Page 45 of Mafia Obsession

And sometimes I forget, too. I fantasize that I can have a different life. That a man like Ares Zervas could love me.

“You sound happy,” Sandrine chirps.

It’s been so long since anyone said that to me. I squeeze my eyes shut. I have no one to talk to about what David is doing to me. Or what it means to be happy now because I’ve been so unhappy for so long.

“I am happy.” I hold my breath, hoping she believes it. “I want to visit you soon.”

“I would love that so much. I wish I could remember us as sisters.”

“We’re still sisters.”

“I mean, growing up together. Some of the women here talk about their sisters.”

I think about Dad’s photo albums wasting away in those boxes. “We did all the sisterly things. We cuddled in bed together. We did each other’s hair. I promise we’ll do all of that again.”

“Okay. They’re serving lunch now. I have to go.”

“Jess, wait.” I take a breath. “Did you have any more breakthroughs on your memory before the accident? Or the apartment you saw in a dream?”

“Um… No.”

I exhale. How can I protect her if I don’t know what or who to protect her against?

“Can I go eat now?”

“Yes, sweetie. I’ll call you again in a couple of days. I love you.”

“I love you, Lourdes.” She sounds so sad when she hangs up.

I take a breath to stop myself from crying. I fooled her into thinking I’m happy, but the enthusiasm she heard in my voice was me thinking about Ares at that moment.

David has been back and forth to Boston, still sleeping on the sofa when he’s home.

Things must not have gone well on the last trip. He came home aggravated two nights ago. I was just standing at the kitchen counter, staring at nothing, really. Just…thinking. Letting myself feel something for once.

For Ares, if I was being honest. How he looks at me, talks to me, like I matter. The happiness must have shown on my face, the way Sandrine heard it in my voice.

But David caught on to it, too.

“Lourdes!”

There was a question that followed. Or maybe a warning. With David, it could have been both.

I blinked.“Sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

Wrong answer.

“I’m fucking talking to you,”he barked.

“I’m right here. What do you w?—”

I don’t remember finishing the sentence.

Only the shift. The sound of the couch whining as he got up, the chair scraping back too hard against the floor as he pushed it out of the way. The look in his eyes. Not anger. Cold hatred.

His hand closed around my throat, fingers digging in just enough to hurt, just enough to remind me to stay still. My body reacted before my mind caught up. My shoulders tightening, breath catching, every instinct narrowing to that moment, right before, where everything goes very still. Where I can almost convince myself that it won’t happen this time.

It always does.