Somebody's Angel (#5 in a Military Romance / BDSM Romance series) (Rescue Me) (60 page)

He regained his focus in an instant. “What do you see? Or hear?”

“Gino’s calling for me. He’s crying.”

“Does he find you?”

“No. Nobody can find me. I’m invisible. Hiding in my lair.”

“I thought you were in the closet.”

Marc’s brows furrowed in confusion. “That’s right. I’m in a closet.”

Adam hoped he wasn’t changing the past and leading Marc to remember the past differently.

Marc lapsed into Italian. “Zietta Natalia?” Marc paused, his lips quivering. “
No, non voglio andarci!”

Adam looked to Angelina for a translation. “What did he say?”

“He’s talking to his Auntie Natalia—Mama D’Alessio—telling her he doesn’t want to go somewhere with her.”

“Ask him in Italian where she wants him to go.”

Angelina did so.

Angelina translated for Adam. “Church. Gino told him he has to tell Mama good-bye, because he won’t ever get to see her again.” Tears burned the backs of her eyes, but she had to hold it together for Marc.

“Have him move forward in time. Did he go to the funeral?”

Before Angelina could translate, Marc answered, the word came out in barely a whisper. “No.”

“Why not?”

He reverted to English. “Scared. She didn’t look like Mama anymore. Gino said she looked shriveled up. My fault.”

Angelina asked something in Italian, providing Adam with the translation. “Why is that your fault?”

Again she translated his response: “She wanted water. He didn’t bring it to her. He was mad at her for a punishment he’d gotten.”

Marc mumbled in English, “Gino would have gotten some water for her, but he was at school.”

No way in hell did Adam believe Marc had been left alone in the house with a dying mother. “Who is taking care of you while your Mama’s sick?”

Marc furrowed his brows. “Mama’s friend, but she can’t come.”

“Why not?”

Marc’s lower lip quivered. “My fault.”

Clearly he was still stuck on whatever he thought he’d done to hurt his mama.

Adam knew they were on the brink of something big, but what? Hell, he had no fucking clue what was going on in Marc’s head, truth be told. Was the death of his first mother the trauma that had kept him running from commitment? Certainly fit. But why did he blame himself?

This scene would work a lot better if he didn’t have to have every question and answer translated. He hiked a thumb at Angelina and stood, expecting her to follow him.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

A
ngelina stood and followed Adam, clenching her fists at her sides to keep from strangling him. “I followed your orders.”
Mostly
. “That is
my
man in there and I’m not leaving him. Period.”

Adam glared at her. “Don’t you forget that I’m in charge of this scene and I’ll do whatever I think needs to be done.”

She wanted to bite his head off, but knew he had Marc’s best interests at heart, too. She backed off a bit. “Let me have a conversation with him in Italian—without the subtitles. It’s jarring to have to translate everything for you.”

She would follow Adam’s plan, but he’d damned well better listen to what she had to say. “I not only know the language, but I know what his mama told him. I don’t think he’s spoken with her again since then to change that story.” He scrutinized her a long moment. With each passing second, she feared he’d boot her out.

“You sure you know what you’re getting into?”

He wasn’t saying no. Angelina nodded and nearly smiled when she saw the big, tough Marine visibly relax along with her. Normally, Adam didn’t give her or any of the subs in the club credit for being strong enough to handle things, although there had been a few moments when Angelina had first entered this room that she’d wanted to run away as fast as she could.

Adam nodded and delivered his orders in rapid succession. “Get your tears under control. Be strong and firm with him. Don’t touch him, or you’ll pull him out of the memories. The more they continue to bombard him, the harder it will be for him to run. Ask a mix of both open ended and targeted questions.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Satisfied she’d obey, he extended his hand in Marc’s direction, in effect turning over control of the scene to Angelina. For the moment.

Dio
, let me find the right questions. I need to help Marc find release.

She walked back to where Marc lay on the floor, his body rigid and turned once more on his side, legs curled up in a fetal position. Angelina stretched out next to him but didn’t touch.

“Bambino mio
.” She attempted her best Northern Italian accent and spoke in a voice more firm and sure than her own.

Marc’s body grew stiff. His breathing stopped.
“Mamma?”

She fought the urge to brush a lock of hair from his forehead.
Don’t touch him or Adam will yank you out of this dungeon.

She continued to speak in the dialect of Marc’s childhood.
“Sí, bambino mio
. Why are you hiding from me?”

Marc grimaced as if in pain, and his chin quivered. His voice sounded like a child’s.
“Scusa,
mamma
. I didn’t mean to disobey you.”

“Remind me. What did you do?”

“Lots of things, but mostly you wanted a glass of water.” He choked on a sob. “I’m sorry I can’t be good like Gino, Mama. He wouldn’t have let you die.”

His words threw her. “What is this talk of letting me die?”

“You needed me. I disobeyed. Again.”

The anguish and regret in Marc’s voice broke her heart. It took every ounce of discipline she possessed not to reach out and comfort him. “Nonsense. You are my precious baby boy.”

He paused for several moments as if to mull that over. A peaceful look came over his face. Perhaps she’d gotten through to him.

* * *

Mrs. Giovanni set the hairbrush down on the bed. Marco stood and went to the bathroom to clean himself up.

“Marco, why did you disobey me?”

