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“Keep talking and we’ll see,” she says, offering me her hand and pulling me off the ground.
“Why didn’t you tell me Rocco’s matried to contact him?” I say swallowing slowly as I dust myself off from the ground.
“What?”
“I found tons of birthday cards and letters at the back of his drawer.”
“I didn’t know, either. I guess he knows how to hold a grudge,” she says appearing defeated as a crack of thunder bellows across the chilly New York skyline.
Several hours later I am back in my office, evaluating and assessing everything that has happened. Damon enters the room and sits opposite me, his expression impassive.
“Is she gone?” I ask pouring whiskey out of the tumbler and drinking it like a shot.
“Yeah, she’s with Lucia. How come you never… You know?” He makes a knife-slashing across the throat gesture.
“Too messy and I have a reputation to upkeep, I don’t want to be known as a fucking woman killer,” I say mutinously.
“You really think Sophia is behind all of this?”
“No idea,” I say answering numbly.
“I don’t know what I’m more surprised about. That she was engaged to some Russian meathead or that Paolo tried to cover whole thing up.”
“Our little Sophia is probably more dangerous than half our men,” I say bitterly.
“She must be a hell of an actress because she seemed really cut up when I told her you were shot. She was inconsolable.” He says slowly before seeing the murderous expression on my face and dropping his gaze.
“I guess she had to keep the act up,” I say grudgingly.
“Is it a good idea leaving her with Lucia? What if she hurts her?”
“She won’t besides I have men watching them.”
“Damn,” Damon says surprised.
“I have to be prepared for war whether it’s here in New York or in Chicago. Artem will hit us twice as hard when he finds his brother-in-law’s head sent to him. We need a meeting with the other families, so send envoys out to meet at a neutral location away from prying eyes. We don’t want to be caught in a trap.”
“What are you going to do with Sophia? Shall we make arrangements to send her back home?”
“No, I don’t want Sophia’s meddling parents knowing about this. It’s crucial to keep up appearances for now with the Russians breathing down our necks. Put her in the penthouse, the one Angela Rossi was meant to live in. I want there to be armed men watching her 24/7 and track every call she makes or receives. Most importantly, I want all her shit out of my house.”
“Yes, boss.”
“I’m going to stay here until all of that is done.”
“Okay, boss, I will get onto that right away.” He says leaving the room.
I take off my wedding ring and toss it inside the fireplace, watching the silver sparkle in the flames. Every time I think about Sophia, hot shame overcomes me. How could I have been so naïve about her? I let her into my life and trusted her more than I ever trusted anyone else, yet she betrayed me in the worst way.
As days turned into weeks, I slowly recovered from the shooting. My strength gradually came back to me. and I was almost brand new. I trained and fought until I was physically stronger than my old self. Hours in the gym retaught me discipline and focus. I functioned mechanically as if I were on autopilot. There were deals to be made, men to be killed and a war to be fought. Of course, Artem received my gift of his brother-in-law’s head and retaliated by hijacking several of my heroin shipments, causing Paolo a huge financial loss that I didn’t care too much about. Fuck Paolo, that deceiving, conniving bastard.
Out of sight, out of mind was the easiest way I knew how not to think about Sophia. It was like learning to live without my favorite vice, every time I saw somebody that resembled her slightly it caused a rippling sensation deep inside of me. Despite most of Sophia’s belongings being removed from the house, when I did find something it all came flooding back to me. The absence of Sophia was my own personal plague, and it ate away at me like a disease burning through every healthy cell in my body. I ached for her; I missed her smile the way her head tilted to the side when she wanted something, the way she smelt. The softness of her head on my chest at night, the plethora of memories that haunted me each time my eyes closed.
In essence, it was like mourning a death but worse because I knew that she was still alive. Once or twice, I found myself riding into the city on my bike when I knew she was visiting her parents’ house. On one occasion, she caught me watching her, but she never said anything. She simply turned and walked into the house without looking back once. I didn’t know what I expected. Would it have been worse if she tried to talk to me or was it better, she finally accepted that it was over?
We were now on the cusp of Christmas, and I was staying in for the night. The holidays were my least favorite part of the year, and I would ratherwork on my bikeand continue ignoring the fact they were seeping closer. I hear familiar footsteps and internally groan, tonight has just gotten considerably worse.
“Marco? Marco? You’re meant to say Polo,” an annoying voice interjects into my thoughts.
