love something, let it go.
If something almost kills you twice in one week, you should probably let it go too.
As I watched her sleep peacefully in my arms, my blood smeared over her stomach and my come glistening on her inner thigh, two truths solidified like metal in my chest.
The first, was that now that I knew what it felt like to kiss her, I’d never kiss another.
The second, was that I’d never let her go.
She was all mine, and not a soul on this fucking earth could prize her from my cold, dead hands. No, she had to be the one to let me go, and I needed to give her a good enough reason to never want me back.
The football game roars on the television; the rain hammers on the bay windows. I’m reclined on my brother’s sofa, bringing another chip to my mouth, when Rory appears in the living room doorway.
The night I wrote the check and scrawled a note, I turned up at the house because I didn’t know where else to go. