Chapter 4: The Cost Of A Voice
1376 Words
The next few mornings arrived dressed in gray.
Outside, the skies hung low, heavy with clouds that threatened rain but never delivered. Inside the Valenti estate, the air was thicker than ever — stifling, silent, as if the mansion itself was holding its breath.
Elena hadn’t touched the new envelope.
It sat untouched on the corner of her desk, taunting her like a ghost she refused to exorcise. She had already memorized what it would show. The image was etched into her soul now — repetition had dulled the pain but sharpened the anger.
She couldn’t stand the moans anymore and the hoarseness of Matteo's voice.
She didn’t cry anymore. But she didn’t smile either.
That morning, she returned to the kitchen.
Bianca welcomed her with a quiet hug and a steaming mug of honeyed tea. She said nothing about the shadows under Elena’s eyes, nor the way she flinched at sudden sounds. Instead, she handed her a piece of toasted bread and a bowl of tomato soup, seasoned with warm basil and something Elena couldn’t name — something comforting.
They sat by the window as the sky threatened rain.
And for a while, neither said a word.
Then, softly, Elena spoke. “Bianca?”
The chef turned, brushing a streak of flour from her cheek. “Yes, cara?”
“I need… to call my mother.”
Bianca didn’t answer right away. Her hands stilled over the dough she was kneading. Then, slowly, she looked up.
“They told me I couldn’t,” Elena added quickly, voice soft. “But I just want to hear her voice. Just once. To know she’s still okay.”
Bianca’s expression softened, but it was laced with caution. “Matteo has security protocols. Every line in this house is monitored.”
Elena had always wondered why Bianca never referred to Matteo as Mr. Orazio or Capo like the others. She wondered if there was a closeness between them that she didn’t know about.
“I’m not trying to betray him. I just want to hear her.” Elena’s fingers curled around the edge of her chair. “Please. I’ve done everything he asked. I’ve smiled for strangers. I’ve said nothing about the videos. I’ve kept silent. Just… please.”
The silence that followed stretched too long.
Bianca looked away.
Then she reached under the counter and pulled out a battered old Nokia phone wrapped in a kitchen towel. “This is my private line. Don’t speak for long. And don’t say where you are.”
Elena stared at her. “You’d risk that for me?”
Bianca shrugged with a small, sad smile. “There’s not a woman alive who wouldn’t want to call her mother.”
Tears prickled behind Elena’s eyes. She took the phone with both hands, gripping it like it might vanish if she blinked.
She slipped into the pantry for privacy, dialed the number she hadn’t dared to think about for weeks.
It rang once.
Twice.
“Hello?” her mother’s voice — soft, tired, and so achingly familiar — filled the line.
Elena pressed a trembling hand to her mouth. “Mama…”
“Elena?” The voice sharpened with panic. “Is it you? Elena, my God—where are you? Are you safe?”
“I’m okay,” she whispered. “I can’t say much. I just… I needed to hear your voice.”
“Elena, listen to me, your uncle—he said you went to Rome. That you’re married. What’s happening? Are you in trouble?”
A thousand words bloomed in Elena’s throat. None of them made it past her lips.
“I’m fine, Mama. I just wanted you to know I’m alive. I love you.”
The line crackled.
“Elena—wait, I need to—”
She hung up.
Her heart thundered in her chest as she walked back into the kitchen, face pale but proud.
Bianca met her with a warm bowl of lavender tea and said nothing. Elena held it with both hands, letting the silence wrap around her like a coat.
For the first time in weeks, she felt something close to peace.
But peace never lasted in the Orazio household.
---
That night, she found her bedroom door already open.
And Matteo was inside. She hadn’t seen or heard from him in days .
He stood in the center of the room, one of the cream envelopes in his hand, but this time his focus wasn’t on the video.
It was on her.
His eyes were dark. Not cold — not unreadable — but furious.
“Elena,” he said, low and sharp, “do you think I’m a fool?”
Her stomach dropped. “What—?”
“You called someone today. On an unregistered line.”
Her blood turned to ice.
“Who gave it to you?” he asked. “Who the f**k helped you go behind my back? And what are these videos?”
“No one. I didn’t—”
“Don’t lie to me!”
His voice cracked against the walls like thunder.
She flinched but held her ground.
“I called my mother. That’s all. I didn’t tell her where I was, or who I married. I just—”
“You could have compromised security. Brought heat to my doorstep. You don’t get to make decisions like that, Elena. Not here. And you haven't given me an answer regarding these videos ”
Tears gathered in her eyes, but she refused to blink.
“I’ve been nothing but obedient,” she spat. “You parade me around like a trophy. You kiss me for show, touch me only when convenient, and then I find videos of you in our bed—our bed—with other women.”
His expression flickered.
“So don’t talk to me about betrayal,” she said, her voice shaking. “You’re not angry because I endangered you. You’re angry because I disobeyed you.”
“I don’t cheat,” he snapped. “I don’t sleep with those women. Those tapes aren’t mine.”
She stared at him in disbelief. “Then what? You just let someone film strangers in your bedroom for fun? It is clearly you and your voice. ”
He didn’t answer.
“Tell me, Matteo. Were they before or after the night you touched me like I mattered?” Her voice cracked. “Did you think I wouldn’t see? That I wouldn’t care? I didn't ask for any of this. I just want my mama.”
“Elena—”
“You’re a monster,” she whispered. “A cold, heartless—”
He moved too fast.
Before she could step back, his palm connected with her cheek.
The sound rang out like a gunshot in the quiet room.
Her head snapped sideways, her hand flying up to her face in shock. The sting bloomed across her skin, red and hot.
And then silence.
She slowly turned back to him, her eyes wide, lips parted in disbelief.
He looked as shocked as she felt — his hand still half-raised, his chest rising and falling with sharp breaths. He didn’t apologize. Didn’t reach for her.
He simply stared at the damage he’d done.
Something behind her ribs broke.
“I see,” she said, voice small. “That’s who you are.”
“Elena…”
She took a step back. Then another.
“You want a wife who’s silent. Pretty. Breakable.” Her eyes shone with unshed tears. “Congratulations. You’ve broken her.”
She turned and left the room before he could speak again.
She didn’t know where she was going — just that she had to get out. Out of that room. Out of his sight. Out of the illusion that this marriage had any thread of kindness left.
She didn’t cry until she reached the garden.
There, behind the hedges and roses, she let the sobs rip through her, gasping until her knees buckled and the world turned dark at the edges.
The wound on her cheek throbbed.
But it was nothing compared to the one he’d left in her chest.
She didn't see the eyes watching her from the shadows in her sorrow.
- Writer
