The Broken Angel Read Free Page B

before the oppressive façade of the Tarantino & Sons’ offices. Any time she neared that building, she thought of running in the opposite direction. The four-story homage to the fascist regime was covered in white marble and resembled a gigantic mausoleum.
    “The sooner I’m in, the sooner I’m out.” She propelled herself toward the entry, then proceeded to climb the four flights of stairs up to Tarantino’s office. She hadn’t settled for one of the two sons, but had requested the father to follow her case.
    Tarantino’s secretary, a plump woman younger than Martina by several years, informed her the lawyer was waiting for her and escorted her to his office.
    Martina entered the big room and braced for the darkness that always seemed to permeate that place. Today, though, both windows were open, and the office was still partially obscured by the heavy draperies framing them.
    “Ms. Colonna, I hope I didn’t inconvenience you.” Mr. Tarantino rose from his cushioned armchair. The man was in his late sixties, still fit, and always impeccably dressed. He positioned a chair behind her, then waited for her to seat herself before moving behind his desk.
    “You said it was imperative.” The faint smell of tobacco and fresh-cut flowers reached her nostrils.
    “Your husband called me.”
    Martina saw red behind her eyelids. It happened every time someone called Giulio Severi her husband. If there was justice on earth, she would be a free woman by now, but two years had passed and she was still legally married to a man who had abused her in every conceivable way.
    “What does he want?”
    Mr. Tarantino steepled his hands and looked at her over his glasses. “He has requested a personal meeting with you or he won’t sign the papers.”
    Martina let out a nervous chuckle. “Again?”
    “Again.” The older gentleman sighed, changed position on his chair, tapped his knuckles on his desk, then gave her a sad smile. “Mr. Severi was quite adamant about it and made me promise to tell you in person to stress the importance. Ms. Colonna, you are aware that if he doesn’t cooperate, you’ll be married to him until he decides otherwise.”
    Her head light, she stood to reach for the window. “And you know I don’t want to be in the same room with him ever again.”
    “I know, but—” Mr. Tarantino shook his head, then opened and closed his hands.
    She finished his thought for him. “We can’t prove what he did to me.” Giulio had never touched her face and always made sure she wouldn’t leave the house when marked by his brand of love.
    “He sent this for you.” The lawyer picked a cream-colored parcel from his desk and reached her at the window. “He said it was important you received it today.”
    Martina took the light envelope with two fingers and raised it before her.
    “If you want some privacy—” Mr. Tarantino made to step toward the door, but Martina stopped him.
    She tore the parcel at the seams and a single picture slid into her palm. A wedding picture. Memories flooded her mind.
    “It’s hard for me to give you away.” Her father kissed her hand he had held the whole ride, then he exited the car, walked around and opened her door. “But I want you to be the happiest bride alive.”
    Martina’s heart swelled and she took his hand, only to hug her father as soon as she was out of the car. Her mother, who had ridden in the car behind them, materialized at her side to chastise Martina about wrinkling the designer gown.
    “Your husband and his family are waiting for you.” Her mother directed Martina and her husband toward the marble stairs of Santa Susanna, the church chosen by Giulio’s father because its parish priest was a Severi himself.
    Martina laid her hand on her father’s arm. They breathed in and out, smiled to each other, then climbed the stairs and passed through the majestic wooden door. At the end of the church’s nave, Giulio locked eyes with her, and her heart grew three