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I also managed to find an apartment to rent within twenty-four hours, which honestly, in London, is nothing short of a miracle.
There was just enough money in my bank account to pay the deposit for the rent. All in all, I settled back into my former life like I hadn't left at all. And I admit, it feels good… To be independent again. To earn my living and not be depending on someone else… Not that Christian ever made me lack for anything. The man made sure all of my needs were looked after… And I do mean, all of my needs. He satisfied me in every way, indulged even my darkest desires—the ones I dared not share with anyone else. Somehow, with him, I didn’t hesitate. He’d already been so filthy in his proclivities that it seemed natural to open up that part of myself to him.
And maybe that helped heal something inside of me. Maybe, I needed his particular brand of assertiveness, his dominance that allowed me to give myself up to him, trust him, and trust my body to him.
Oh, I had also been angry with him, and it was wrong that he’d held me captive… And that he’d seduced me… Only, it wasn’t something I hadn’t wanted.
I craved his particular brand of filthiness. I wanted him to fuck me, to not give me a choice and take me, so I wouldn’t feel so bad about being attracted to him.
And this … this thing between us, this connection, it’s more than physical. Don’t get me wrong. The physical was definitely the start of it, but the more I got to know him, the more I realized that beneath that hard exterior is a man who cares for his family, who had stood up to his father to save his younger brother, and who was devastated by the loss of his twin; not to mention, the shock of finding out he has a triplet.
And he had come after me. And I had left. And he had let me.
I haven’t heard from him since he walked away from me at the airport. Half an hour later, as I waited for the next flight out, Adrian had turned up. He said that Christian wanted their private jet to take me to London. I had just started to refuse when the woman at the airline counter told me there were no cancellations on the later flight either. So I was stuck.
I’d refused when Adrian asked me if I preferred to spend the night at the airport. And the thought of trying to find a hotel room for the night and trying to get on a flight the next day felt like too much.
Ultimately, I agreed to fly on the private jet, and before I knew it, I was at Heathrow airport and making my way to the taxi stand, joining the ranks of normal folks who work for a living; as opposed to being involved in illegal businesses and playing with people’s lives like the Sovranos and the rest of the Mafia clan does.
This is what I wanted, right? To be away from the Mafia, to chart my own future, to lead an ordinary life where I am a doctor by day and alone by night? No, no, no… I’m not going to think about that. I’m fine, I’m happy… Okay, maybe not happy, but I’m content with what I have—my freedom, my autonomy, my independence… Yes, yes, yes, if I repeat that often enough, I might even begin to believe it.
I shrug out of my white coat, stuff it inside my locker, then grab my handbag and head out of the hospital. I take the tube home, step inside, and that's when my phone rings.
Cassandra’s name pops up on the screen.
"Hello?" I answer the video call and Cass’s face appears.
"Hey, you." Cass smiles. "Have you been avoiding me?"
"Umm..." My neck heats. Truth is, I have been avoiding her calls, but only because talking to her reminds me too much of Christian.
"Hey," she frowns at me, "it’s understandable if you don’t want to talk to me. It must bring back too many memories."
"Yeah…" I blow out a breath as I walk into the kitchen. "I just wanted a little space, so I could put everything that happened into perspective, you know?"
"How are you holding up?"
I balance the phone against the microwave, then grab a bottle of wine from the refrigerator. I pour myself a glass and hold it out to Cass. "Cheers."
She laughs and holds up her own glass of wine. "Saluti, babe."
I sip from the glass and savor the woodsy taste of the wine. It’s no match to the dark taste of his skin, of course, but it’ll have to do.
"How’s everything there?" I finally ask.
"He’s not doing that great."
"Who?" I scowl. "And that’s not what I asked."
"You know who I’m talking about," she murmurs, "and you know that’s what you meant, so why don’t we drop the pretense?"
"I really don’t want to talk about him."
"But I do."
"If that’s why you called—"
I go to depress the stop button on the phone, but she calls out, "Wait, Aurora, I won’t talk about him, okay?"
