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I stare down at his swollen, blotchy face, and pure, unadulterated hatred spews through my body. Hatred and repulsion for this pathetic, stupid, pretty boy with the big straight white horse teeth in a weak jaw that just scream expensive orthodontics. The fact he thought he could even exist in the same room as Deirdre, let alone touch her, is an affront to the natural fucking order of things and I will not stand for it.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” I tell him, pulling my gun from my jacket.
Every muscle in his chest tightens as he strains against his ties when he sees the weapon. He starts blabbering, like I knew he fucking would, because preppy little rich kids like this can act tough but that’s all it ever is – an act.
“No, no, please, wait. I have money. No. God, no, please, please, please-”
I give Curse a look, and my brother smashes Brian in the temple with his fist, stunning him into silence.
“As I was saying,” I continue, “here is what is going to happen. For some reason my Songbird doesn’t want you to die, and for some reason I find I can’t refuse her. So, when we are done here, Aleksej is going to take you to a very good, very discreet doctor under my employ who’s going to make sure that you don’t bleed out.”
“Bleed… out…” Brian echoes dazedly.
“After that, you will disappear. You will leave the country. You will not come back. If I hear one fucking whisper about you setting foot back here, my Songbird’s misguided mercy won’t be enough to save you.”
His eyes fixate on my gun as mine roam over his body, deciding where to put the bullets. Kneecaps might be good… Or blow a couple holes through his hands…
“This is insane! You can’t do this to me,” Brian finally stammers. “Don’t you know who I am? Who my father is? I’m on track to make partner at one of the best law firms in Toronto by the time I’m thirty!”
I let out a mirthless bark of a laugh.
“So fucking sue me then.”
I put my gun against his dick and pull the trigger.
Chapter 37
Deirdre
After the incident with Brian at school I don’t see Elio for three days. I still go to class, accompanied by Enzo now, and I have to admit it’s a hell of a lot easier to concentrate without Elio’s menacing bulk beside me. I’m still with a gangster, but Enzo keeps his mouth mostly shut. That and the fact he doesn’t make me attend class with my tender ass covered in his dry come means going to school with him is practically mundane.
I don’t see or hear from Brian either, which is a relief. Getting his nose smashed in must have finally gotten it through his thick head that we’re done. Sometimes, at night, when Elio hasn’t come back, I replay that punch over and over again. The swift, decisive arc of Elio’s fist. The crunching of bone. I want to hate the violence of it. But something in that violence calls to me more than it repels me. It feels good to be stood up for, to be protected, even if the person doing the protecting is the most dangerous one of all.
On the morning of the fourth day, I still haven’t seen Elio. There’s no class today either, so I have nothing to distract me and nothing to focus on. And I need distraction, today of all days. I’ve been avoiding thinking about it, avoiding confronting this date the way I do every year. And every year, it still manages to sneak up on me and get its hands around my throat.
The anniversary of Mom’s death. The anniversary of the night we crashed.
I do some homework, tapping away on the keyboard of the laptop Elio bought me, as if I can escape into academia. But as the minutes turn to hours, and evening approaches, a sorrow-soaked dread starts closing in on me. Every few words I type get blurred with choking tears, until I’m rising from the small desk and almost blindly stumbling out of the room.
I ignore Robbie, who dutifully follows me from his place at the top of the stairs as I descend. Getting out of the room was good, I decide. I don’t feel quite so claustrophobic. Normally, on this day, Willow would come get me out of the house. We’d go see a movie or something. But I still haven’t heard from her since that first email she sent, and there’s basically zero chance she’ll be breaking me out of here tonight.
I swipe at my eyes and wander into the living room that leads into the kitchen. There’s floor to ceiling windows here, and heavy, beautiful snowflakes drift down onto the towering pine and spruce trees all around the property. The ground is velvet white, the sky darkening like a bruise.
He still hasn’t come back.
I get it. I get that I’m a prisoner here and that he can walk in and out of this house anytime he likes while I cannot. But something about this – about him not being here on this night of all nights – feels worse than usual. I can’t hide from the fact that if anyone would understand how I feel right now, it would be Elio. He may never tell me what happened with his mom in his own words, but his wound matches mine in the deepest and most painful of ways.
And right now, it hurts that he’s not here. It’s terrible and shameful and maybe I’m just insane with grief, but I want him. I fucking miss him, God help me. God help me.
I watch the snow falling. As the sky steeps itself in darkness, the snowfall gets heavier, thicker, until I can barely see the trees outside. I probably would stand there all night, numbing myself with the sight of the snow, if the sound of the front door opening and closing didn’t make me spin so fast I almost fall over.
Elio.
But it’s not Elio. And the resulting disappointment shatters any illusion of numbness. Tears choke me, and I try to swallow and blink them back as Valentina takes off a pair of boots and heads for me.
“Hey! My mom sent me over here to grab something from the kitchen. We’re out of the good balsamic, but Rosa has some. Have you heard from Elio, by the way?” Valentina stops in front of me. Her red parka is dusted with rapidly melting snow, as are her long, fluttery lashes. “Are you OK?”
“I’m fine.” How many times have I said that?
