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“What do you mean?” he asks.
“I couldn’t survive five minutes of being locked up.” I shudder at the notion. “You were there for nearly five years. That makes you resilient.”
He downs his wine and casts his gaze across the water with a non-committal hum as though he’s still absorbed in my story.
“What was prison like?” I ask.
Roman shakes his head. “Something I don’t want to relive.”
“Roman? It’s alright to talk about these things?—”
“Drop it,” he says with so much conviction that my jaw clicks shut.
We finish eating in silence until dessert, where Roman changes the subject to my art and poses for me in front of the water. Our conversation flows again, but it’s superficial and light.
Roman hasn’t been the same since that emergency the morning after the auction. Something is weighing on his mind, and I can’t shake the feeling that it’s related to me. Despite his assurances, I still feel like a burden.
That’s what Mom used to call me every day.
Because of me, Jim won’t stop sending people through Roman’s gates and because of me, Roman has become a person of interest to the police.
I dab a little red umber onto the canvas to emphasize the ends of his hair, reflecting the way it’s lit up by the sun. What am I talking about? A mafia don is always in conflict with the law.
Maybe my paranoia has morphed from thinking I’m Roman’s prisoner to thinking I’m Roman’s overstaying guest.
Or maybe it’s none of that and I’m looking too deeply into his expression and constructing reasons to be unhappy. Maybe I’m finally succumbing to Mom’s mental illness?
FORTY-THREE
ROMAN
Hours later, I’m lying in bed with my gaze fixed on streams of moonlight dancing on the ceiling. I can’t stop thinking about what Emberly told me of her last relationship.
The man she described is me.
But unlike Callahan, I haven’t yet dropped my mask. She got to see the violent, controlling monster beneath the cop’s charming exterior, but she hasn’t seen mine.
Emberly doesn’t realize I engineered our meeting or that I have a game plan. Hell, she doesn’t even know the identity of her father or how he’s our family’s greatest betrayer. She has no idea that I planned on putting a bullet through her skull.
With a heavy heart, I steal a glance at Emberly’s sleeping face. Beneath the mass of curls, her long lashes rest at the top of her cheeks, with her pink lips parted. She looks so vulnerable, so innocent, so undeserving of being the pawn in a vendetta against a family she doesn’t even know. My fingers twitch to brush a stray lock off her forehead, to feel the warmth of her skin against my fingertips, but I resist the urge.
I can’t sleep beside her knowing that Callahan is out there still drawing breath, still plotting his next move to take her back. The situation with the Moirai group was more pressing, as well as the threat of war with Tommy Galliano. I needed the casino back and the chance to replenish our ranks.
Now that both situations are under control, I finally have the mental bandwidth to make sure the greasy cop never gets a second chance to hurt Emberly.
Carefully, I slip out of bed and get dressed, trying not to disturb her sleep. Then I navigate down the winding Alderney Hill drive while barking orders into my phone at my associates in Beaumont City. When I arrive at Gil’s apartment, I ring his doorbell.
When he doesn’t reply, I call his number.
“Boss,” he says, his voice groggy with sleep. “What’s happened?”
“Do you still have the blonde roommate?” I ask.
“Sure. Why?”
“I’m downstairs. Let me in.”
The buzzer sounds, the door clicks open, and I step into the building’s lobby and take the stairs all the way to the top floor. Call it claustrophobia, I don’t give a shit, but I no longer care for confined spaces.
