Page 74 of Forgetting the Enemy
Chapter 26
Zaira
Iwake up a bit disoriented and then I realize I am in bed with Michael. Marrying him is like a dream come true for me. Happily, I snuggle up against him. In sleep, he wraps his arms around me, the warmth of his body protecting me and keeping me safe.I will love this man until the day I die,I think to myself as I drift back to sleep.
I am standing just outside of my house listening at the open window, and my father is screaming.Who is he screaming at?I wonder. Domenic.
“Domenic Vitali, you killed my wife. I want you and your filthy family out of my house, now!” He fires a shot into the air.
“Alberto, you’re wrong. I would never put a hit on a woman, let alone a friend’s wife.”
“Fuck you, Domenic. You wanted all the power. You’ve always wanted the power. Well now you’ve crippled me. Get the fuck out of my house before I shoot you in front of your wife and children!”
No! This is not real. It’s just a dream.
Now I’m standing outside an office door. It’s my father’s office; I remember it. I’m eavesdropping on a conversation.
“Zaira will not be a wife who is treasured and doted on—or loved for that matter. She will satisfy my needs, both in the bedroom and out. This is a marriage of convenience and nothing else.”
Those are not Michael’s words. They’re Victor’s. Victor Masserie and my father had a deal. My father sold me to the highest bidder. I was never engaged to Michael. No! This is just a dream.
Now I am standing next to Victor, and I am wearing this God-awful, ugly ring.
“We’ll have a quick engagement. Six months work for you?” he asks. Does he really care what I think? I nod’cause I really don’t have a choice.
Vince and I are now sitting on a terrace, talking. I’m begging him for his help.
“He’s made a match for me,” I say sadly. “Victor and I are engaged.”
My engagement party appears around me.
“I can’t believe you’re getting married!” Mia exclaims. “Aren’t you excited?” Mia is my younger sister. She’s seventeen and has no idea of the hell I am about to face with this marriage. And she will never know.
And then there’s gunfire. Lots of gunfire!
I look around me, and everyone is screaming and running in all directions. It’s chaos. I quickly scan the room and see my father and Victor leaving. I’m appalled. They are not doing anything to help anyone, and it’s obvious they only care about saving themselves. I don’t know why I expected anything different. As I watch them head for cover, two bullets beeline in their direction. One hits my father in the back of the head, and I watch his brains explode all over Victor. Oh my God! Victor turns, and another bullet gets him right between the eyes, then another one in the chest. If I’m lucky, it will hit his black heart.
I turn back to find the source of the gunfire.
Michael.
I wake up with a jolt, screaming, “Murderer! Murderer!” I am deeply troubled by my dreams and realize I remember. I remember everything.
Michael wakes and jumps out of bed, and before I know it, he’s got a gun in his hand. “What happened?” he yells.
I look at him horrified. This can’t be. I have to be wrong about all of it. It was just a dream. But deep down in the depths of my heart, I know it was not a dream. They were my memories.
I sit here and stare at my husband, the man whom just a few hours ago I promised to love until death do us part, standing here with a gun in his hand ready to shoot whatever threat comes our way. Everything comes flooding back to me. I remember our childhood and growing up together. He was my confidant and my friend. I loved him. And then the unforgiveable happened, and his family murdered my mother. We never spoke after that. Then he killed my father.
Realizing there is no threat, he returns his gun to the nightstand and walks around the bed. “Zaira, baby, what’s wrong?” He sits on the bed next to me and moves to take me in his arms.
“Don’t you fucking touch me!” I yell as I push him away.
“Zaira, it was a bad dream, babe. It’s me, Michael,” he says, trying to convince me he’s safe. Safe my ass. He’s a fucking killer.
He gets up from the bed and walks toward me. “Don’t you dare come any closer, Michael Vitali. I mean it,” I yell.
I reach across to the night stand and grab his gun. I’m surprised at how comfortable it feels in my hand. I realize I know how to shoot and remember I’m a pretty good shot. I point the gun at him and say, “I remember, Michael. I remember everything.” I cry. The tears flow freely, and I’m a mess, but I keep the gun securely pointed at him.
