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31
Aria was still thinkingabout her conversation with Angel when she and Damian returned to the house on Capri. The Vitales weren’t what she expected. In many ways they were a more normal family than she and Primo, and she tried to imagine herself with Damian, living in a house with children and lemonade and sunshine.
It wasn’t as difficult as it should have been.
She’d spent so long convincing herself that the problem between her and Primo was his business. That his line of work was the only thing standing between her and a normal life. Now it was impossible not to realize the error of her thinking.
Primo was the way he was. He had been that way before their parents died and he was still that way. Malcolm may have exacerbated Primo’s tendencies, but he hadn’t created them.
Neither had Primo’s business.
The things he did were still against the law, but Damian wasn’t wrong; in some ways it was more honest than a lot of things.
She shook her head as they stood on the roof, watching Nico Vitale’s helicopter rise into the night sky. Maybe she was just rationalizing, making excuses because she was beginning to realize what Damian meant to her. Because her other life was beginning to feel further and further away.
Because living without him was starting to seem like an impossibility.
When the chopper was just a twinkle in the sky, Damian looked down at her. “Nightcap on the terrace?”
She smiled. “Yes, please.”
She would start with what she knew. And she knew she loved him, even if she couldn’t tell him that yet.
They descended the iron stairs from the roof to the main part of the house, and she waited on the terrace while he poured their drinks. He took the chair next to her, reached for her hand.
She drank from her glass, a knot forming in her stomach at the serious expression on his face. “Uh-oh,” she said. “Sick of me already?”
He lifted her hand, brushed his mouth against her skin. “I’ve already reconciled myself to the fact that I’ll never be sick of you, my love.”
The term of endearment flushed through her like a warm wind, but it didn’t banish the feeling that he was going to say something she wouldn’t like.
He rubbed her hand. “It’s because I need you that I’m going to leave you here for awhile.”
“Leave me here?”
“I have to get back to New York. The city is mostly cleared of Primo’s men, but we’re not done yet. Primo and Malcolm are still in hiding, and there are still some trouble spots that have to be dealt with. It’s not safe for you there.”
She lifted her chin. “Then it’s not safe for you either.”
“I can take care of myself,” he said.
She set down her drink. “So can I. I’ve been doing it for years.”
“That was different,” he said. “You weren’t Primo’s enemy then. Now he’s going to see you as a traitor.”
“I can handle Primo.” Even as she said it, she wasn’t so sure.
He reached out, touched her face where Malcolm had hit her. “And Malcolm?”
She stood, unable to lie to his face, and walked to the edge of the terrace. Below them the water was dark, the moon hidden behind clouds.
“You can’t just leave me here.”
She felt his hands on her shoulders. “It’s temporary. I just need a few days to flush out Primo and Gatti. Once I get that done, I’ll come for you myself.”
It was a reminder that Primo was his enemy. That he would essentially be a prisoner of their war.
She turned to face him. “And what will you do with my brother once you find him?”
