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“Gabriella and Marco are sound asleep,” Kat says as she walks into the room. “You sure you don’t want me to try and put him down too?”
“We’ll be fine. We’re going to watch some wrestling. Aren’t we, kid?” I wipe the puddle of drool from his chin with a sweep of my thumb.
He goes on happily gnawing on his chew toy like a contented puppy.
“Thank you, Loz.” My brother’s wife rests a gentle hand on my shoulder. I catch the scent of her sweet perfume, and it stirs up long forgotten memories that I force back down. She gives Micah a soft kiss on his head.
“Dada,” he coos in response.
“Ma-ma.” She corrects him, enunciating the syllables. Kat keeps hoping he’ll repeat that word, but he’s stubborn like the rest of the Morettis.
“Dada,” Micah repeats, and Kat sighs.
“That’s my boy.” Dante grins and kisses his son goodbye.
“We’ll be back after breakfast.” Kat smiles, but I don’t miss the concern in her expression. Dante must have told her about the state I came home in today. He tells her everything. She never judges, but their worry is palpable, and it makes my skin itch. I wish I was an easier person to care about, but this is who I am.
“Take your time. We’ll be fine. Enjoy the show and the hotel.”
“Oh, we’ll be enjoying the hotel,” Dante says, his grin devious.
“Stop.” His wife’s cheeks flush red. He wraps his arm around her, silencing her with a kiss.
Sometimes seeing them together forces me to remember how good it felt to have a love like that, and just like I always do, I bury those emotions deep in the hopes of never feeling them again. Otherwise I would be crushed under the pain of it all. If there’s one thing I’ve learned since my wife’s death, it’s that those memories bring nothing but grief. Better to concentrate on my anger at not having her than any of the love or happiness that we shared. That’s the only way I can keep putting one foot in front of the other. The only way I go on surviving for the people who need me. Because the thought of my family having to suffer even a fraction of my torment is the only thing that stops me from giving into the darkness completely.
* * *
A deep voicerouses me from sleep. “Boss.”
“What?” Sitting up, I wince at the sharp pain that jolts through my neck and jaw. My recently acquired habit of sleeping on the sofa rather than facing the loneliness of my bed has been rough on my body. I hoped that replacing the bedroom furniture would allow me to sleep in there, but it didn’t.
“There’s someone at the gate.”
I check my watch. “It’s 2:00 a.m. Tell ’em to fuck off.”
I stretch my neck out and the sharp pain turns to a dull ache.
“I would, but…”
My scowl has him flinching back. “But?”
“She says she’s Mrs. Moretti’s cousin.”
My breath stalls in my lungs. Anya’s cousin is here? She lives in Russia and didn’t even come to her fucking funeral. “Her cousin is here? Now?”
“Yeah. That’s what she said. She asked for Kat.”
Closing my eyes, I let out the breath I was holding. Of course he’s talking aboutthatMrs. Moretti. After two years, I still think of my Anya when I hear that name. “Tell her to come back tomorrow.”
“I would, but…” He scrubs at the stubble on his chin. God, who the fuck is this guy? Is he new? He’s really testing my fucking patience.
“But what?” I snap.
“I told her Mrs. Moretti wasn’t home, and she said she has nowhere else to go—”
“So tell her to wait in her fucking car.”
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.