The voice he heard wasn’t Mrs. Giovanni’s. She sounded like Mama—almost but not exactly. Had she witnessed his shame?

Wait. That wasn’t the voice of the mama who had raised him and ran the family resort.

Marco found himself in a darkened bedroom. The bed was empty. Mama was gone…

“I must punish you.”

Marco turned to find Mama in her nightgown, dark circles under her eyes. She wasn’t dead! But she should be in bed.

“I do this only because I love you and want you to grow up to be a good boy and a good man someday, even if I won’t be here to see that day.” She walked over to her vanity and picked up her hairbrush. She used to let him brush her long hair with it, but she’d lost her hair. Gino said it was because she was sick. This was one of those times when she planned to paddle him with the hairbrush, though.

She sat on the bed and motioned him over. Tears streamed down his face. He didn’t like being punished. He already held his hands over his bottom. “
Scusa, mamma.
I’ll be good from now on.”

Again, she crooked her finger. “I’m going to help you remember to be better next time.”

He shook his head. Like a big baby, he started to cry. “I’m sorry, Mama. I’ll be good!”

“Marco, don’t make me call Papa. You know he would hurt you much more than I will.”

Papa’s whippings always hurt more than Mama’s. But he hadn’t been home in a long time. Not since Mama got sick and came to live with Mrs. M…her friend. Marco forced one foot in front of the other and crossed the room to stand by her. Mama patted her lap and helped position him across her thighs.

“Tell Mama what you did wrong.”

“I left my toys on the floor, and Mrs. Milanesi tripped and got hurt.”

“Haven’t I reminded you time and time again that someone could get hurt if you didn’t clean up after yourself?”

“Sí, mamma. “Scusami.”

“Saying you’re sorry this time isn’t going to make Mrs. Milanesi’s sprained ankle any better. But perhaps if you feel some pain yourself, you can understand better how she feels.”

He didn’t have to wait long for the first blow. He prepared to scream before he realized, surprisingly, it didn’t hurt nearly as much as he’d expected from earlier whippings she’d given him. Maybe Mama’s illness made her arm weaker, too. But after the fourth blow, he yelled like a baby. She kept spanking him far longer than he’d ever remembered being spanked before. Mama was very upset with him.

Finally, the punishment ended, and Mama helped him onto his feet again.

“Now, go wash your face. And bring Mama a glass of water.”

Marco squirmed off her lap and ran to the bathroom. He scrubbed the tears off his face and dropped his pants to look at the red marks on his bottom. Marco hadn’t hurt Mrs. Milanesi on purpose, but Mama had made these marks on purpose.

“Bambino mio!
Bring me a glass of water!”

“
No, mamma!
I hate you!”

Marco ran out of the bathroom and down the hallway to the kitchen. Mrs. Milanesi sat at the kitchen table, her ankle propped up on a chair and a bowl of flat beans in her lap as she snapped them for dinner. Tears streamed down her face, too.

“I’m sorry, little one. I know you didn’t mean for me to get hurt.”

He refused to make eye contact with Mrs. Milanesi. Marco didn’t blame her for his whipping but didn’t want to talk to her right now either. He was ashamed at being such a bad boy. If only he could be more like Gino. They loved him better. He ran out the back door.

“Don’t forget your coat, Marco!”

He wished Mrs. Milanesi were his mother. He wouldn’t go back to Mama. Ever. He was going to run away…

Marco flipped on the bathroom light and stared at his face in the mirror—his seventeen-year-old face. His ass still burned from the paddling Mrs. Giovanni had given him.

“Marco, stop hiding in there! Be a man and come back in here.”

How was he supposed to be a man when she’d just paddled him like a disobedient child?

Marco needed to get out of this guest suite and get away from the woman in the bedroom. Run away…

* * *

Angelina had hoped her words a little while ago had helped Marc feel less guilty about one or both of his mothers, but he’d only grown more agitated.

Emiliana must have loved him if he had so many regrets over failing her. Good. Children shouldn’t suffer because of the sins of the parents. She would have hated that Emiliana had blamed Marco because his father couldn’t keep it in his pants or his mother couldn’t say no to her brother-in-law.

Marc opened his eyes, but she could tell he wasn’t actually looking at her as Angelina. “Mama, may I ask you something?”

“Of course,
cara
.”

“Gino said my real mama isn’t dead like his. Is that true?”

Angelina gasped before regaining some composure. Gino had told him that at such a young age? Could she blame him, though? Gino was only six when his mother died. He wouldn’t have been able to process such a profound loss any more than Marc had been. Marc had blocked out that memory all these years, until Melissa had opened a can of worms New Year’s weekend.

What should she say? Angelina didn’t know the truth about his birth any more than Marc did. She needed to keep her words vague enough not to skew his beliefs if and when the truth ever came to light.

“Marco, you are a gift from God to me and Papa. So is Gino. I love you both equally.” She hoped he’d tip her off as to which of his mamas he was speaking with now and that her vague response would satisfy him.

Marc remained silent before his face broke out in a sweet smile. “I love you, too, Mama.”

His entire body relaxed into the mattress. Angelina’s did so, too, albeit on the hard floor next to the mattress. Perhaps he could put the demons to rest now and sleep. Again, the urge to wrap him in her arms was so great she shook with the effort to obey Adam’s order not to touch him.