you know.”

  “Well, when you see your girlfriend again, tell her I apologize.”

  A phone sounds. I believe it’s coming through the car’s speakers.

  He looks at the computer monitor, hits a button, and then pops in an earpiece.

  “Yes?” He pauses. “It’s fine.” He pauses again. “Of course.”

  He hangs up and looks at me. “Have to make a pit stop before heading to …” He smiles. “Where are you staying tonight?”

  “Somewhere close to JFK. I fly out tomorrow.”

  “Deported?”

  I nod.

  “I’ll gladly take you out to dinner tonight, but how about some fast food along the way?”

  I look at him from out of the corner of my eye.

  “Tacos?” he offers with a shit-ass grin.

  “Sounds good,” I tell him, and he laughs.

  After eating too many damn tacos, I get sleepy.

  “I’m going to close my eyes for a few minutes.”

  He nods. “All right.”

  When he stops the car and puts it in park, I open my eyes and look out the window.

  “Where are we?”

  He doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t even look at me when he gets out.

  I watch him walk around the car and in the direction of what appears to be a church of some sort. I see a sign that says St. Mary’s.

  I get a sick feeling in my stomach as I watch the steel doors open and prepare for the worst, for her. Instead, I see two little girls run out in navy uniforms.

  Both girls appear to be the same age, and both have long, braided, black pigtails. As they get closer, I see they appear to be twins. I surmise that this Tammy that Vincent was talking about is his wife, and that the two have children.

  When he opens the door for them, they bound in, giggling. I look back at them as they buckle themselves into their seatbelts.

  When Vincent opens his door slides in, one of them asks, “Mom busy?”

  “She is,” he answers, looking back. “Are you both buckled?”

  “We are,” the other seems to mock him.

  The one who spoke first tells her sister, “Be nice. It’s his day off.”

  “She was supposed to take us to get ice cream,” the more mischievous one says.

  “Was not,” her sister again calls her out.

  Vincent puts the car in drive and laughs.

  “You gonna introduce us to the new guy?” Miss Mischievous asks.

  “Just a friend of mine who needs a ride,” Vincent tells her.

  “You got no car?” she asks me.

  I shake my head in answer.

  “You can’t talk either?” she mocks as she laughs.

  “Manners, little lady,” Vincent interjects. “Tell me about your day.”

  Not wanting to intrude on their private time any more than I already have, I reach into my pocket and pull out the earbuds and MP3 player I bought eight years ago to drown out the noise. I notice a pair of sunglasses in the bag as well and put them on. Then I close my eyes and listen to Puccini.

  When we slow and begin to turn, I open my eyes again and look out the window, seeing the ocean. We then pull up to a gate where Vincent punches in a code. I think how exquisite his life has turned out. That is confirmed when we pull up in front of a beautiful home. He indeed has made a good life for himself here.

  He gets out of the car and shuts the door behind him.

  I feel a tap on my shoulder and turn around while pulling the earbud out of my ear.
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  “It was nice to meet you, mister.” Miss Mischievous smiles. Or, at least I think it’s her.

  “You as well,” I tell her.

  I look at the other girl who just looks at me. I nod. She nods back.

  “It was nice to meet you, as well.”

  She tips her head to the side and looks at me even more oddly.

  “Come on,” the other girl says, tugging on her hand.

  Capitolo Quattro

  Valentina

  I walk out the door and see my girls running toward me. Opening my arms to them, within seconds, one is on each side. I pull them into a hug and look up to see Vincent standing in front of me, looking at me. I notice immediately he has no sunglasses on shielding his eyes and that he looks like he has something to say.

  “Ice cream! We want ice cream!”

  “Everything all right?” I ask Vincent.

  When he just stares blankly at me, I know something is off.

  “Girls, run inside. Aunt Joe is here, I’m sure.” I don’t have to try to convince them when they run into the house at the mere mention of Aunt Joe’s name.

  “What is it?”

  His eyes shift toward the car, where I see a man inside.

  Immediately, realization sets in. I know who it is.

  As I begin walking past Vincent, he reaches for my arm, grabbing it lightly. I turn swiftly and grab his arm.

  “Goddammit, Valentina,” he says right before I twist and sweep his legs out from under him, a move he taught me, before proceeding to the car.

  Before I get to it, the door is opened, and he steps out.

  Franco.

  My heart stops.

  His clothes cling to his body tighter than I ever remember him wearing them. He looks bigger, older, stronger, and worn. His hair is shorter.

  I had years to prepare for what I would say to him, yet no words come out of my mouth. Instead, I inhale slowly, trying to put air back in my lungs, the air that has been knocked out by the sight of him.

  I want to be angry at him, to slap him, to tell him how much he hurt me. At the same time, I want to tell him I understand. I understand him and forgive him. I want him to wrap those strong arms around me, to lift me, to place his lips to mine. I want him to whisper how he has missed me, that he loves me, that he is sorry, and that he will make it up to me, to us, for the rest of his very long life.

  “I have no holes in me today, Valentina.” When he says my name, it’s the most beautiful my name has sounded in nearly ten years.

  “I see that,” I manage to say.

  I stand still, waiting for him to move toward me.

  “I won’t go down as easily as your man.”

  Man is said in disgust, which gives me a little hope.

  “I’m not her man,” Vincent says, coming up from behind me. “I’m her protector.”

  Franco lifts his sunglasses and cocks his head, giving Vincent a look of inquisition.

  Vincent huffs. “Are you—”

  “Please leave us,” I cut him off.

  When Vincent walks away, Franco watches him.

  “Whatever you have to say, please do so now.”

  He still doesn’t look at me, and I am still waiting for him to.

  “I know it was you, or your family, who had me released a day early.”

