My breathing gets heavier by the minute, and I feel Amethyst getting agitated; she gets out of my bed, but I can’t pay attention; I can’t figure out where she’s going. I close my eyes and cover my ears, even though I know it won’t do any good. The voice that tells me I’m not good enough, that says I’ll ruin everything, isn’t really outside; it’s inside me, constantly tormenting me. I try to breathe calmly, but it doesn’t work; my throat is dry, and every time I gasp for air, I feel it scratch. I pull in air, but it doesn’t seem to reach my lungs. I sit up in bed and bring my knees up to my chest; my heartbeat is too strong. I rest my head on my knees and breathe in slowly. I feel tears coming slowly down my face, and I do nothing to stop them; my lungs are burning and desperately begging for air. I think about calling someone, but I know my voice won’t come out; I’m too used to this not to know. I breathe in and out slowly, trying to keep the invasive thoughts out of my head; I sob loudly and slowly manage to get some air into my lungs.
When my breathing finally settles down, I lay my head on my knees and keep my eyes closed, concentrating on my breathing; now calm, I put my hand on my chest over my heart and let out a sigh at having finally calmed down.
“How frequent are these attacks?”
Luca’s voice makes me shudder; shame floods my being, and I wonder how long he’s been watching me. I feel weak, defective, anddefinitely not the queen he claims me to be. I don’t lift my head or eyes; I don’t have the courage to face him. “Every now and then…”
I hear his footsteps getting closer and closer, and I don’t dare to face him. “The day you ran away… Francesco said that after that, you didn’t leave the house for days, that you lockedyourself in your room…” the bed sinks a little beside me, and I smell the woody scent of his perfume.
“I’m full of cracks, and I don’t know if they can be mended; I’m not made of the same material that queens are made of.”
I feel his hands on my waist, and he gently and easily pulls my body toward his; I feel his abdomen glued to my back and his breath on my hair. “That’s goodbecause queens aren’t made Chiara; they create themselves, they transform themselves.” Luca carefully lifts my face and wipes away the tear that is slowly making its way down my cheek. “Una vera regina in divenire!” (A true queen in the making).
“Presumo che sia anche un re in formazione.” (I assume you’re also a king in training).
“Non un re, un Capo. Sarai la mia regina, la regina della Camorra!” (Not a king, a Capo. You’ll be my queen, the queen of the Camorra).
“What if I don’t have what it takes to be a queen?”
A hoarse laugh comes from his throat, and he rests his chin on my head, takes my hand, and looks at the ring. “You have what it takes; trust me, one leader can spot another!”
I close my eyes and slowly feel my body relax against Luca’s. He doesn’t move, leaving me comfortable in his arms; his heartbeat is slow, and I feel safe.
“Where’s the gun I gave you?” I don’t open my eyes; I just point to the bedside table next to us, indicating its location. “I told you to leave it near you, not in a drawer; access is slower that way.”
I let out a nasal laugh, and finally open my eyes, turning toward him, seeing how serious he is, but warmer than he’s ever been. “Do you sleep with a gun in your hand?” a smile plays on my lips as I face him.
“Under the pillow.” I look at Luca, but there’s no sign of playfulness on his face or tone of voice.
“Why?”
“You never know when you might need it!” His words come out easy, along with a shrug.
“Don’t you have lots of armed soldiers in the mansion?”
“All security can eventually be broken, and you never know if you have a traitor in your circle…”
“How many guns do you have on you now, Luca?” My voice comes out shaky, and I’m afraid of the answer. For a moment, he seems to hesitate.
“Five firearms and six knives.” A loud gasp comes out without me noticing, and I know he doesn’t trust me.
“Do you always have weapons on you?”
“Yes, always!” I look at him, knowing that from now on, this is my life until the painful end.
“You don’t trust anyone!” My voice comes out whispery and he knows it wasn’t a question.
“Confidence is a luxury that a man like me can’t have!”
“What about your parents?”
“My father also carries guns with him everywhere.”
“When your house was attacked, you were very young; you hadn’t been initiated yet; why were you armed?”
“I see Francesco and Paolo have already been talking…”
“I asked; they’re not to blame for anything.” I rush, stating.
