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“Don’t you ever hit me again,” he says, getting right up in my face.
Through the blindness of tears, I try to see him.
“Vincent. You’re a monster!” I sob, and he seems to still. “You’re a monster if you think I’m a whore because my father owes you money. It doesn’t matter how much it is. I gave you my body, and you want to steal my soul. Monster… I hate you.”
God and all his angels must be watching over me because in that moment, my words, spoken straight from the agony of my heart, seem to reach him, and he stops.
His grip loosens, and he releases me.
I shuffle up to my elbow and watch him walk out, slamming the door.
Chapter Fourteen
Vincent
I hate you…
She said it again. Not the first I’ve heard those words from her, but it was the first time she meant it.
That first time was an attempt to hate me. I probably should have allowed her to because hearing those words again this morning wouldn’t have stung the way they did. I deserved it.
It’s the first time in my life I’ve ever felt so ashamed of myself.
She didn’t deserve to be treated that way.
I’ve never thought of her as a whore.
She called me a monster, and she was right.
I truly, truly behaved like a monster. I’m a monster, and that’s why she shouldn’t have offered herself to me.
I don’t know how to take care of things, not even what’s mine.
My behavior wasn’t about money. Sure, I was pissed that she was snooping around the house, but what I was more pissed about is her intrusion on a private moment I was having with my wife. I was pissed at her because of how she makes me feel, while the person who used to make me feel close to that is no longer here.
I didn’t actually sleep last night. I stayed up in that room that’s become a shrine to my late wife.
I’m like a ghost that needs to move on and can’t because I’m fucking stuck in limbo.
Now I’m losing myself too. There’s a line between being a badass and being a monster. Asshole and prick. I was all earlier.
That first night I was with her was the start of my emotions going eschew. Screwed and fucked. It made me sloppy. Then this morning, it was like emotion overload. I think the fun is over. It’s time for me to calm the fuck down and think of a
reasonable date for her departure.
Business first, however…or rather, guidance.
I’m on my way to see Claudius. I haven’t seen him in a while, and today’s visit is more of a guidance session. I’ve never needed anything of the sort before, and I don’t need it because of the hot mess I am with Ava.
I need it to help me figure out what I’m doing with the Bratva guys. That’s what.
Pa messaged me yesterday wanting to know what I was doing. Knowing him, he probably expected me to contact Dmitri straightaway and talk contracts.
Although I didn’t speak to Pa, the tone of his next messages did not sound like he was in agreement with my answer—waiting and taking time to figure things out.
So… my answer to that and my flux is to go to a boss who’s the same level as him—higher, if I’m honest. I won’t pussyfoot and talk big because I’m a Giordano. It doesn’t mean squat when you’re put next to the Morientzs, who practically inherited Chicago from the Rossis.
Before Raphael Rossi died, he was thecapo dei capiof Chicago. Boss of all bosses. My old friend Claudius was the perfect man to slip into his shoes.
