Page 131 of Alessio

The very last thing he needed was for Alessio to leave. But they didn’t get a choice because of that fucking Albania job, and Corrado’s pride kept him quiet. Instead of saying what he needed and wanted in those moments, he kept his mouth shut.

It wasn’t easier.

It made sense.

“Give her some time,” Alessio said, “to process whatever it is she’s got going on in her head, and then we’ll go from there. That’s all you can do—she asked for it, Corrado.”

“I get it.”

All too fucking well.

And it killed him.

“All right,” Alessio muttered, stepping out into the hallway out of sight.

Just like that, Corrado was alone again. He was all too aware that soon, he would be far more alone than he was right now. Alessio would be gone—for a week, maybe two, who fucking knew? Ginevra was … out of reach.

Not taking his messages, or calling back.

He’d not told her how he loved her. That, more than the rest, he regretted the most. The time had never been right to say that, but he realized now, far too late … there shouldn’t be a right time for love.

Too little, too late.

His mind was hell.

Far too dark.

Frustrated, Corrado glared at that phone in his hand, and before he could think the action though, tossed it to the hardwood floor harder than he should have. Was it smart? Not particularly, but it felt better than feeding the hot fury flooding his veins in another way.

Too bad he hadn’t figured that out the night before.

Getting off the side of the bed, he scooped the phone up in one hand, popping the broken back into place before turning it over to see a large crack across the screen. The battery hadn’t come out, and the screen blinked black and white.

Shit.

The screen wouldn’t react to his touch, and it wouldn’t bring up the home screen. Turning it on and off did nothing for him, and neither did restarting the device.

It was good and fucked.

A lot like him.

Fuck it.

Corrado tossed the ruined phone to the comforter on the bed, settling himself with the fact he would have to get a new one. Right then, though, he didn’t want to do anything. He was feeling entirely too much, and that never worked out well for him.

Shit was out of control.

Things he wanted, gone from his grasp.

His heart hurt.

Corrado never did well like this. He wasn’t weak, and he didn’t want something like love to make him that way, either. That might have been his pride talking again, but it was the only goddamn way he protected himself.

Heading to the bathroom, he stripped down and turned on the shower. Stepping under the spray, a hiss left his lips as the hot water stung when it beat down on Corrado’s back. He should turn the water temp down, but at least like this … he focused on the pain of that, and not the fact that he was losing something important.

He didn’t want to lose anything.

“Hey.”