Page 120 of Twisted Addiction
Nonna pushed back her chair with a sigh, the weariness in her movements cutting through me. “I should rest. The heart doesn’t hold up well to too many shocks these days. We’ll talk properly later, sì?”
“Go on, Nonna,” I said softly, reaching to squeeze her hand. “We’ve got time now. Plenty of it.”
Her eyes glistened, as though she didn’t quite believe me.
Nonna shuffled off down the hall, her slippers whispering against the tiles, leaving only the quiet hum of the refrigerator between us.
When Isabella finally spoke, her voice was low, deliberate—like a blade sliding from its sheath. “You were bleeding.”
My spoon stopped midair.
The air left my lungs. I’d hoped she hadn’t noticed. “Yeah,” I murmured, forcing steadiness I didn’t feel. “It’s... nothing serious.”
Her gaze didn’t waver. “A miscarriage?”
The word hit me like a slap.
I swallowed hard, eyes on the plate. “No. Just... complications. The doctors said it happens sometimes.”
“We’re going to a hospital tomorrow,” she said, her tone clipped, maternal authority creeping back into her voice. “And I need you to tell me the truth, Penelope—are you pregnant?”
My throat burned.
“Yes,” I whispered. The word hung between us like a confession. “But I don’t want Dmitri to know.”
Something flickered in her eyes—pain, fury, maybe guilt. “Your marriage...” She paused, searching my face, her voice softening just enough to hurt. “It was bad, wasn’t it?”
“What do you expect?” I snapped, a flicker of bitterness cutting through my words. “He kidnapped me. Forced me into his world. Forced me to be his wife. There was no fairytale.”
She watched me, silent, eyes full of questions she didn’t voice. “I thought... you two were... lovers as teenagers?”
“We were,” I admitted, voice low, the memory tasting bitter on my tongue. “But that was before. Before he became the monster who broke me. Before he tried to own every part of me.”
Isabella’s hand hovered over mine, hesitated, then withdrew—a fleeting gesture of comfort I wasn’t sure I deserved.
Her gaze held me, warm yet piercing.
Chapter 27
PENELOPE
My spoon clattered against the plate, the sharp sound slicing through the cozy quiet. “And... talking about Dmitri and me being lovers as teenagers,” I said, voice trembling with a mix of curiosity and dread, “you and Dad knew about it, didn’t you? All those nights we sneaked out to see each other when I was fifteen... you never said a word. You just pretended not to know.”
Isabella’s lips curved into a faint, practiced smile.
Her dark eyes softened, but a guardedness lingered beneath, unshakable. “You were fifteen, Penelope. Too young, too innocent to understand the danger. But yes... we monitored you both, as any good parents would. We knew where you went, who you were with, every night you slipped past the guards to meet him under that oak tree.”
“Monitored?” I said sharply, the memory of Dmitri’s words cutting through me, the blanks in my past suddenly feeling deliberate.
I leaned forward, hands gripping the edge of the table. “Is it true I have... a condition? Something like dissociative amnesia?”
Isabella didn’t flinch.
Her composure was unnerving, calm as if delivering fact, not revelation. “Not exactly a condition,” she said, measured and steady. “We had the ability—through doctors and psychologists—to suppress certain traumatic memories. It was... controlled,Penelope, to protect you from what you couldn’t bear at the time.”
I folded my arms, anger sparking like dry lightning. “Protect me? By erasing pieces of my life without my consent? How... how is that even possible?”
Her tone softened slightly, almost condescending, as if explaining a simple truth. “Anything is possible, sweetheart. Our family—your family—has no male heir. You’re our only child. You were never meant to live an ordinary life. We’ve been preparing you to inherit the Romano empire since the day you were born.”
