The Roma's Promise , livre ebook

4 Horsemen Publications, Inc. - Shae Coon

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86 pages

English

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Description

I had a psychotic break…

At least that’s what the doctors and the man claiming to be my husband tell me. But after spending a month in a mental health hospital, I’m left questioning everything. The memories of Emiliano Calvano and our time together fade with each passing day until one day … they’re gone.

Was he ever real? Was it all in my imagination, a dark romance novel of my own making? Or is someone else writing the story? My heart tells me my dark Roma don will come for me, but will he make it before I’m written out of the story entirely?

A mafia romance full of mystery, intrigue, and steam, The Roma’s Promise will have readers on the edge of their seats to see if Emiliano comes back into Greta’s life despite the odds.

Informations

Publié par	4 Horsemen Publications, Inc.
Date de parution	17 février 2023
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9798823201087
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	1 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0350€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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Table o f Contents
Disclaimer
What If…
Prologue
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
Book Club Questions
Shae Coon

The Roma’s Promise
Copyright © 2023 Shae Coon. All rights r eserved.

4 Horsemen Publication s, Inc.
1497 Main St. S uite 169
Dunedin, FL 34698
4horsemenpublicat ions.com
info@4horsemenpublicat ions.com
Cover by S hae Coon
Typesetting by S . Wilder
Edited by Tilda M. Cooke
All rights to the work within are reserved to the author and publisher. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise, except as permitted under Section 107 or 108 of the 1976 International Copyright Act, without prior written permission except in brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Please contact either the Publisher or Author to gain per mission.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used ficti tiously.
Library of Congress Control Number: 20 22947619
Paperback ISBN-13: 979-8-823 2-0109-4
Audiobook ISBN-13: 979-8-823 2-0107-0
Ebook ISBN-13: 979-8-823 2-0108-7

Disclaimer
This book is for mature readers only, 18+. It includes rough sexual scenes, intense and humiliating punishments, violence, criminal elements, and mentions of trafficking. Reader discretion i s advised.

What If…
You w eren’t you
And I wasn’t me
Then may be there’d
Be a chance we
Could be
But I am I
And y ou are you
So wha t could be
Will have
To do.
- R.S. Green

Prologue
A psychotic break is defined as someone losing touch with reality and experiencing delusions or hallu cinations.
I would argue that we all need a break from reality once in a while. Apparently, my doctors disagree. And so does m y husband.
Husband. The word sounds foreign to me. Especially when the title comes with a man I don’t remember. He tells me it was love at first sight and that we married soon after meeting because we couldn’t imagine life without each other. Then something happened, and I went missing for a couple of days. My husband searched for me high and low, eventually finding me asleep on the doorstep of Basilica Santa Maria and completely d elusional.
I was screaming about being taken by the mafia to repay an old family debt and that I had escaped. According to them, it was all a figment of my imagination. Emiliano Calvano was a real person, but one I must have seen on TV or read about in the papers and pulled into my delusions. My beloved pet, Rooster, died a few months ago back in America. And my sisters? Estranged for nearly a year, torn apart by our mothe r’s death.
Everything I thought I knew to be real was a phantasm, illusions of a bro ken mind…
At least, that’s what the y tell me.

