Page 57 of Stolen Wife
Chapter Twenty-Two
Giada
Two months later
It feels so good tobe out of the house. We’ve only been out a handful of times since Rafael’s death. It’s not that safe, but we had enough and promised we’d take as many guards as Santino wanted as long as we can have a nice mother-daughter day. His mom has truly become like a real mother to me. I’m surrounded by wall-to-wall security, but Mom and I are getting our nails and feet done.
“I need to thank Santino for this special treat.”
“I know, right? I’m so happy right now. For months I’ve been locked up, and now I’m free and madly in love.” I giggle as we sit with our feet soaking in the hot water.
“Giada?” I look over and see my actual mother and a woman I don’t know. Well, woman is hardly an accurate description. She looks younger than me. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m getting my nails done. What does it look like?” The woman has a lot of nerve coming to even speak to me.
“Is that any way to talk to your mother?”
“You’re not my mother,” I remind her. She gave up that right the second she pawned me off on that monster.
“And this puttana is your mother? She married her husband’s murderer and helped him set up the D’Angelos. She belongs in prison too.” I jump out of my chair to knock this bitch out, but Santino’s mom puts her hand on my arm and shakes her head. I suppose she’s right.
“Ma’am, you’re going to have to leave.” One of my guards grabs her around the arm.
“We have an appointment.”
“Not anymore,” he adds.
He’s about to lead them out when Mom says, “Never mind. They can stay. I’m not going to let her, or anyone, get the better of me. She’s the one who sold her daughter into a violent, loveless marriage because she was having an affair with my soon-to-be ex-husband.”
She gasps, and I’m shocked. Nothing about Rafael Marchetti had been good looking, so how did he get all these women to cheat on their husbands? “You don’t know anything.”
I roll my eyes at her and let a guffaw slips past my lips. “Whatever. That expression on your face says enough, but young lady, I’d watch out. They traffic women. I know because I was one and this woman gave birth to me.” The young lady pulls away from my incubator and rushes out of the building. “One less victim, Mrs. Avanti?” I tease.
“Bitch, you will pay.”
“I already have.” She leaves in a rush. That poor girl needs to get far away before they catch her, and this time it won’t be some nice charity they do. She’ll be drugged and turned over quickly.
I call my guard over and say, “Please check on that young lady. I don’t want her injured too.” He nods and goes to find the young lady. I turn to my mother-in-law and apologize. “I’m sorry about her.”
“No, Giada. I’m the one who should be sorry for you. You had a terrible family and were forced to marry my son.”
“I know, but if it hadn’t been Rafael, it would have been one of the D’Angelos, and I would have never met Santino. I can’t change my past. I’ve decided that I can’t be a victim forever. Rafael’s just a bad relationship like many women have, or that’s the way I’m going to see it because I want to be happy with Santino and the past will only get in the way.”
“You’re so wise for your age.”
“I wish. I’m going to try to read more books and see where that goes. I only have a high school education, and I was homeschooled at that. My education was only so the state didn’t ask questions. They already sewed up my life the second I grew breasts.”
“Again. I’m so sorry, but I promise to be the mother and grandmother that they show on those sweet movies.”
“I’m sure you will. Now, enough of this stressful nonsense. Let’s enjoy being pampered.”
We spend the rest of the day out and about shopping and eating lunch at a nice café. It’s almost time for Santino to get out of work, so we head back to the house.
He comes home about an hour after we do, but he’s looking grumpy. I’m sure they told him about the run-in with my egg donor.
“What’s wrong, Santino?” I ask, brush my hand along his bicep.
“Nothing,” he grunts, kissing my cheek before moving to take off his suit jacket and shoes.