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Only time would tell which one it would be.
Chapter Seven – Giselle
To say I was restless in this house would be the year’s biggest understatement. There was only so much I could do by myself; I mainly focused on working out—although that was tough without any equipment. I had to do everything on my own, old school style, but as the days passed, I could feel my body’s muscles becoming stronger, firmer, regaining the strength they used to have before everything went to shit. Damian brought me some hand weights, which helped a lot.
The days that passed felt like years. The only face I saw on a consistent basis was Damian’s, and that brought its own set of problems with it, such as my growing feelings for him.
I wasn’t Shay Arrowwood. I couldn’t keep collecting men whenever I felt like it. There was… there was nothing worthy that would forever fix their attentions and their hearts on me.
But that was alright, because really, if I managed to take Miguel and Rocco down, what kind of life would I live afterward? What would I do? Maybe it would be better if I crashed and burned with my demons.
I was about to get in the shower after a workout session when Damian knocked on the bathroom door and said, “Your boy’s here to see you, and it looks like he brought some presents.”
My boy. It’s what he called Luca. Cade was Superman, Luca was my boy, and Ezekiel was the priest.
So instead of hopping in the shower, I threw my clothes back on and ventured out, well aware my hair was a greasy mess. I found Luca talking to Damian in the kitchen, a backpack resting on the counter near them.
It’s the first time I’d seen Luca since he’d initially come to visit, and I couldn’t fight the smile that grew on my face when he turned those dark eyes to me.
It struck me then that I no longer saw Rocco Moretti when I looked at him. I just saw Luca.
“I can’t stay for long, but I brought you a few things.” Luca grinned as he patted the backpack near him. “I’ll call you later, though, okay?” He’d been calling me every single day to talk to me. Obviously only when he was away from his father and his father’s men.
After I’d commandeered Cade’s phone from him, those daily calls had helped keep me sane. Cade called when he could, too. Both had their eyes and ears peeled in Cypress while I was waiting to meet with Shay.
Shay was taking her good old time to meet with me, but from what I’d heard, she had a lot to deal with. Rocco and Miguel had gone to the Hand not only to announce what happened to me, but also to get the ball rolling with Nixon’s true parentage. Luca kept me in the loop where that was concerned. It was one big mess.
“What’d you bring me?” I smiled at Luca as I grabbed the bag and tugged it away from him. I stood a foot away from him, well aware Damian’s eyes were on me from across the small island as my fingers worked to unzip the bag.
“Oh, you know, nothing much. Just a few things I thought you might like to have here.” Luca rubbed his clean-shaven jaw. “Things my father wouldn’t miss in the suite.”
The first thing my hand grabbed onto inside the bag was long and cold. Metal. My breath caught in my throat as I pulled it out, and my eyes fell to the gilded steel the moment it was in the light.
The gun Damian had given me.
“Ah, good, it ain’t lost,” Damian mused with a half-smirk on his face.
I carefully set the gun down, digging in the bag for the next thing, and once my fingers curled around the fabric, I knew exactly what it was. What they were, I should say, because there was more than one.
I pulled out my black gloves, and when I saw them, my hands tightened around them.
Luca was quiet as he said, “I didn’t know if you wanted them or not. I know you used to wear gloves all the time, because of… everything, so I thought maybe they’d make you feel better.” He shrugged. “I don’t know. If you don’t want them, I can take them back.”
“No,” I whispered. “I’ll keep them. Thank you, Luca.” These gloves were not the white ones I wore while around Miguel or in public, while I was his reluctant heir. These were my black gloves, the gloves I’d worn at night, while trying to free myself of the shackles that had been placed on me.
They were a symbol of what I’d become, and even though I did not need them anymore, it was still good to have them as a reminder of how far I’d come.
There was still one more thing in the bag, and a heavy thing at that. I grabbed hold of it and pulled it out, finding a T-shirt was wrapped around it to protect it. Even though I couldn’t see it, I knew what it was, and my heart constricted as I unwrapped the shirt to reveal the thick, gaudy golden cross that belonged to Father Charlie.
To my real father.
My eyes prickled. I did not cry because of what Miguel did to me, but I’d cry because of this. Because of what was stolen from me, from my true father. Miguel had pointed me in the direction of his church after that night three years ago, assuming I’d tell Father Charlie who I was and possibly what happened to me. He’d wanted him to know, to break him while seeing me long for death.
And then he waited for Father Charlie to love me, and only then did he send those Greenbacks to kill him.
It wasn’t fair. It really wasn’t fair at all. None of this was right, and it hurt me so much.
“I…” I picked up the cross and held it against my chest. The golden chain came with it. “I need a minute.” I hurriedly gave the guys my back as I rushed to my bedroom, shutting myself inside it while fighting those tears.