1
Greta
“H ow are the daily exercises going? Are you feeling more focused?” Doctor Meyer, my psychiatrist, asks like she does every time I see her. She is a tall blonde German woman with blue eyes and slight wrinkles around her eyes and mouth.
I’ve been at Saint Augustine’s Mental Health Hospital in Sardinia for barely a month, and if I wasn’t crazy before, I sure as shit am now. Every day is the same: sleep, eat, group activities designed for kindergartners, drugs, drugs, and more drugs. Drugs to help us sleep, to help us be calm, even drugs to enable us to take a crap. How does anyone get well in a place like this?
“I told you: I was never unfocused ,” I spit.
“I see,” she says condescendingly and scribbles something into h er tablet.
“No, I don’t think you do, Doctor, or else you would tell them that I’m completely in my right mind and not a danger to myself or others and to let me the fuck go,” I argue. The look of murder I send her way doesn’t help my cause.
Unfazed, she just sighs and lays down her tablet. “We’ve been over this, Mrs . Marius–”
“Don’t call me that! That’s not my name.”
“Fine. We’ve gone over this, Greta. I cannot in good conscience report that you’re stable enough to return to society when you still cannot see that what you think you went through was just a hallucination. Greta, you won’t even accept that you’re married.”
“Because I’m not!” I shout and grip the edge of the suede sofa cushion to stop from launching myself at her. “I know what you tell me, but I’m telling you for the hundredth time, I do not know that man. You say I have hallucinations, but that doesn’t explain me not remembering a man I supposedly love so much that I married him within weeks of mee ting him.”
“Your mind is block ing out––”
“Fuck you! You can stop with your psycho-babble bullshit. I know what’s real, and I’m done with this conv ersation.”
“Very well. Your husband… Mr. Marius,” she corrects, “will be here shortly to visit you. We will try again ano ther day.”
Without another word, I stand and storm out of her office with a hard slam of the door. “Easy, Piccolo , you will shake the whole place down,” the male nurse, Diego, cautions, levity painting his tone.
“Good. Then I could get the hell out of this damn place,” I murmur and start walking toward the main hall.
“You wound me, little one. You wouldn’t miss me?” he asks in mock offense, and I can’t help but smile at the gentle giant. He is tall as a mountain, built like a lumberjack, with his broad chest, bushy beard, and deep brown eyes. The man is intimidating until you get to know him, and then he is just a giant t eddy bear.
“You would be the only one I missed. You could always go with me, be my bodyguard. Just get me out of here.” I smirk up a t the man.
“I’ll get right on that. For now, you have a visitor.” He guides me to the recreation room where family members sit with their institutionalized loved ones and pretend that they aren’t entirely creeped out by t his place.
“Oh, joy. Someone else to try and make me f eel nuts.”
“No matter what you believe, the man seems to care for you. There are worse things than a man loving you through this,” Diego argues, and I snort at his attempt at romanticizing the situation.
We enter the room, and there he sits—my supposed husband. Tall, handsome, and imposing as hell. My pulse quickens, and the same cold chill I feel every time he visits climbs my spine. It’s a warning––of what I don’t exa ctly know.
As soon as his eyes meet mine, Sebastian smiles broadly and takes me in his arms. “ Piccolo Uccello .” He calls me little bird , something I’ve told him repeatedly to s top doing.
I don’t return the hug, but just like all the other times, it doesn’t faze him. He just holds me tighter and lays a kiss on my head. “I told you not to call me that.” I pull from his arms and plop in one of the wo od chairs.
“My apologies. I’ve missed you, and the name just pops out. How are you?” he asks sincerely and takes my hands.
“I’m stuck in a mental institution, Sebastian. How the hell do you think I ’m doing?”
“ Sí . That was a stupid question, but I have good news for you. I’ve decided it would be best to take you home.”
I sit up straight, hope tickling my nerves. “Really? You’re taking me back to Texas?”
His smile drops, and his eyes grow sad. “Greta, you’re my wife. I’m taking you back to our home. Though not the one in Rome but in Germany where there’s m ore land.”
“You want to take me to Germany?” I squeak and stand so suddenly that my chair falls back with a resounding bang. I don’t have anything against Germany, but it will make it much harder for Emil t o find me.
He stands and picks my chair up before taking my shoulders in his large hands and applying slight pressure to have me sit down. “In Germany, we will have more privacy, and you can enjoy nature while recovering. I’ll be honest: I thought this was the best place for you, but see that I was very wrong. You will have weekly therapy sessions and a nurse on staff to help with any … issues that m ay arise.”
“Issues meaning if I suddenly decide to murder everyone in their sleep?” I’m only half kidding because if the warning bells tell me anything, it’s that this man is not who he prete nds to be.
Sebastian laughs and kisses my knuckles. “I do not foresee you doing something so drastic.”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Didn’t you hear I’m insane? Regardless, I’m not going to Germany, Sebastian.” I pull my hands from his.
His eyes darken with the rejection before he leans forward with his elbows on his knees. “Not yet. You’re right. We will stay in Bolzano for a few weeks while the restorations on our home in Germany are completed,” he speaks softly, almost reverently, but like a switch has flipped, his eyes turn cold, and his hands fist. “I am your husband, and seeing as you’re considered unfit to take care of yourself, I have the last say, Piccolo Uccello . And I say you’re leaving this hospital today, and we’re going to Bolzano, then to Germany. Do you understand?” I shiver at the malice in his tone and the maniacal look in his eyes.
“Yes,” I whisper, my voice drowned out by the warning bells blaring i n my head.
“ Buona. ” He smiles. “Diego will take you to your room to change while I take care of your discharge papers.” He stands and takes me with him with our hands entwined.
“But what about Doctor Meyer? She said she can’t sign off on letting me out.” I argue only because I have the distinct feeling that I’m safer in this place than I’ll be in this m an’s home.
“You let me worry about the doctor. Now go.” He turns m