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“I’ll go confront Father. He doesn’t deserve to be there while we suffer from his actions.”
“You’re crazy, Adriana.”
I turn to walk back to my or rather Ale’s room to take a shower and change my clothes. Father isn’t getting away with this one. “You have no idea.”
I step out of the room after a few minutes in a clean pair of black jeans and an oversized grey shirt. One of Alessandro’s.
Beatrice is by the bar with a drink in her hand. I haven’t seen her drink this early before. Gabriele’s death broke something in her. I hold her wrists just before she takes another swig of the whiskey.
“Beatrice,” I whisper. Her eyes are red and swollen. She bursts out in tears again.
“I’m sorry, Adriana. I’m sorry,” she whimpers, tears rolling down her cheeks. I take the bottle from her hand and place it on the counter, pulling her into a hug.
“I don’t know what else to do, Adriana. I’ve lost him.”
I run my palm down her back, squeezing her a little tighter. “I’m sorry, Beatrice.”
“I want Gabriele back. I just want him back.”
My heart breaks seeing her this broken. I can’t find the words to comfort her anymore.
We both lost our mother and I knew how bad it hurt losing her. I can only imagine how she feels now, losing the man she loves.
Beatrice and I stay in that position for quite a while. She breaks the hug, sniffing and drying her eyes with the sleeve of her dress.
“I just want to go home. My home.”
I nod, taking her hand in mine. Alessandro’s men wouldn’t let us out that easily.
“You’ll help us get out of here. Just follow my lead.”
We walk to the front door as I hold Beatrice in my hand. There are only a few guards around now. I only spot three. Two are standing by the door, staring at us.
“Boss says you shouldn’t be outside,” one says. His bald head is struck by the morning sun's rays.
“She needs help.” I point to Beatrice’s arm with a bleeding wound. We had peeled off a dried wound to get it bleeding again.
“Please, she needs help quick.”
“James!” he calls out to the third standing by a Toyota truck. Beatrice holds out her bleeding palm, wincing in pain.
“Get the truck. She needs help!”
James retrieves the keys from the pocket of his jacket and hops into it. He starts the truck and drives to us. I help Beatrice into the truck, and we settle in the back seat.
“Where are you going, miss?” He drives out of the gate to the street.
“Any pharmacy store around to get the cut cleaned.”
He nods and stares at us through the rearview mirror. It’s a seven-minute drive to the closest store around. He stops the car and lets us into the store, waiting outside the door for us. Beatrice and I slip into the toilet to help her wash off her bloody arm.
“I’m sorry I had to hurt you. It was the only way.” I help her wrap a bandage around it.
“Are you sure it’s going to work?”
“We’ll take the back door.”
We leave the toilet and walk to the payment counter. A middle-aged lady in a black and white dress stares at us through her glasses.
