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“I’m sorry for waking you.”
I close my eyes for a second and just enjoy his touch. “It’s okay.”
“And I’m truly sorry for scaring you.”
The mattress springs as Alessandro rises. I’m still facing the opposite direction so I can’t see him, but I can hear his steps as he walks away.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been scared of you,” I whisper.
His footsteps fall silent. “Even after I confessed my intention of killing you?”
I flip over in the bed and find him standing at the door, his back toward me.
“Do you remember that day in the elevator? When it got stuck and the lights went out?”
“Yes.”
“You played that numbers game with me because you knew I was having a panic attack,” I say.
“So?”
“I’ve spent months stuck with a man who found great satisfaction in torturing me, Alessandro. Both mentally and physically. Psychological torture may not leave visible marks, but the wounds it inflicts are much worse.” I pin him with my gaze. “You hated me for some reason. I didn’t know why then, but I saw it in your eyes. You could have just stood by and watched me lose my shit. And still, you didn’t. Even though you despised me.”
Alessandro drops his head, staring at the floor. “I tried so hard to hate you. Believe me, I tried. In the end, I ended up hating myself.”
My heart hurts, and I feel the squeezing in my chest. This pain is real, not some remnant in my mind. If the situation was different, I would have tried to fight for him. But I can’t fight a ghost. It’s clear that he loved his wife very deeply. And probably still does. That love sustained him through eight years of plotting his revenge. I can’t handle the idea of being his consolation prize. Maybe, for another man, I could have lived with that. But not with Alessandro. And I can’t bare knowing that he would hate himself for being with me.
There’s a question that has been eating at me since he told me about his wife. I was too afraid of the answer, but I can’t take it not knowing anymore.
“Did you imagine being with her, when you were with me?”
Alessandro looks over his shoulder, and our eyes connect.
“No.” he steps out of the room, pulling the door shut behind him.
That soft click of the latch feels so final.
Chapter 19
I take a glass of mineral water the waiter hands me and sip, pretending to pay attention to what the woman next to me is saying. She’s a sister-in-law of one of the Cosa Nostra enforcers, but I don’t remember which one or her name. I’m not sure why I came to this brunch. It’s some anniversary celebration Mrs. Natello organized, and I could have easily skipped it. But I came, needing the distraction.
If he keeps to the deal he made with the guy at the hospital, Alessandro only has three days left to kill Rocco and leave town. Knowing that my husband will soon be dead should bother me. Yet, I don’t care one bit. If there was any trace of compassion for Rocco that he failed to beat out of me, it evaporated the moment Alessandro told me about his wife, and what my husband did to her. Still, all things aside, a man’s life is in question. So, does that make me a bad person for not giving a shit what happens to Rocco now?
My eyes wander across Mrs. Natello’s sunroom, taking in the vistas beyond the glass panel walls keeping us comfortably warm and away from the frozen landscape outside. I bet, in the summer, the rolling green grass looks cheery from this location. Now, the emptiness of the lawn just draws my eye to the iron fence that surrounds the property and the ribbon of road on the other side. The ground is covered in a thin layer of snow, and the sullen skies overhead match the mood in my heart.
Turning away, my gaze falls on a group of men gathered toward the back of the room. Alessandro and a few other bodyguards stand watch. As usual, his stance is rigid but his eyes are constantly shifting, assessing the situation like a hawk. The rest of the security men are talking among themselves, not paying much attention to what’s happening to the party guests.
Mrs. Natello is not very popular, so this gathering is a pretty low-level event as far as the Cosa Nostra hierarchy is concerned. There are no big shots present here. It’s mostly the enforcers and their wives, but I had noticed three men who work with Rocco occasionally. They don’t look like businessmen, more like hired muscle. When Rocco needs a problem to be solved on the side, without the whole of the New York Family—and especially the boss—knowing about it, he avoids using Don Ajello’s soldiers.
This may be an insignificant event, but Alessandro is acting as if he’s on a battlefield, waiting for the enemy to surface. He leaves nothing to chance. I love that about him. He stands by his principles, and nothing or no one will make him break them. All that intensity—what if it was directed at me? How would it feel to have him as mine? Not just in body, but his soul, as well. Maybe if we would have met in another life, I may have had a chance. In this one, we met too late. His heart was already taken.
I lift my hand, pinching the bridge of my nose. It started to tingle as if my psyche was trying to tell me something. Is today the day when he’ll leave? Dear God, I’m going to miss him so much.
Alessandro turns, and for a brief moment, our eyes meet across the room. I’ve been avoiding eye contact with him since he left my room this morning. The pain is just too great to bear. Like now, a throbbing ache that spreads through my chest as I wonder if this will be the last look we share.
Mrs. Natello approaches, asking how we liked the appetizers. She’s wearing one of the dresses I purchased last month and had my mom sell to her. The dress is worth four grand, but Mrs. Natello only paid my mom half of that.
“Ravenna, I’ve never seen you with your hair down, dear,” she says. “What a surprise.”
