Junior
I throw back another scotch and sigh.
I have everyone out on the street looking for Vlad, but the Russians have gone totally underground. No one knows where to find the guy. I should be satisfied that he’s gone into hiding, but I’m not. Because he’s probably plotting revenge. Which means I need to find him and kill him before he finds me.
Upstairs, I hear the television turn off. I gave Desiree a wide berth all day, and she was all business with me.
I don’t know why I didn’t think my marital status would be a deal-breaker for Desiree, but I didn’t. Fuck, if I had any idea her reaction would be so negative, I never would have told her.
No, that’s not true.
It would’ve been worse if she heard it from one of my brothers, and Madonna, I know one of them would’ve been happy to throw that at her just to screw me.
But her implication that Marne is a kept woman-like I won’t divorce her because I don’t want to let her go is way off base.
I would’ve loved for her to go on with her life. Meet some other asshole to take care of her. Relieve me of the guilt and fucking shadow that’s always hanging over me. What we could’ve been without our tragedy. The happy, nuclear family.
Aw, merde. Maybe that’s not true. It’s possible Desiree’s right. I’m a possessive asshole and I didn’t want her to be out in the world without me.
No. No. I don’t think that’s true. If she’d been respectful, if she’d gotten her life together-got a job. Maybe some good counseling. If she came to me and said she’d fallen in love with some other guy, I would’ve kissed her cheeks and told her I was happy for her. I swear to Christ.
I mean, she coulda filed for divorce. I never told her she had to stay married to me. Hell, she could’ve divorced me and taken half of everything I own. It’s not like she has to stay tethered to me to keep food on her table. She’d probably actually be living larger if she divorced me.
But maybe she’s too afraid of me.
I never hurt her-never even slapped her ass, but she was always a little skittish. She knows what I am. And she also thinks I blame her for Mia.
Maybe I do, I don’t know. The darkness in that house consumed the both of us after our little girl’s death.
All I know is that I carry the weight of all of it, right in the center of my chest. Guilt for not knowing how to deal with my own grief. Not being able to help Marne with hers. Guilt for not wanting to be with her anymore. Not wanting to live in that house with all the reminders.
What I had with Desiree-it’s over now, I know that. It was like a retractable ceiling opening up on my life. Sunlight pouring down and warming me, even with all the usual shit shows, like worry over Gio and my siblings’ wrath over the way I handled it.
But that ceiling’s closed. There’s no untangling me from the dark web that is my life. The one my father created for me and I wove even tighter around myself. I’ll never be free of Marne, or my responsibilities of running La Famiglia. Or the wounds I inflicted on all those around me by always playing the asshole.
There’s no point in even thinking about what might be different-what might be possible if I divorce Marne, because Desiree’s already smartened up.
She knows better than to give any part of herself to me.
Because I’ll take it.
Consume her.
And God knows, I would never, ever let her get away.
That’s why she was so offended about me not getting divorced. It’s not because she’s pissed I fooled around with her when I’m not available, although there might have been a little of that. No, it’s because she recognized the dark truth of the matter. She could just as easily end up on my leash. And it’s nowhere she ever wants to be.
Desiree
I dream Jasper’s in his bed crying for me. I try to comfort him, but he can’t feel my arms, doesn’t hear my words. I’m a ghost to him.
I wake up to the sound of Gio’s groan. I remember it’s Jasper’s birthday before I even open my eyes. It’s been four days since Junior kidnapped me and brought me here to take care of Gio. It feels like months. And I just want to be home right now, where I could cry into my pillow all day without seeing anyone.
Of course, I knew this day was coming. I knew it like a countdown to a massive breakdown for me. Weight crushes my chest. I feel two hundred years old as I ease out of bed.
I check Gio’s vitals and add more painkiller to his IV before I head to the shower.
The tears start while I’m in there and they just don’t stop. Not like full-on sobbing, more like a steady drip. A leaky faucet that won’t turn off.
Dammit.
I get out of the shower, dry off and get dressed in my Dicky scrubs-red today.
The tears just keep on running.
They drip the whole time I clean Gio’s wounds and putting fresh bandages on.
“Hey.” Junior’s standing in the doorway, holding my phone. He catches sight of the tears before I quickly brush them away. “You okay?”
“Yep,” I say with determination. Like I’m going to somehow make it true.
“What happened?”
“Nothing. I don’t want to talk about it.”
I grab my phone out of his hand, since I’m assuming he’s bringing it because I got a message. He still refuses to let me have it or use it without him watching my every move, but at least he checks my messages frequently and shows me as soon as something comes in.