  “I had no knowledge.”

  He finally looks at me as he pulls up his sleeves then leans against the car. “I don’t believe you.”

  “My word is my word, Franco,” I assure him as I look over his arms, seeing scars. I reach out to touch them.

  A growl leaves his chest. “Don’t.”

  I step back.

  Neither of us say a word.

  He looks at me again. “Whatever you have to say—”

  “Where does one start after all these years, Franco? Do I begin with: how could you have done that to me? Should I ask how you could have all but thrown me out of the hospital? Should I ask how you could forbid me, and then my family, from seeing you, helping you? Should I ask why you never wrote?”

  “All those questions were answered nine years ago. All but one question was answered already. I wanted you to leave and never look back.”

  “And you thought I would walk away from the man I loved?”

  “He died when he betrayed you. He died—”

  “To protect me! To avenge his sister’s death!” I step forward now, ignoring the growl meant to warn. I grab his arm, my hand covering the scars on it. “Tell me, Franco, who did this to you? You tell me now so I can lose nearly ten years of my life, our lives, to make them pay for what they have done to you.”

  He nods toward the house. “You’ve moved on. You have a family, Valentine. I’ll tell you the same thing I did then. Walk away and never look back.”

  “Is that what you intend on doing?” I ask, and he nods. “You intend to walk away from your family and never look back?”

  “I have a one-way ticket to my family.”

  “So, you’ll walk away from me, from your daughters?”

  As soon as the words leave my mouth, his knees buckle, but he quickly recovers.

  “You still deny them when you’ve been face to face with them? Seen your own eyes, your own smile staring back at you?”

  He looks up at the sky, averting eye contact with me, and his chest rises and falls rapidly.

  When he says nothing, my blood boils for me, but more for them.

  With both fists balled, I strike his chest. “You’ll continue to deny the fact you’re a father, Franco?”

  When he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t answer, I strike him again harder this time as the burn of tears fills my eyes.

  “I waited all my life for what was right before me. I then waited nine more years and three months for you. I have swallowed back the hurt”—again, I strike him, and this time, he encircles my wrists—“the hurt caused by you for not writing me back after I told you I was carrying your child. Then again after I wrote and told you it wasn’t one but two.” I pull my hands back and push them against his chest again. A painful groan escapes him now, but the tears in my eyes shield me from seeing his face. “Two little ladies, Franco. Two damn yous.”

  I feel him press his forehead against mine and whimper at the connection, the gesture, the warmth of a man, my love’s skin against mine. Then I feel his lips against the bridge of my nose.

  In his kiss, I feel hope and love and family. And I feel like, once again, I will feel that I no longer have to bear the weight of the world on my shoulders alone. I feel like I have my true partner back. The man who knows me better than anyone. I feel the kiss of my mother, my father, my brother. I feel that all I have lost has returned.

  When he steps back, I wipe my eyes and look up at him, realizing he didn’t know they were his.

  “I wrote you. I sent letters. I sent pictures.”

  I stop rambling when he reaches through the car window and pulls out a bag. When he holds it out to me, I take it and open it.

  Inside are hundreds of letters, all unopened.

  He didn’t know.

  I hand him back the bag, and he puts it in the car before turning and looking at me. He takes a deep breath, and I ready myself to hear the words I have longed to hear.

  Instead, I hear the door slam behind me and little feet.

  I look up at him as his eyes widen when he sees what he knows now are the flesh of his flesh.

  “Don’t do this, Valentina.” He pulls his sunglasses down, covering his eyes, unable to mask his emotions.

  “We have plenty of time for you to get used to the idea,” I assure him.

  “Hey, mister!” Cesca yells as her little feet carry her quickly toward us. “Mamma Joe wants to know if you’re staying for dinner.”

  “She’s making sauce, and we’re helping,” Toinette adds.

  “Please let her know I appreciate the offer, but I won’t be able to stay.”

  They are now beside me. I smile at them as I put a hand on each of t
heir shoulders, comforting them, even though I’m not sure they recognize their own father.

  Cesca walks up and hands him a cookie. “They’re delicious.”

  “They appear to be so,” he says as he takes it. “Thank you.”

  When she smiles at him, I am sure she knows who he is.

  “Better with milk,” Toinette tells him.

  He nods to her. “I bet they are.”

  “You could come inside,” she says, swinging her foot against the driveway and kicking a stone toward him.

  “I wish I could, but I have somewhere I need to go. Could you ladies ask Vincent if he’d come out and give me a ride?”

  “Sure,” they say together. “Nice to meet you.” Then they turn and walk toward the house.

  I don’t stop them. I told him we have time, and we do.

  “Do they know about me?” he asks.

  I nod my reply.

  “They know I killed a man?”

  “Francesca and Antoinette …” I pause when he sucks in a sharp breath. “They know their father did what he had to do to ensure our safety.”

  When he doesn’t say anything, I hear the door to the house shut.

  “They’ll love you so much, Franco.”

  His jaw twitches as he works the muscles in them.

  “I can imagine this is a lot to process,” I begin.

  “You fucking think? You …” He stops then turns his back to me.

  I try my best to let all the love I have for him wash away all the anger and the rage building up inside that he didn’t open the letters. That he didn’t even bother to worry about me. Eight years of practice in putting others first, coupled with eight years of dreaming how this situation would one day play out into a beautiful life, allows me to do that.

  I swallow back the hurt feelings that could cause this to turn toxic quickly and wrap my arms around him from behind

  “You do not do that to a man who has been locked in a cage for over nine years,” he scolds me.

  I allow myself to release a bit of selfishness and spit toward him, “You do not tell that to a woman who has loved you enough to stay faithful to you for as long as I have.”