I didn’t like what I saw, but then again, neither did she. Vittoria’s lips thinned as she took in a deep breath then exhaled slowly. She stepped towards the shower, turned the knobs inside and then, a sound of annoyance left me as steam filled the room and it became harder to see.

Some would say it was morally wrong to witness my captive wife shower, especially when she didn’t know she was being watched, but I did not give a solid fuck. She’d already attempted to kill herself once before. How was I to know she wouldn’t try that shit again?

She was mine and I protected my own.

On day thirteen, Vittoria started a routine. She showered in the morning, dressed from the clothes I had bought for her, ate a small breakfast, then picked up a book ‘til lunch. She chose either an apple or banana for lunch, then changed into something looser, moving to the living area where she turned on the smart TV and accessed an online yoga class. She spent the next forty-five minutes bending and stretching in ways that made my pants feel oddly tight around the crotch. After yoga, she watched a little television followed by her daily exploration of the house. By five p.m. she had cooked herself dinner. Tonight, her menu was spaghetti aglio e olio with freshly grated parmesan over the top.

It was only the day before that Vittoria discovered the smart fridge in the kitchen allowed her to add items to the shopping list. It pleased me that she was using it. The newest additions on it were tomatoes, cucumbers, sourdough bread and triple chocolate ice cream. And it was a good thing too. I enjoyed watching her eat.

By day seventeen, she was looking more herself and as she fell back into her own personality, I got to witness it for the very first time. Especially when, after a mug slipped from her hand into the sink and broke, she jumped back and said, “Eeek.”

She actually said it. She didn’t make a sound of fright. She fucking said it.

“Eeek.”

Can you imagine?

Yeesh.

It seemed more and more unlikely that this woman was the poised assassin she made herself out to be. Even less likely when, on day twenty, I sat back in my office chair as she stared out of the bedroom window, into the backyard. With a determined look of concentration on her face, she crossed her arms over her chest and stood there, still as a statue. Although it didn’t show on film, I knew what she was focused on. She glanced out at the immaculate pool and made a thoughtful sound.

Seeming a little annoyed, she moved then, sitting on the edge of the bed. Now, Vittoria rarely spoke to herself and when she did, I couldn’t always make it out, but this, I heard.

“What would Vincenza do?”