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I try to rush forward but the two men pull me back, they don’t even look at my face. They stand beside me holding my arms on either side. The shame of Rocco’s dismissal rips through me like a blunt knife. If he would only listen then I can explain, the trouble is he doesn’t want to listen to me, and I can feel every inch of me wanting to collapse into a million pieces.
“It will be like you never existed,” he says emotionlessly.
“No, I won’t allow you to do this,” I say, trying to spring forward before I am dragged back.
“Get her out!” He says disgustedly as Damon and Franco drag me away.
“No!” I yell trying to push them away but they’re stronger than me. Rocco turns his back on me facing the wall as I am dismissed.
“I stood still, vision blurring, and in that moment, I heard my heart break. It was a small, clean sound, like the snapping of a flower’s stem.”
—Diana Gabaldon
THEY DRAG ME OUT OF THE ROOM KICKING AND SCREAMING FOR ROCCO.
I am escorted to the outside of the warehouse by Damon and Franco, my arms are pinned to my sides so I can’t escape their iron grips.
When we walk out of the building, it’s snowing hard. The bitter cold weather hardly penetrates the numb iciness inside of me. I blink when I see Lucia waiting outside, she looks oddly out of place here dressed in Manolo Blahnik heels and a bejeweled fur-lined leather jacket outside a derelict warehouse in Brooklyn. Damon silently drops my arm before walking back into the building, but Franco remains.
“You are not to contact Rocco anymore. If he wants to speak to you, it will be through me. You understand?” He says coldly.
“No,” I say wailing before hitting the floor.
“I will take care of this, you can go,” Lucia says, and Franco gives her a curt nod before getting in his car and driving off. “I called Rocco looking for you and he told me everything. He told me never to speak to you again, but I didn’t believe it,” she says glaring down at me. “I wanted to hear it myself from your mouth.” She hisses.
“Lucia,” I say faintly.
“Did you try to get my brother killed, yes or no?” She says, narrowing her eyes at me.
“No.”
“Are you associated with the Russian Bratva?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Well start fucking talking,” she says fiercely.
“Right now?” I ask peering up at her from the frozen ground.
“Now,” she says angrily, and the resemblance between her and Rocco is uncanny right now.
“When I was in college, I met someone, I didn’t know who he was and when I found out it was too late. I was already beyond smitten with him. He wasn’t like anybody else I’d ever met, he made me feel—well you get the idea. I knew Papa would flip his shit if he ever found out, so I ran away with him to Chicago. We knew the only way we could stay together is if we got married. We planned the ceremony but just as the rite started, my papa and his men stormed the church and killed everyone. Well, at least I thought it was everyone until today. Somebody lived to tell the tale,” I say bitterly. “I didn’t mean to hurt Rocco, but I couldn’t tell him or anyone.” I sigh.
“So, you were officially married?” She clips.
“No, we never got to that part.”
“Are you double-crossing my brother?”
“No! I wouldn’t. I know how this looks but I swear I’m not,” I say desperately.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“How would I even start the conversation? Hey, guess who I was engaged to? Honestly, I just wanted to pretend it didn’t happen. I only agreed to marry Pietro because I was forced to, because I knew I could never love him so it wouldn’t make any difference. I never wanted to fall for anyone again then I met Rocco, and everything changed. Every day I contemplated telling him, then I changed my mind again because I knew how it would end. Pretty much like exactly this.”
“Do you know who attacked Rocco?”
“No! “Do you believe me?” I ask, pleadingly.
