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She nodded and took a sip of wine. “Next question.” She changed the subject quickly. “Your biggest regret in life so far?”
I puffed out my cheeks and exhaled loudly. Fuck me, what a question. “Do you have all night?” I smirked but really I meant it. I have done so much fucked up shit in my life and have a lot I regret, but I couldn't exactly go into detail about any of that. She would run for her life. I knew I couldn’t keep my job a secret forever. I would have to tell her one day, but I needed her to see me for who I was outside of an underboss first. That was the only way I had any hope of her not running for the hills. But there was one regret I could tell her. One that lived deep in the depths of my darkness and was my biggest regret to date. I had never said this out loud. I had never even told a soul.
I turned my head and locked eyes with hers, unsure whether I could even allow the words to leave my mouth. But when those green eyes gazed back at me with expectation and I saw the warmth in them, the words started to come on their own accord. “My biggest regret is the last thing I said to my papi the night he died.”
She held my gaze and I exhaled deeply before I continued. “We had an argument. It was over something so trivial, but it ended up escalating into a full-blown row where we both said things we didn’t mean. But the last thing I said to him...the look on his face as I said them...” I ran my hand through my ebony hair and realised it was shaking. “I told him I hated him and never wanted to be like him. That he was weak and pathetic and would never be the kind of man I could look up to. That my zio was more like a father to me.” My voice cracked as I said the words and I stood up quickly, choking back the lump in my throat.
Olivia remained silent and still on the sofa, giving me the space and time I needed to get myself under control. “I am sure he knew you didn’t mean it,” her small, gentle voice made a sad chuckle leave my lips.
I shook my head. “No, from the look on his face before I left the room, I really think he believed every word.” I sat back down on the sofa, leaning forward and resting my elbows on my knees. “Sorry. I have never told anyone about that before.”
“Not even your mum?” she asked, and I shook my head. “You’ve been carrying that around with you for all that time and never told a soul?”
I leaned back on the sofa and closed my eyes. “The guilt eats away at me every day. I could never tell mamma. She is... fragile. I know she doesn’t seem it, but she was dealing with a lot. Still is. I never want her to know what I said. It would kill her.”
I opened my eyes when I felt a warm, soft hand grasp mine. She squeezed it gently and I turned my head to look into her eyes. I expected to see pity, disgust or even hate in them at my confession, but instead she just looked concerned. “You have had to deal with a lot too.” I swallowed as that lump returned to my throat. “I should know. I am a master of living with guilt. It feels like a part of me now. Who I am.”
I sat up a little straighter and entwined my fingers with hers. Her hand looked so tiny in mine, and it made my heart flutter. I loved that. The feel of her hand in mine as if it was always meant to be there. “What is your biggest regret?” I asked carefully. Was this it? Was she going to open up to me?
She pulled her hand out from mine and sighed. The fragility beneath that feisty demeanour came out slowly with each word.
“For not acting quick enough. For not speaking out sooner or asking for help.”
My eyebrows furrowed as she took a large gulp of her wine. Should I press her for more information? I had never felt so... torn before. I wanted to find out more, but I also didn’t want to upset her. Deciding to wait and see if she elaborated took precedence. Thankfully, it was the right move.
“A while ago, there was a bad person in my life,” she spoke quietly and refused to look up. My heart started beating frantically in my chest. “He didn’t treat me well.” She laughed, shaking her head. “That is an understatement, he made my life a living hell. He tormented me daily. He abused me emotionally and tried to force himself on me. Tried to control every aspect of my life. People knew. They could see what was happening but turned a blind eye. My best friend and boyfriend were the only ones who tried to help me, but I played it down because I didn't want them to worry. I didn’t ask for help. I thought I could handle it on my own. I thought... It would be over soon. I would be at university, and he would be out of my life.”
She paused as her voice cracked and her bottom lip trembled. Rage was manifesting itself inside me at the thought of what this fucker did to her. What he put her through for years. “Perhaps if I had spoken out more. If I had reported him. Nate would still be alive.” A tear slid down her cheek and my overwhelming need to protect and comfort this woman took over. I lifted her onto my lap and wrapped my arms around her tightly as she lay her head on my chest and cried quietly. After a few moments, she lifted her head and wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry. I haven’t talked about this in years.”
"Don't apologise. These tears? They are not a weakness, Olivia. They show how strong you are and how strong you have had to be. Never apologise." She nodded her head slowly with a small smile. "Who was he?” I asked, even though I knew exactly who the asshole was.
“My stepbrother. He tried to force himself on me when I was sixteen. I fought him off and broke his nose. After that, he made my life hell. And then... one night at an end of year party, he stabbed my boyfriend, Nate, to death.” She sniffed and I felt my body tense under her. I had read all of this in the newspaper articles, but it had seemed so distant and formal. Factual. But seeing her now, like this, made me realise just how much this affected her. It explained everything. The walls she has up around herself. The hate she had for me when she thought I was like him. I gulped down my sudden fear of losing this woman when she found out who I really am. How could she ever be okay with it? I am a killer. Just like him.
“It gets worse,” she whispered. And I held onto her tighter. How could it get any worse?
“When Henry, my psycho stepbrother found us, we were...” she shuffled off my lap awkwardly and I turned to give her my full attention. “We were...” I waited impatiently to hear whatever was causing her cheeks to turn crimson and her body to tremble. “...having sex. For the first time. Both of our first times.”
I froze. My eyes must have widened, and I felt my jaw clench. “He... killed your boyfriend while you were...” I repeated, still not being able to comprehend it.
She nodded sadly. “He stabbed him seven times in the back while Nate was still inside me.”
My breathing was coming out in short, sharp rasps. That was fucked up even by my standards. Fuck!
“Don’t look at me like that!” she suddenly shouted and stood up from the sofa, spilling her drink on the cream rug. “Shit,” she hissed as she bent down and started to try and mop it up.
“Leave it. It doesn’t matter,” I pulled her up by her arm and she glared at me. “Why are you angry? How did I look at you?”
“Like I am broken. Like I am damaged goods.” She scoffed and turned away from me. “Maybe I should have told you sooner. Then you would have wanted to leave me alone. No one wants to sleep with the girl whose only sexual experience was a murder.”
I froze again. Wait.
“Hang on...so you have never had sex again... not since?” I didn’t mean for my voice to come out so frantic, but I was in shock. I instantly felt like the biggest dickhead in the world, the way I had been coming onto her so aggressively.
“See! There it is again! That look! Please spare me your pity! I am fine! If you must know, I have had sex with other men, just not successfully. I always freak out. Flashbacks and shit. So, there you go! You are off the hook, Giovanni. Now I have burst your little fantasy of having hot sex with the nanny. I have baggage. Fucking loads of it!” She stormed out of the living room and onto the terrace.
I stood rooted to the spot for a moment, trying to digest her words and anger. What the hell had I done wrong now? My own emotions were clouding my judgement. I felt pure rage at what she had been through. I didn’t pity her. I wanted revenge for her. I wanted blood for her. It was in my nature to want someone who had wronged a person I cared about dead. But I also felt jealous. Intense jealousy that she had been with other men, which was just ridiculous. I hated that she had always had such shit experiences. That they had made her feel like she was broken or damaged.
I stormed out onto the terrace after her. She was leaning over the wooden bannister, her hot breath evaporating into the chilly air.
