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“So what are you suggesting?”
“Let me discuss it with Marco. But I’m thinking we send you to Màlaga with some men and a fuckload of guns to see what happens. You want to build an empire there, figlio mio? Then you will need to work your ass off to do it.”
I was more than ready. I needed work to stay busy, to distract me from the hole in my chest and from the guilt I carried.
I needed to forget ever knowing Alessandro Ricci.
“Come.” He slapped my back. “Let us return to the castello. Nothing will be decided today and your siblings are anxious to see you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Alessio
Shoreditch, East London
“You still look like shit.”
I blinked and found Sasha leaning over me. I must’ve fallen asleep on her couch. Again. “Spasiba.” Thank you.
She slipped a lollipop in her mouth and walked away. “Don’t mention it.”
I’d been living here for three weeks, healing. After Sasha flew to Tunisia to pick me up, she insisted on bringing me to her London flat instead of letting me stay alone in one of my homes. I was grateful for her stubbornness. At the time, I hadn’t realized just how hurt I was.
I closed my eyes. Most of my physical injuries had healed. The arm was still in a cast, but the bruises were fading. And my ribs only ached when I drew in a really deep breath.
My heart? That was another matter entirely. I would never recover from losing Giulio. There was a crater in my chest, a missing piece of me. I was miserable without him, and I had nothing to do but sit here and think.
I needed work to keep me busy.
“Look for a job,” I yelled out to Sasha.
“When your arm is healed, yes.”
I would go crazy if I sat around here any longer. “No, now.”
“Alessio.” I heard her sit in the chair across from me. Then she took the lollipop out of her mouth with a smack. “You are not ready. If you go now, you will get killed.”
“Then you can go live on a beach somewhere and hire a handsome pool boy.”
“I’d prefer an older businessman, actually. In a suit. Maybe a little gray at his temples.”
I cracked my lids to see her. “Do you have a daddy fetish, Sasha?”
Her fair skin colored slightly. “Shut up, mudak. We are discussing you.”
“I definitely do not have a daddy fetish.” I let my eyes close and folded my hands on my stomach.
“No, you have a Giulio Ravazzani fetish. I just wish I knew how to cure you.”
Same. I’d give everything I owned for a pill or shot to get him out of my system. I was desperate. My headaches were getting worse and I think I had an ulcer. I slept in fits and starts, never getting any meaningful rest.
Every time I slept, he was there. Angry and hateful. Chasing me through the streets of Palermo or Santorini. Taunting me as he promised to kill me. Worse were the dreams when he loved me and looked at me with adoring, kind eyes.
Because I always woke up. I remembered he was gone and my heart broke all over again.
“Find another job,” I blurted. “Who is waiting in your email?”
“No and no one.”
