Page 80 of Hostile Bond
Even though I’m desperate to feel like myself again, we’ve connected on a level beyond sex. We spend hours talking about Sicilian tactics and takeovers, which one of us our baby would look like, how we should rebuild our main home on Sin Island in preparation for its birth, and even considered the best site to sprinkle my mother’s ashes.
I’ve had his undivided attention up until now.
He left the room over an hour ago to organize more weed. Since then, my lazy nap was disturbed by a familiar stranger. And now I’m staring into the shrewd viridian green eyes of Teresa Souza.
His mother is sitting in a gold leaf regency bedroom chair next to our messy bed, knees together, and spine straight—her posture undeniably regal. A black satin mourning dress drapes her figure from neck to shin. Her ankles are crossed and tucked at an angle, so her patent stiletto heels rest sideways.
It’s just the two of us, in a weird silent moment where she has the upper hand given I’m make-up free, undoubtedly gaunt after vomiting too much, and she’s impeccably presented, ready for an introduction to the sickly daughter-in-law.
“You’re awake.” She smiles, allowing her defined eyebrows to lift with animation. “André told me about the baby when I arrived.” Her diamond encrusted fingers splay over the spot where I hope a beating heart resides. “I had the worst sickness with my twins. You can blame André for it.” Her light chuckle isn’t forced, but it is fleeting.
I blink at her and scoot up the bed to sit, desperately wishing I was wearing pajamas under the sheet I’m trailing to my throat. In the absence of sex, André makes me sleep naked so we’re skin to skin, and he can rest his hand on my belly with one less barrier between him and the baby.
How could I deny the wishes of a very persuasive man who wants to experience his unborn baby's first kick, even if it’s too soon to feel anything.
When Teresa notices how I’m grappling with the sheet, she nods to the robe laying across the foot of the bed. “I won’t look while you cover up.”
Clutching the sheet to my chest, I reach forward, throw it over my shoulders, stuff my arms into the sleeves, and tie the belt around my waist before fixing my hair behind my ears.
“I’m sorry to hear about your mother, Sinéad.” She continues. Sable hair skims her poised shoulders as her head turns, bringing her gaze to the outdoors. “My own mother died when I was a young girl. Although it's devastating, it will give you a deeper bond with your own children. My son worries he’s like his father.” Her gaze returns to mine, darkness dusting her expression. “But he’s nothing like Elias. My boy is spontaneous, fun, mischievous, and wholly dependable. Elias was none of those things in the end. However, did I ever think André was capable of commitment—of falling in love? If I’m honest––no. But it appears as though he has. I can tell by the way he talks about you––how I know he would sacrificeanythingfor you.”
She falls silent, studying me with the eyes of a devoted mother and a woman of power in her own right. My heart trips up in my chest, not exactly sure what sacrifice she’s referring to.
“He has nothing to sacrifice, Teresa. If anything, he’s gaining more than he ever thought possible. My husband will stand beside me in Sicily with our baby in his arms. I’m giving him increased power, endless love, and a family of his own.”
Her pupils flare as my announcement comes to an end. “And you, my child, are the only woman who can seemingly wrap him around your little finger. My boys were partly raised by a man whose only mission was protecting his kingdom. They understand chaos and violence. That’s the world you’ve married into and the ruthless world your child will grow up in.”
I wither inside, her truth whispering through me like all the trapped souls in Hell.
“I’m well aware of the Souzas place in the world and what lengths they go to for power. My own father used me for that very reason and by doing so, demolished innocent lives. I understand there’s no way out… and I’ve no intention of leaving André again because I’m in love with him, if that's why you’re here.”
Her head shakes a little. “No, Sinéad, I’m not here for André… or to satisfy myself about your important role in his life. I already know what you mean to him, and through it all, you’re still here, after everything, loving his mayhem.” She catches my eye, the intensity strong. “I’m here for you. As a like-minded, independent woman who’s survived in a merciless man’s world. As a mother who would put her own life on the line for her children. I knew what sort of man my brother was, and I also know my son inside out.”
My mouth dries.
Does she know?
Teresa rises, her movements graceful as she fixes her dress. “I’ve arranged for a gynecologist to visit. They shall arrive within the hour. All being well, you’ll have anti-nausea tablets to make you feel better and the best medical care during your time here. I’ve spoken with the chef about a menu plan for when you’re able to eat something other than banana sandwiches.” Her eyes crease at the corners as a soft smile tugs at her putty-colored lips. “I used to make André those hideous things all the time. They’re his favorite.”
Elegant strides carry her to the doorway, where she stops and glances back at me. “I won’t replace your mother. That position can never be filled again. However, if you need anything over the next few months, I’d like you to call me. I’ve left a little gift on your bedside table. I had my jeweler make it for you.” She fingers the ruby on her forefinger. “My sons deserve capable women––significant wives who will support them without question. However, you, my dear, are so much more to André than that. You’re the one thing I had wished for my son to have, but feared it would be impossible to achieve given his… habits. You’re his anchor––hiseverything.”
The second the door closes behind her, I side eye the small velvet box next to my cell phone. Curiosity has me reaching for it and uncertainty makes me cautious. Inside, a thin gold chain threads a Celtic pendant encrusted with tiny blood red jewels. I’ve seen the never-ending knot before. It’s a symbol of unbreakable love and motherhood.
A token of respect from one mother to another.
An alliance formed between the Souza women––if I can trust her.
31
SINÉAD
André strolls into the bedroom, his inked skin dripping, and a fluffy towel wrapped around his hips. The muscles within his abdomen flex as he stalks towards the coffee table by the window to grab the TV remote, fully expecting to sit on the bed beside me and watch another movie.
The closer he gets, the easier it is for me to inspect his gunshot wound. He usually brushes it off as a little scratch, because his brother Tomás had told him it was only a graze compared to having a bullet hole torn right through the body. I’d vaguely overheard them laughing about it on the phone together last night when André couldn't sleep.
My matching wound is healing slowly. It’s still inflamed and niggles when I move, but I can deal with it as long as I’m not constantly on the verge of vomiting.
It's been two days since I was prescribed anti-sickness tablets and have eaten every meal that was delivered to our door by the kitchen staff.
