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Some eventsin life are so transformative, they can leave a person speechless. When my father had my mother killed six months ago, words completely escaped me. Nothing I could say would help me understand or keep me from being in danger, so I chose not to say anything at all.
For the past six months, I hadn’t spoken a single word.
Not to my brother or my best friend. Not even alone in the dark.
I hadn’t made a sound since I’d woken up in the hospital after the car wreck that had taken my mother’s life. At first, I was in a state of shock while processing what had happened and trying to comprehend the magnitude of my loss—my mother and father gone in the blink of an eye.
Dad might not have been in that car, but he was dead to me all the same.
He’d orchestrated the accident that had stolen the best part of my world from me. My mother. My heart. Without her, a gaping hole had been carved from my soul.
In the midst of my crippling sorrow, fear and fury simmered to life beneath my surface. All of it was directed at one man. The same man who should have been my solace and sanctuary. I became so furious with my father that I feared what I might say. That he’d hear the accusation and frustration coating my words and figure out I knew the truth.
So I didn’t dare open my mouth.
The bruising across my neck from the seat belt and doctors speculating about possible trauma gave me the perfect excuse. My father was only too happy to accept my silence. He had whisked me back home to a life I no longer recognized. A life under virtual lock and key.
Days turned into weeks turned into months.
The one time each day I could be alone beyond the walls of my father’s home was during my morning coffee run. Each morning, I was allowed to go get coffee—with supervision, of course. Umberto, the goon assigned to keep tabs on me, had quit following me inside after the first couple of months on my daily errand. He stood outside on his phone while I sat at a table with my breakfast and contemplated how to escape the clutches of a mafia life I now hated.
I would have run away if things had been that simple, but they never were. The issue was my younger brother. I couldn’t leave him behind, but getting him to come with me would be a challenge. He idolized my father. Always had. Even if Dad allowed us to be alone together unobserved, convincing Sante would be a monumental task. The dilemma plagued me every single day. I’d been biding my time for the right opportunity, but after six months of constant supervision, I was growing more worried by the day that my chance would never come.
“Hey, Noemi. The usual?” The kind older gentleman behind the counter waved when I entered. The morning crew at the coffee shop all knew me by name, though I never talked to them. I’d only had to write out the explanation for my silence once, which was a relief. They’d been very understanding and did all the talking for me.
I smiled and nodded. After paying at the counter, I took a seat as far from the door as I could get and took out my current read. My phone was monitored, so I rarely used it, even to quell boredom. I’d never been a big reader before, but lately, it had become my favorite escape. I was only a few pages into a chapter when a masculine voice spoke behind me.
“You shouldn’t keep such an obvious routine. Hasn’t anyone ever told you that?”
I couldn’t see him but knew the comment was directed at me. While the nature of his observation should have alarmed me, it was the seductive way his deep voice feathered across the back of my neck that made my spine stiffen.
Slowly, I turned to peer at the man who sat behind me and tried to remember how to breathe when my gaze collided with the bluest eyes I’d ever seen. A deep blue so radiant it hypnotized like those fish down at the bottom of the ocean that dangled brilliant lights to distract their prey before swallowing them whole. Even the shadow cast by his prominent brow couldn’t dull the richness of color.
A full twenty seconds passed before the meaning behind his words slashed through my stupor and yanked me back to rational thought.
How did he know I kept a routine?
I most certainly would have noticed if this man was a regular in the café. Even without his mesmerizing eyes, he wasn’t the sort you could forget. Cloaked in an air of power and privilege, his presence demanded attention and respect. Maybe even fear. It was carved in the angular cut of his jaw and the commanding way he carried himself. He was a beautiful predator, and he’d been watching me. Why? For how long? And how had I never noticed?
Unnerved, I turned back around and decided to ignore him, unsure what else to do.
“But then again, maybe not so predictable.”
My eyes snagged on the page. I should have known a man like him wouldn’t accept rejection.
“Seems like every book I ever see in a woman’s hands is a romance, setting unrealistic expectations of some perfect fairy-tale life in their heads. But that’s not what you’re reading, is it?”
My book was about murder. A mystery novel to help keep my mind occupied rather than dwelling on my problems. I liked romance as much as the next girl but needed something darker and more compelling. Something more relatable to the state of my life.
Unsure what else to do, I took out the notepad I kept with me at all times. I planned to jot a note explaining that I couldn’t speak in the hopes that it would end our encounter, but other words materialize at my fingertips.
Is it so unrealistic to expect men to be decent human beings?
I couldn’t believe I was engaging him, even as I shoved the pad toward him.
The confusion I expected him to show at my lack of verbal response never registered. Instead, I was met with a wolfish smirk.
“It’s unrealistic to expect decency out of anyone, man or woman. In my experience, we’re not so different from our prehistoric ancestors as we’d like to believe.”
