I feel an ache when the elevator doors open, because I have to let go of Lea. I love the way she feels in my arms. I didn’t realize how much I missed that kind of closeness. That kind of vulnerability. Nobody could ever replace Layla, but if the circumstances were different, Lea could heal me. Her beautiful smile and gorgeous green eyes could melt all the malice inside me. She’s already the antidote to the poison I thought would linger forever.
“Any preference on wine?” I ask, putting the basket down and walking to the mini-bar.
“Something stronger than wine, please,” she whispers, sitting down on the couch.
Yeah, that makes sense. Harsh poison. That’s what I turned to, when I was eager to devour as much as I could so the pain would go away. Except it doesn’t work. It’s just more toxin to mix with the venom you didn’t choose. Still, it’ll take the edge off. We both need that right now.
I fill two glasses with whiskey and discard the bottles from the mini-bar. I don’t normally add ice, but she might need it, so I make them both the same way. I walk over, hand Lea her glass, and sit down on the opposite end of the couch. Lea clutches her glass before lifting it to her lips. As soon as she sips it, her face twists into a scowl and she gags.
“Oh, god, that’s a lot stronger than wine,” she groans.
“Never had whiskey before?” I ask.
“I had a shot of vodka once,” she sighs. “I really don’t drink much. I’ve drunk more since I got to this resort than I have in the last year.”
“Would you like me to fix some vodka instead?” I offer.
“No.” She shakes her head and takes another sip. “This is fine. I had such a nice buzz from the wine, too. I was happy before…”
“Before you slapped my ass and I had to spank you,” I tease, even though I know that wasn’t the reason.
“I didn’t hate that part,” she says, a tiny grin moving the edges of her lips.
“I must admit I liked you like that. So carefree and happy.” I down some of my whiskey. “It seemed like your natural element.”
“I don’t know about that.” She sips her whiskey again and grimaces. “This isn’t my natural element. I’m on vacation.”
“Because you’re directionless, right?” I ask. “Maybe you were born to be directionless. There’s nothing wrong with it. Life doesn’t need direction to be meaningful.”
“I think I need one, Massimo,” she sighs. “I don’t like feeling lost. After I get back home, I have to figure out what I’m going to do. Probably go back to school, and find a major I like.”
“Or forget about that and see the world,” I say. “Experience life, without the burden.”
“I don’t want your money,” she reiterates. “I’ll figure things out on my own.”
“Okay,bambina,” I sigh. “I won’t bring it up again, but if you change your mind, my offer stands.”
She nods, sips her whiskey, and puts her glass down. Then she moves closer to me on the couch. I put my arm around her and pull her into a warm embrace. Not as tight as on the elevator, but enough to comfort her. It seems to work better than the whiskey. “There’s no way to get you to change your mind, is there?” she whispers. “I know you said faking your death isn’t really your style, but wouldn’t that solve the problem?”
She’s not wrong. Faking my death would be easy enough. My family would grieve—or celebrate. A mixture of both, I presume. But I know how that would go, just like I know how it would go if I went to war with my brother.
“It’s more complicated than that,bambina.” I casually trace my fingers along her arm while I speak. “I could disappear, but what I do is a part of me. If I fake my own death and things don’t go well after my brother takes over, I’ll feel obligated to step in. The only way I can walk away is if it’s permanent—and the only thing that makes it permanent is the grave.”
“It’s so unfair,” Lea sniffles, and I realize she’s crying.
“Don’t cry, Lea,” I plead. “Especially over me. The last thing I deserve is your tears. I’m the villain, remember? The scary guy on your best friend’s Mafia true crime wall?”
“Oh, god, Sarah,” she groans. “I bet she’s tried to call me.”
“I texted her last night,” I tell her. “Told her the date was over and you had nothing for her podcast. Although, I did say you might call her today…”
“Sarah will freak out if she doesn’t hear from me,” Lea says apprehensively.
“Then let her freak out,” I say. “You’re on vacation.”
“No, you don’t understand.” Lea pulls away and I see the concern in her eyes. “She’s obsessed with true crime. She assumes the worst every single time. If she doesn’t hear from me, she’ll call the hotel. She’ll call the cops. She might even get on a plane herself. And she knows your name.”
“Shit,” I mutter, realizing I may have underestimated Lea’s best friend. “If I give your phone back, can I trust you?”
