Page 62 of Revenge on the Mafia

She turned around. “Why?”

“Give it a month.”

She took a step toward me. Worry lined her forehead. “What’re you going to do?”

“Nothing.” That was the whole point. I would do nothing to defend myself. “Just give it some time.” She remained there. Staring at me, trying to pry answers I wouldn’t give her. “Anna will need time to adjust,” I lied.

Satisfied, she nodded.

When the door closed softly behind her, I sank into my chair with relief. Anna would have to fire Magda once she took over. She’d never forgive her. But then again, why would my wife hang around in New York if I were dead?

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

ANNA

August 8th.

No sé si lograré matarlo. Pero creo que... incluso si lo consiga, no saldré ileso.

I don't know if I will manage to kill him. But I think... even if I do, I won't make it out of this in one piece.

A white dress hung in my peripheral view. It might as well have been black. It certainly stained my vision dark.

Behind me, Daria bustled around, taking my shoes out of the box, setting them down before she haphazardly straightened the bedsheets. I followed her movements in the reflection of the mirror. She was nervous. I was numb. What would she say if I asked for a black dress instead? She looked like the type to agree.

My eyes moved past her and scattered all over, taking in the room I’d vacuumed and mopped countless times. It was all too familiar. Until I slept in it. I hated that Magda had immediately upgraded me to this room after his announcement. She’d ignored my needs. Just dumped me here. Respectfully. Still. There was an additional barrier between them and me. When the only barrier should have been after his death.

I’d called Mamá the night before. Words at the tip of my tongue. Heart heavy with a guilty conscience. Her little girl was getting married. Even if it were for a month, I wanted her to know it. An outrageous idea rushed through my mind. She should have met him. I squashed that down as quickly as it had risen.

My ears prickled. The hair on the back of my neck rose, and memories tugged at my heartstrings. I didn’t know how long I’d taken to notice it, but now that I had, the sound pulled me in and embraced me with warm arms. From the speakers at the edges of the room, a sonnet floated, chasing after my heartbeat, dancing with my pulse. The piano notes of Enrique Grandos. Papá’s favorite. Romantic, tragic, sweeping. Goyescas.

My chest split open. A foreign and all-consuming substance filtered into my veins. The bubble of numbness cracked. The stool fell to the ground with a thud as I stumbled to my feet.

“Anna?” A question from Daria. Nervous energy underneath it.

Emotion crawled up my throat. Tears collected at the edges of my eyes. I made it to the bathroom. Gripping the sink, I pinned my attention on the girl staring back. The silliest thought entered my mind. My makeup’s gone to hell. All Daria’s work pooled down in a mismatched rainbow of pink, orange, brown and black. Soon, my silk, ivory chemise would carry the proof of my breakdown. Because it was that, wasn’t it? The ball of anxiety inside me barreled toward the edge, ready to combust.

I can do this.

No. Who was I kidding? I didn’t have a handle on it. I’d been numb for so long that I didn’t know how to handle it. Melancholy and grief. Frustration and fury. And always the fucking hollowness in my chest that just wouldn’t fill up. My hand gripped my chest. A sob burst out of it. I missed Papá. Missed Mamá and Mara. Even worse, it was for a day that should mean nothing. I shouldn’t want them to be here to watch me tie the knot with the man who caused all our misery. Wasn’t eleven years long enough to move on? But I couldn’t. Every time I thought I had; grief waited for me around the corner. The patient debt collector who punished with agony. Why did it always hurt right where my heart was? I rubbed it absently. Did no one have a balm to soothe this suffering? Papá wasn’t there anymore. How could his favorite music play then? What kind of cruel fate was that?

He’d never see me in a wedding dress. Even if it was a fake one.

Daria came into view. When her gaze shifted from worry to understanding, my restraint snapped. Something fragile, shattered inside me. My knees buckled. I dropped to the floor. Agonizing sob after sob rolled out of me as I curled into myself. I didn’t even know why I was crying. For whom? For what?

“Anna.” She fell to her knees as she cradled me, trying to comfort me. She didn’t even get to dry my tears before he was at the door.

“Nico, maybe you shou—”

“No.” He stopped her. Walked in and scooped me up in his arms. He was the reason for all my misery. But I couldn’t stop myself from curling into his chest and sobbing against his racing heartbeat. Italian floated over me. I only half-heard it. He was already on the move. My legs dangled in the air. His arms surrounded me. Then he set me on the bed and kneeled in front of me. Even then, he was taller than me. His gaze was too close, too intense, too full of… misery? Still, he kept it trained on me. The rough glide of his palm soothed over my heartbeat. We sat like that while panic and grief slowed down to a crawl. Eventually, my sobs slowed down too. Leaving behind the occasional hiccup and painful breaths.

“What do you want?” His tone was helpless.

He was an easy target. I twisted my confusion into venom. “I hate you.”

His forehead dropped to mine. “I deserve it.”

“¿Por qué?” I pulled back, locking my eyes with him. Why was he doing this? “Why do you want me to marry you? I’d hate every second.”