MadeleineI fell asleep again after the doctor’s visit. His news was rather grim. Most of my injuries from the beating I took yesterday would heal just fine, but the poison is another story. He suspects that I might have permanent nerve damage.He wants me to undergo further testing, but after I explained to him that I couldn’t pay for such expensive tests, he simply gave me an injection for the pain and left. Now I’m wide awake and more wired than a bunny on meth. I am restless, not sure what to do with myself.The doctor left a bottle of painkillers for me to take, but I haven’t needed it. He did say it’s only for the nerve pain, and since I don’t know what that’s supposed to feel like, I just left it.He confirmed my own assertion that the best cure for the body aches after the beating is to move around as much as possible but to, in his words, “not overdo it, unless you want to end up in the hospital.”After a few hours of dawdling in the bedroom with nothing much to do apart fro
MadeleineFlabbergasted, I stare at Rafael. “Thank you?”“Yes. That’s usually what people say after someone did them a solid.”“Wow,” I snort. “You really have a set of balls on you, don’t you? You are trying to buy my sister’s love, trying to… get her to turn on me, and you want me to thank you for it?”Rafael’s eyebrows lift into a lazy question. “Do you think so lowly of me? Have I not proven myself to you yet?”“Proven what?” I spit out. “First you poisoned me, then you-” I make air quotes -“rescued me, and now you’re holding me captive.”“Ah.” He tilts his head back, a condescending smile playing over his lips. “The poisoning was… unfortunate, I’ll grant you. I didn’t know it was you. I never saw you without your full habit, Madeleine. I didn’t even know you were blonde.”“So that justifies murder, does it?”“It was self-defence. From my point of view, you were trying to kill me.” He grips his hips and gives me a look that reminds me so much of Dom that I feel my heart break. Wh
RafaelOh God. I almost gave in. Almost.Her innocence is intoxicating, drawing me in like a man starved. It would have been so easy - just one kiss, just one taste. But I didn't bring her here for that. I’m not that man. I refuse to be that man.She is not for me. Not in that way. I didn’t bring her here to fuck her like a common whore. She is so much better than that. But she can never know, and she will never know.She will remain untouched. My Sister Francis. My saint.She wanted me - I saw it in her eyes. But I know what it was. Not desire. Not for me. Just loneliness. Just a need for warmth. Something innocent.I almost took it from her.“Will you come with me willingly?” I ask. “Or would you prefer it if I carry you again?”She looks at me, and I know she sees him. Dom. The man I should have been. The man I buried.And God help me, I wanted to give her that. I wanted to be him again.Just for a moment. Just for her.I thought I loved my life before. My life away from my family
Rafael“Get out,” I say to Claire, one of my maids, as I enter the kitchen with Madeleine.The maid drops the potatoes she’s peeling and rushes to leave the kitchen through the back door that leads out onto the lawn, where one of the groundskeepers is busy putting up Betsy’s new playset.Madeleine sees it, but doesn’t comment. Her disapproving scowl and the nasty looks she’s giving me tells me everything I need to know.“Here,” I say and pull out one of the bar stools next to the kitchen island. “Take a seat.”I have been choked before - I know what it feels like - and the doctor told me that the poison she took was slightly caustic, so her throat has been burned pretty badly, but he thinks her mouth and throat will heal.He’s not so sure about the potential nerve damage.It’s a concern, and something that could follow her around for the rest of her life. And I did it to her, she was right about that. I allow myself a moment to feel the guilt. It’s there, sharp and lingering, but the
RafaelThere’s no sign of Paulie when we pull up to the police station. He’s either inside, or sitting somewhere out of sight, keeping an eye on the situation.“Stay here,” I say to Enzo and slam the door shut before I jog across the street.I have no idea what Bruce’s plan is. He must know that coming here is a fatal mistake - the man is a scumbag, but he’s not stupid.Unless he’s hoping the feds will give him protection if he turns state’s witness.If that’s the case, he came to the wrong fucking place.I step inside the air-conditioned police station. People stop. Avert their gaze. Turn around and flee the other way.Only a few of the officers - the ones with honour - stand their ground, refusing to back down to me.They believe they’re better than I am. And fuck it, they are.I walk up to the front desk. “Where is Bruce Carmichael?”Without even looking up, the officer mutters, “Interrogation room three.”With a curt nod, I turn right and walk through the busy station, my back stra
MadeleineI pace around my room. I’m restless. And I don’t want to be here. Everytime I look at the painting, Jesus stares back at me, telling me that I’m a sinner.On the drive back, I waited and waited and waited for Rafael to scold me, it would have made me feel better, but he turned on Enzo instead. I got out of the car while his lieutenant stepped away for a smoke, and Rafael was furious at Enzo for not even noticing my escape.I shouldn’t have done it. I shouldn’t have gone to the police station to get my revenge. There was no reason for it. I just wanted to destroy what was left of Bruce, and I wanted to see Delilah’s face when I tore her whole world to pieces.I was selfish and vindictive, and I knew I’d get away with it because I had Rafael on my side.My eyes fall on the ratty pack stashed in the corner of my room. I didn’t unpack it - unpacking it would mean I’ve made this my home.It's not my home. It can't be home. I've only been here two days, and I already sunk to the
