Katerina sitting up in the bed, tears streaming down her lovely face, her shoulders shaking. He slid into the bed beside her, taking her in his arms. She shook in like a leaf in a thunderstorm.
“Did you hear that, love?” he asked tenderly.
“Ye…yes,” she managed to choke out.
“He's gone. You're safe.” He stroked the scars below her shoulder blades.
“No one has ever protected me,” she sobbed, struggling to hold back a flood
of grief. “Not since my mother died.”
“Everything is different now,” he reminded her. “You're my wife. Your safety
is my responsibility.” I don't regret that, he realized. I'm happy to have made this decision.
That she reached out to him for comfort caused warmth to spread out from
the vicinity of his chest, until it touched every finger and toe. “You've been through hell, haven't you?”
“Yes,” she admitted choking on the word.
“Then let it out. Don't hold back. You're allowed to grieve. Your childhood was a nightmare. Your future is much brighter, but you have to grieve your past
so you can build a better future. Let go, darling.”
He stroked her hair, and the tender touch lanced deep into her soul's festering
wounds. A lifetime of misery came tumbling out of her in hysterical, wracking
sobs. She cried and cried until at last, she cried herself to sleep in the safety of her husband's arms. He lowered her to the bed, positioning her gently on her side. That wasn't the end of it, he realized. Not even close. There's no way to cure a lifetime of abuse in a single good cry, but it's a start. She feels safe enough with me to share the vulnerability of her tears. Suddenly exhausted, Christopher lay down beside his wife and succumbed to slumber himself.
Giovanni cursed to himself as he stormed out of the hotel. “Damned interfering
son of a bitch,” he muttered in Italian, ignoring the stares of passersby. “How dare he meddle with my property? Does the gall of these self-important peasants
know no bounds?”
He shook his head vigorously as he stomped down the street, boots crushing
every leaf and twig and crunching in the gravel. “We are royalty, descended on
my mother's side from a long line of the highest rank in Florence, all the way back to the Medicis. Granted, it's not exactly a legitimate line, but real and traceable, nonetheless.”
Reaching an intersection, he turned at random, still pontificating under his breath to an audience of one. “Despite this, and despite the sizeable income generated by my father's shipping line, the foolish peasants in Italy didn't understand how fortunate they were to have us.”
He growled, examining the street signs without reading them before making
another random turn. “No longer welcome in Florence, we relocated here,
hoping England, with its powerful queen, would be more respectful of my
elevated rank. But here, like in Italy, jumped-up farmers and working-class rabble have risen above their station and are challenging the right of those ordained by heaven to rule. Now, one of them has even had the gall to lay hands
on my daughter! That whore will pay in pain and blood.”
Deep in his ruminations, he failed to notice a young clerk hurrying in the other direction with a sheaf of papers clutched in his arms. The two men collided, sending the sheets fluttering in all directions. Giovanni growled in annoyance at the youth's clumsiness, and hurried on, deliberately planting his wet and muddy boot on one of the meticulously prepared documents, reducing it
to trash.
“What is wrong with people? Even my wife struggled for years against my
God-given authority. Silly cow. She never understood what a favor I'd done her,
lifting her from the dirt of her father's olive farm and allowing her the privilege
of carrying my child. If only she'd given herself over to my authority, as she should, she might not have died of infection, from the wounds she brought on herself. Katerina has always been better, more submissive.”
Giovanni shook his head. Ugly rage roiled in his head until the world seemed
bathed in a dark and ominous haze. “I need another drink, and I need to hit something, get rid of this anger so I can think straight. But what to do? Ah yes,
my favorite brothel. They will have a whip and a girl. That will definitely help.”
As he walked along towards the discreet townhouse, he considered what must be
done. “This insult cannot go unpunished. My whore of a daughter and her