“Text from your mom,” he tells me.
Fresh tears start because I already feel her sympathy, her support, her love. My mom is so connected to me and my emotions, it’s sometimes scary.
Sending you energy and healing light on this difficult day.
I snort-choke back a sob. Coming from my mom, that’s a real promise. In addition to nursing at the hospital, she also volunteers as an energy healer, going around giving reiki treatments to anyone who wants it. And she’s a powerful healer. Sometimes I swear she’s the one who saves the most lives at that place.
“Why is today difficult?” Junior asks.
“None of your business,” I snap, thrusting the phone back at him after sending my mom a heart emoji. “Let’s move him.” Every eight hours we roll Gio from his side, to his back, to his other side. Even though I could probably do it on my own, I get Junior to help, because Gio’s such a big guy.
We roll him over and he wakes and uses the bed pan, cursing in Italian the whole time. Junior answers in Italian, using calm, reassuring tones and Gio settles and closes his eyes once more.
“We should get you out of the house.” Junior’s looking at me like I’m going to crack. “You’re probably sick of being cooped up here. You definitely deserve a break. I’ll get Paolo to come stay with Gio, and I’ll take you anywhere that sounds good.”
My lips tremble. I seriously can’t take Junior being nice right now.
I would much rather have him be an asshole so I can get prickly and keep my shit together.
“Or Paolo can take you out, if you need a break from me.” He takes a step back and shoves his hands in his pockets.
My lip curls. “I’m not going anywhere with Paolo.”
Junior pulls out his phone and starts thumbing over the screen. “Where do you want to go?”
I shrug. “I’m really not in the mood, Junior.”
“No shit, doll. I’m not asking you on a date. I’m trying to figure out what would be… I don’t know, nourishing to you.” He makes a big gesture with his hands as he talks.
“Nourishing?”
“Nurturing-whatever the fuck the word is. What do you do to make yourself feel better? Go see a movie? How about exercise? I’ll take you to my gym up the street. You can take yoga or Zumba or whatever.”
I perk up a tiny bit over Zumba and he catches it. The Latin cardio dance class is my favorite form of exercise.
“You like that idea?” He scrolls on his phone. “There’s Zumba at 11:00 a. m.” I don’t know how he knew I wanted Zumba and not yoga. The man’s a mind reader.
It’s hard to imagine I could muster the energy to do a cardio class right now, though. “I don’t know,” I say.
He points at me, the scary-stern face on. “You’re going to Zumba. And what else? You like shopping? A little retail therapy?”
I snort. “Yeah right. With what money?”
“You can spend my money. That’ll be fun, no?” He tips his head to catch my eye.
A reluctant smile tugs at my lips. “Could be,” I admit.
Damn my turn-on with men spending money on me.
Damn Junior for showing up like a white knight when I’m at my weakest.
“Come on, I’ll take you to breakfast.”
Oh shit. Now it does feel like a date. And he’s spending money on me. Taking care of me.
It scares me how much I want to be taken care of. Especially by a wealthy, powerful man like Junior.
But that’s exactly why I need to keep the barriers up around my heart. Because I already fear I won’t be walking out of here with it intact.
“Should I change?” I ask dubiously, looking down at my scrubs.
He shrugs. “Not for me. Wear whatever makes you feel good, doll.”
Yeah, not scrubs. Scrubs are the world’s ugliest uniform ever. I grab a pair of jeans and fitted long-sleeved shirt and take them into the bathroom to change.
Not that Junior hasn’t already seen all of me.
But Gio hasn’t, and I don’t want him getting an eyeful if he comes back around.
Junior’s still on his phone when I come back out, but when he looks up, his eyes bug out a little. The emerald green shirt is sexy-I brought it on purpose to torture Junior. It hugs my breasts and opens in a V to show a little cleavage. The jeans are flattering too-they’re tight and hug my ass, but the denim has a little stretch to it, so they’re ultra-comfortable. I pull on a pair of boots and fluff my still-wet hair.
“Damn,” Junior says.
“What?”
He just shakes his head and mutters, “And I thought you were hot in scrubs.”
Okay, I might be starting to feel a little better, even though the heaviness still pushes at my chest.
I pack some gym clothes and we head down the stairs. “When is Paolo coming?” I ask.
“He’ll be here in time for Zumba. Gio will be all right for an hour while we go to breakfast.”
“You’re speaking with all your medical expertise?” I can’t help giving him a hard time. It’s like it’s a job I was born to do.
“I’d slap your ass, but I have a feeling today would be the day you’d deck me for it.”
I’m getting closer to smiling.