I know what he’s doing. He’s trying to confirm that Dimitri cares about me in some weird, warped way, but in all honesty, his question cuts me up a little. I don’t want Dimitri’s attention because I’m hurt, I want it because he genuinely cares about me.
“Wedding style it is,” Rocco says with a snicker when nothing but silence teems between us for the next several seconds. “It’ll get more of a rile out of Dimitri, and we both know how much I like stirring that fucker.”
Stealing my chance to reply, Rocco scoops me into his arms, gropes my butt in a way that isn’t close to being appropriate, then charges down the hall like a groom dying to see what negligee his bride is wearing under her dress.
23
Roxanne
“The faucet is as finicky as shit, but if you like your showers scalding, you’ll be happy.”
Rocco balances his drenched shoulder onto the doorjamb separating my room from the attached bathroom before running a towel over his wet head. For a woman unprepared for guests until ten minutes before we arrived, India laid out the welcome mat. My room is made up as if it’s the presidential suite at a ritzy hotel, the bathroom is brimming with toiletries that took care of the gory scent bounding out of Rocco the past three hours in less than ten minutes, and we devoured a feast fit for a king.
I could almost pretend I was whisked away for a weekend of indulgence if the right man was humming in the shower the past five minutes.
Rocco hasn’t let up on his endeavor to force a response out of Dimitri one bit the past three hours. He attempted to feed me strawberries dipped in chocolate, wipe away the dribble of a juicy steak from the bottom of my lip while chewing on his own, then sat so close to me, even if I wanted to forget I was only just freed from a baby-farming trade, I couldn’t.
The only good that’s come from his constant attention is not having the time to think about how much has changed in the past three days. I said to Dimitri I wouldn’t walk away from him as the woman I once was, but even I didn’t have a clue how honest my statement was.
I’m not close to the woman I used to be. I don’t necessarily believe that’s a bad thing. However, I’m confident walking away from Dimitri will hurt, nonetheless.
Ignoring the pain stretched from my heart to the lower half of my stomach, I maneuver out of the cross-legged position on the floor I’ve been huddled in the past hour, then pad to Rocco’s half of the room. He watches me, forever on alert, but seemingly at a loss on which direction he should take this time around.
We haven’t stumbled anywhere near the shitstorm we feel brewing on the horizon. We bunkered down instead, preferring to ride out the storm in a shelter instead of walking into it without fear as we suggested only hours ago. It’s cowardly for us to do, but when you’re facing a storm as brutal as this one, only a fool would pray for impact instead of doing everything possible to avoid it.
“I really wish you’d let someone take a look at your foot,” Rocco says when I stop to stand in front of him. “The ice helped with the swelling, but for all we know, it could be a twisted wreck beneath the surface.”
“It’s fine,” I assure him for the hundredth time this evening. I can barely feel its throb. Not only has the swelling settled, nothing can compare to the pain in my chest. It’s as bad as it comes. “We iced and strapped it. What more could it need?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Rocco answers, unaware I wasn’t asking a question. “Perhaps a splint… or how about some pain medication? That might help, too.”
“Truly. I’m fine. I swear to you.” I run my hand down his arm, genuinely grateful for his company the past three hours but more than ready to have a few minutes of solitude. “While I shower, why don’t you head down and release some of the excess energy that has you bouncing around like an Energizer Bunny.”
He smiles before shaking his head. “I’m good. I like hanging out with you.”
His reply warms my heart, but it does little to weaken my campaign. “I need some time to process everything.” When his brows pinch as confused by the angst in my tone as me, I make out it isn’t as big a deal as it is. “I need to use the bathroom…in private.”
“Oh…” His pupils dilate to the size of saucers before he adds a second, “Oooh,” into the mix, this one longer than his first.
Even mortified, I nod my head to the humor-filled questions in his eyes. I’d rather he believe I’m about to stink up the place than continue my struggle to hold back the wetness in my eyes. Just like I don’t stand out in a crowd, I’m not one of those girls who can pull off devastation without bloodshot corneas, scary suitcase-size bags under my eyes, and a heap of snot.
India’s residence is gorgeous and regal—just like her—but its walls are paper-thin. Rocco and I hear her staff’s incoming arrival long before they knock on the door of my room. The knowledge makes me grateful my room is in the equivalent of the basement. I’ll be out of the loop with what’s going on, but since that includes reuniting couples, my inquisitiveness is more than happy to face the injustice.
After tugging on a pair of gray sweatpants sans underwear and a crisp white tee from a bag one of India’s staff brought down earlier, Rocco rejoins me next to the carved wooden door that leads to the bathroom. “If you need me, call out to Smith. He’s always listening.”
The realization that I’m being forever watched usually comforts me. Regretfully, this time around, it doesn’t. It isn’t that I believe Smith will tattle on me, I’d just rather our reunion occur without the awkwardness it is already going to be filled with.
In a last-ditch attempt to rile Dimitri, Rocco presses his lips to my temple. It isn’t a quick half-a-second peck. His lips linger long enough for me to hear the gurgle of his stomach when nothing but heartbreak teems between us.
I appreciate what he’s doing, and I love that he still has my back even with Dimitri’s wife resurrecting from the grave, but I also hate it. Audrey is fighting for her life. Now is not the time to force her to glove-up for someone she never truly lost. At the end of the day, no matter what happens, she is Dimitri’s wife and the mother of his child, and I am…nobody.
Incapable of holding back my devastation for a second longer, I briefly lean into Rocco’s embrace to accept a comfort I don’t deserve before I dash into the bathroom as fast as my quivering legs will take me, shutting the door behind me.
With my eyes shut and my heart in lockdown, I squash my back against the carved wood, my tears not permitted to fall until the squeak of a second set of hinges sounds through my ears. When that occurs, my sobs are devastating. I’ve been holding them in for days, so I expected nothing less than pure carnage when I finally permitted them to fall. They howl through me on repeat, not slowing even when the wetness flooding my cheeks becomes too much for my swiping hands to keep up with. I cry and cry and cry until the hottest water won’t remove the red streaks from my cheeks, and I fall asleep on the tiled floor, alone and heartbroken.
I lost the man I love, our child, and my principles in one night. Nothing could have prepared me for this—not even falling in love with a notorious mobster so outrageously, I’d do it all again in a heartbeat just to see the light in his eyes shift for the final time.
Fien owns Dimitri’s heart.