MadeleineIt takes me a long, long time to wake up. It’s as if someone stuffed my head full of cotton and magnets are pulling my eyelids shut.I’m vaguely aware of the soft beeping of a machine, and my right hand itches something fierce. Betsy!My eyes fly open, and I stare straight up at a white ceiling.Where am I?Home. I must be home. But my apartment doesn’t have nice, clean ceilings like this.I have to get Betsy to school. It must be late. If she’s late again, they’re going to call me in. This time they might expel her.I groan softly and try to sit up.“Cara?” Rafael’s voice cuts through the confusion, and then I feel his warm hands on my brow. “She’s awake!” he calls out.“Whu-” my throat is dry and scratchy, my lips numb.“You are in the hospital.”“Whu?” I ask again.“Sh-sh. Don’t talk. Wait for the doctor.”“Ha-ppened. Wha- happened?”I look up at his handsome face, but it’s as if I’m trying to pierce through a white veil. He isn’t in focus. I can feel him, though. His han
RafaelI can tell just by looking at Madeleine that she thinks I’ll deny her request to see a priest and take confession, but priests take their vows seriously. I’ve yet to meet one who has broken the sacramental seal.No one knows that I still regularly go to confession myself. The priest is often the only person I can trust, and there are times when I need to unburden myself. I never give penance though—I’m not that much of a hypocrite, and I don’t plan to change any time soon.Unlike my often delusional partners in crime, I know exactly where I’m going when I die, and I don’t care anymore. It's far too late to save my soul.“There is a chapel on the first floor,” I offer, “with a priest in attendance. I’ll arrange for a wheelchair.”Madeleine stares at me - big, blue eyes are filled with guilt and shame.“There’s something… I have to beg you for forgiveness too,” she says softly. “I will do penance, but I don’t think it’s a sin that will be forgiven.”I cock my head at her and fro
RafaelEnzo comes sauntering over to our table. We've been drinking and joking around for a while now, and he kept himself seperate from us on purpose. That, in itself, is the height of disrespect - not just for me, but also my captains.The old guys have slipped into ‘nostalgia mode,’ as I call it, and they’re talking about the good old days. When they get tipsy, they get weepy about how things used to be easier and different. I doubt it was any easier than it is now, they just forgot the uncertainty, the fear of not knowing when an enemy would come up to you and pull the trigger.During a war, safety isn't guaranteed. Death is. In our line of work, your life is always on the line no matter what, but when there's a war the risk increases ten-fold.Not that anyone would ever admit that they were scared. Everyone’s a hero in their own minds - and so are all the men who died during that time.Everyone falls quiet when Enzo pulls a chair over and takes a seat at the table. He wasn’t par
RafaelFor the first time since the night of the stabbing, Enzo shows up and actually looks surprised to see me out and about, acting as if nothing had happened.I can feel it though. Every passing minute is nothing short of torture, and it's getting progressively worse. “Look who finally decided ta show up,” Paulie says and shoots a nasty glance Enzo’s way.I haven’t spoken to Salvatore yet. I wanted to wait a few more days until I could formulate my thoughts better Right now, all my decisions are driven by pain and rage - and when you feel like that, it's not a good time to make life or death decisions.“Yeah,” Enzo says and holds the present in his hands out to me. “Sorry I’m late, Boss. I had some business.”I glare at my lieutenant, and completely ignore his apology. “You can put your gift on the table over there,” I say and point to a table that’s piled high with colourfully wrapped presents.Enzo looks taken aback at first, but then he nods and heads over to the table.“That p
MadeleineThe men and women split into two groups. The guys congregate around the grill or the coolerboxes filled with beer. The women gather at their tables, in the kitchen to make salads, butter rolls, or to pour ice tea into pitchers.Rafael has a whole staff in the house, but none of them are here today, and I think it's some kind of traditional thing for the women to hang out in the kitchen. The places is crowded, the women are loud, and all of them are complaining about their husbands or children. I find it strange and endearing at the same time.“You’re quiet,” Angelica says as she dumps a container of mayonnaise over some potatoes.“I’m listening,” I answer her.“Oh honey,” one of the women, I think it’s Clara, snort-laughs at me. “You cain’t afford to be quiet. You’re Rafael's wife.”“Fiancèe,” I correct her.“Potato, poe-tah-toe,” she replies. “It’s the same difference to us. You live together as man and wife, you are man and wife.”I blush at the thinly veiled insinuation,
