Page 127 of Vita Mia

Marietta choked. She spit out the glob of food in her mouth to her plate. She gagged to capture her breath. Sera watched her unfazed and offered her no help.

“That’s right, Marietta. Carlo was killed after his wife Adara was murdered by some Armenian boy. Rumor has it he became some kind of wild dog and defied Giovanni’s orders. So, Giovanni put a bullet in his head on the beach and then chopped off his head, hands and his feet and threw them into the sea. Giovanni murdered him. He’s dead. And last night Renaldo died. Both of them are dead.”

“That’s a lie!”

“It’s the truth.” The doctor said. “They’re dead. It’s all falling apart for the Battaglias. That makes you less and less useful, so stop with the fucking games and move forward.”

Marietta’s bottom lip began to quiver. Tears brimmed in her eyes. “They’re not dead. They can’t be dead.”

“Marietta—“

She stood. “No. No. No. No. No!” she slammed her fist down on the table. “Lorenzo, Carlo, Renaldo, they can’t be dead. They’re alive.”

“Marietta, you need to calm down,” Sera pushed up from her seat and approached her.

“They were my three. The dynamic three. They did it all. Not Gio. He just sat around and watched. They did it! They protected it all. They aren’t dead. You’re lying. You’re trying to trick me bitch!”

“Marietta, Lorenzo is dead. Remember? You told us how he died.” She touched her arm. Marietta slapped Sera so hard the woman went down on her knees to the floor. Marietta screamed her rage and jumped on the doctor. She grabbed her by the throat and began to choke her making sure to dig her long untrimmed nails into her skin. “They’re not dead! They’re not dead! They’re not dead! You bitch! You, stupid bitch! How did you let it happen! How did you let them die!”

Marietta’s vision changed along with her rantings. Sera wasn’t beneath her. It wasn’t the doctor who’s throat she choked. It wasn’t the doctors head she slammed repeatedly against the floor. The woman beneath her was herself. She choked herself. And then her vision began to blur. It was Mirabella who she choked. She had her sister on the ground and she was choking the life out of her.

“You did this bitch! It’s your fault. It’s your fault. No, it’s my fault! It’s our fault!”

The Carabinieri ran into the office in response to the sound of the women screaming. It took two of them to pry Marietta up from Sera and break the stranglehold that nearly took the doctors life. She delivered a hard parting kick to Sera’s side. Marietta screamed in tears.

“You did it bitch! You did it! It was all your fault! You!”

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SERA GASPED FOR AIR. The prosecutor ran to her side to help her. She pushed her away and managed to sit up on her own. She touched her throat and her fingers came back with blood. She actually had puncture wounds on either side from Marietta’s nails. The pain was intense.

“What happened!” The Générale marched back in. “Why is she screaming like a banshee?”

“It’s fine. I miscalculated. I thought she was ready. She isn’t,” Sera said.

Sera stood. She swayed a bit. The Générale and prosecutor both stared at her. “I’m fine. I am. She can’t do the press conference, or any public statement.”

“Yes, she can! And she will,” The Générale said.

“We kept her in that insane asylum too long! She needs time. She’s suffering PTSD.”

“Bullshit!” the prosecutor said. “She’s volatile and crazy and I think she was like that before she went in. She’ll implode under cross examination by the Magistrates. I can’t use her. Lock her back up.”

“You can’t risk that, she’ll turn on us,” the Générale said.

“You have to use her,” Sera quickly stammered. “Let me work with her. We’ll get her on the right meds and she’ll calm down. We can do this.”

“What do you think?” The prosecutor asked the Générale.

“I think we need to move Giovanni to Rome and then get this trial sped up before we lose everything.”

The prosecutor stared at Sera. And Sera tried to remain as confident as possible under the intense scrutiny. When he didn’t speak she feared he’d pull the plug too soon. Years, of investigating and building a case would destroy everything.

“Most people who suffer a trauma suffer a tsunami of emotions. There are people who compartmentalize pain. I read her file. All her life she’s suffered trauma but the death of her husband pushed her straight over the cliff. She needs my help, and I can help her. You do the press conference Générale. Tell the public that out of fear for her safety she is currently under the protection of the Carabinieri and what she has to say will be heard by the courts. I’ll spend every waking day with her to help her. I can have her ready for trial, but we’ll need seclusion. Not imprisonment. A place serene enough for her to heal.”

“Move her to Sicily. Keep it discreet. The Battaglia’s will think she’s here in Italy with us.” The prosecutor said.

Sera smiled. “Under my care she’ll be fine.”

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