Chapter 2

That night, Andre fell asleep beside me.

I remembered our wedding day.

The hall was packed with guests, and Andre stood on the stage, making his vows before the priest.

“I swear to you, from this day forward, there will never be a sound in Sicily that can disturb you again.”

When he finished saying those words, my brother Joey smiled—a rare sight.

He patted Andre on the shoulder twice, hard.

“I trust you with Monica.”

Now, I lay in the pitch-black bedroom.

The sound of this man’s breathing was only inches away.

I felt as though I had been locked inside a room filled with noise, my head pounding unbearably.

On Monday morning, I made an appointment with the best psychologist in Sicily.

When the hospital appointment details popped up on my phone, I was sitting at the dining table eating breakfast.

Andre came out of the kitchen with a cup of coffee, his eyes briefly flicking toward my phone.

“You’re going to see a doctor?”

“I won’t be able to go with you today. There’s something going on with the Family. I’ll pick you up later.”

I didn’t answer and slipped my phone into my pocket.

The specialist was a gray-haired woman wearing thin-framed glasses.

After reading through the assessment questionnaire I had filled out, she put down her pen.

“Have you recently been subjected to repeated, involuntary exposure to loud noises?”

“Your anxiety level has doubled compared with three months ago, and you’re already showing signs of impending panic attacks.”

I gripped my knees, my palms slick with sweat.

“You must absolutely avoid any form of forced exposure from now on. This isn’t desensitization therapy. It’s piling new trauma onto existing trauma.”

“If this continues, it could develop into permanent PTSD.”

My throat tightened, and I couldn’t get a single word out.

As soon as I walked out of the hospital, my phone rang.

It was Joey.

“Andre said you went for a follow-up today? What did the doctor say?”

I hesitated for a moment.

“The doctor said I can’t do any more exposure therapy. My condition is getting worse…”

“Enough.”

He cut me off, his voice filled with impatience.

“You’re just too delicate. At least Alice studied psychology. She knows more than you do. What’s so hard about cooperating with the treatment? Stop making things difficult for Andre.”

I stood on the steps outside the hospital, my phone pressed against my ear.

The sunlight fell on me, but I couldn’t feel the slightest bit of warmth.

I thought back to when I was a child.

The member of the Family didn’t know about my condition, and they set off fireworks on Christmas Day.

I covered my ears and instinctively started biting my own arm, desperately destroying everything within reach.

When I came back to my senses, Joey was holding me in his arms, shielding my ears.

My teeth had bitten his hand until it was covered in blood.

“Your brother’s here. Don’t be afraid.”

He was fourteen that year.

I ended the call, and three minutes later, Andre sent me a message:

“Okay, got it. I won’t have time to pick you up, so just come home on your own. Oh, and Alice is coming over to cook for you today. She said she scared you last time and wants to make it up to you.”

When I got home, Alice came out of the kitchen.

She was wearing my floral apron.

“Monica! I made pasta!”

She smiled and waved the spatula at me, the ring on her finger sparkling brightly.

It was the ring Andre had bought at an auction last month.

He had given me the necklace and bracelet, and casually given the ring to Alice.

I hadn’t thought much of it at the time.

But now, looking at that ring, my stomach churned with nausea.

At the dinner table, I tried to speak.

“The doctor said my anxiety level has doubled. She said I absolutely can’t…”

“Monica.”

Alice put down her fork and interrupted me.

“That doctor is far too conservative. My mentor once said that a patient’s subjective feelings can’t be used as the basis for treatment. Otherwise, no desensitization therapy could ever be carried out.”

She spoke with absolute certainty, with a hint of pity in her voice.

As if I were a child who didn’t know any better.

Andre’s fork paused for a moment before he nodded.

“Alice has a point.”

His words that dismissed everything I was feeling.

The following Sunday, Andre suddenly said to me:

“Monica, don’t go to the hospital this afternoon.”

“Alice said that combining different forms of treatment will interfere with the effectiveness of the therapy.”

My throat tightened.

“What about me after that?”

“Let’s just follow Alice’s approach. All you do in those therapy sessions is talk. Have you actually seen any results?”

He prepared to leave.

“I’m going to take care of some Family business. I’ll be back tonight to keep you company.”

I sat alone in the empty room.

I picked up my phone, intending to schedule another appointment with a psychologist.

But a notification popped up on my screen:

“Donna, we’re sorry, but under the Don’s orders, we can no longer continue providing you with our services.”

I put down my phone.

I sat motionless on the sofa, feeling cold.

I remembered the day I was first diagnosed with PTSD.

I cried the moment I walked out of the consultation room.

Andre crouched down in the hallway and looked up at me, wiping the tears from my face with his thumb.

“It’s okay. I looked into it. This condition can be treated. I’ll always be by your side.”

Andre, you lied to me.

I covered my eyes, and the tears silently streamed down my face.

Andre, you lied to me…