MadeleineThe woman with the big hair throws herself in Rafael’s embrace. I let him go and stand back, watching on as he awkwardly hugs her with one arm. “Raffie,” she exclaims and stands back, then grabs his face between her hands. “Let me look at you. Are you eating enough? Sleeping. You look sick.”Rafael sighs and rolls his eyes, but he doesn't push her away. "I'm fine," he answers and gently pulls her hands from his face.She looks like the grown up version of the girl in the portrait - only with bigger hair and a lot more make-up. I just assume she’s his sister.Out of nowhere, she punches Rafael in the arm. “You don’t call, you don’t write. I should strangle you.”“I'm sorry Angelica,” Rafael says, almost indulgently, and rubs his arm, shutting her out at the same time. “I've been a little busy." He looks around the lawn at the people milling about. "Where is David this time?”“Oh, who knows?” she answers, completely unbothered.“And the kids?”“With Uncle Frankie. You know how
RafaelMadeleine keeps the nightmares away. Her presence alone is enough. She doesn’t need to hold me, or whisper comforts in my ear. Just knowing that she’s next to me helps.I drift off to sleep and don't wake again until the sun lights up the room, and the sound of chirping birds pierces the through my dreams.For the first time in weeks, I feel rested. Refreshed. Still in pain, but I am almost my old self again. I should be able to make it through the cookout okay. I will not be drinking and laughing along with the rest of them, but I will be able to grin and bear it.Frankie can take the children out on the boat. It’s usually my job, something I always enjoy, but I have a feeling my stomach won’t thank me if I take it out on the choppy lake today.“Morning,” Madeleine chirps and comes walking out of the bathroom with wet hair and only a towel wrapped around herself.My heart jumps into my throat, and my body reacts in a surprisingly violent way. If I could move at my regular sp
RafaelI feel a lot better after the transfusion. Ethel was right, I definitely needed it. And so was Madeleine when she told me I had to get proper medical care.But neither of them will ever hear the truth from my lips.The pain is still ever-present. Betsy's kick to my gut did more damage than I thought was possilbe - a little girl like her shouldn't be able to put a grown man out of commission. Part of it is my own, stupid fucking fault. I shouldn’t have picked her up mid-tantrum. Not in my current state anyway.At some point, as I drift in and out of consciousness, Madeleine gest up and leaves the room with Ethel. It’s just me and my thoughts. I try to conjure the image of Sister Francis. The quiet, pretty, understanding girl with her gentle eyes, but she’s gone. Everytime I try to recall her, I see a blank face surrounded by the grey habit of their order.Or Sister Francis melts away, and is replaced by Madeleine.I feel as if I went through a wormhole to an alternate reality
RafaelI am pain. It’s become one with my being. It’s a part of me. At least for now.Walking down the hallway, leaning heavily on Madeleine, is like trekking through an obstacle course filled with broken glass and razor blades tearing at my flesh.God. Even my feet hurt.I didn’t know a person could be in this much pain, bleed as much as I have, and still live to tell the tale.With a sigh and a grunt, I fall on Madeleine’s bed, and just lie there with my feet dangling on the floor. Ethel is close behind, fussing over me like she’s my mother as she lifts my legs up and pulls the comforter over me.She always did like me. Even when we were children. She’d follow me around like a mama hen, making sure I didn’t fall in the water or run off to the guard house. Whenever she was around, she made it her personal mission to keep me away from the wiseguys.She was pissed when I came back. After my father’s funeral, while everyone sat around in the parlour remembering the old man, she pulled
MadeleineBetsy destroyed her room. I knew she would. Thank goodness Rafael removed everything of value from the room - including that expensive looking ballerina figurine.The pretty room, fit for a little princess as she wanted it to be, is now a dump. She destroyed the dollhouse. Her dolls have no heads or legs. The potted plant with the little pink flowers has been overturned and the dirt scattered.She shredded her bedding and tore her pillows open, scattering stuffing all over the room. The pink curtains are in tatters. On the floor, next to the room, is the pair of scissors she used to do it.I’ve never seen this level of destruction from her.Rafael is going to lose his damn mind.I’m going to lose my mind.The anger that washes over me is something I’ve never experienced before. For the first time since I’ve had to take her into my care, I want to put her over my knee and spank her.Betsy is sitting in the middle of the room, covered in dirt, stuffing stuck in her hair like l
MadeleineI watch on in horror as Rafael sinks to the ground, clutching his middle. His shirt is soaked in blood. Ethel rushes over to his side and lifts his shirt, while Marco just stands there like a statue, pale and shocked.I turn on my guard and say the first thing that pops into my head, “Tell no one about this."The young man may be too soft for this line of work, but I know he’s loyal. He sits outside my door, day in and day out, all in an effort to get Rafael’s approval.“Are you sure? Maybe-”“I’m sure,” I interrupt him. “He told me no one can know.”I glare at Ethel who looks up and just nods. “Patient confidentiality. I understand. What do you want to do?”The door rattles as Betsy screams and throws herself against it. It jars my nerves and eats away at my sanity one little bite at a time.All my senses are in overdrive. I don’t know what to do or where to turn. Betsy in one room losing her everloving mind, or Rafael who is bleeding out on the floor.I’m in desperate need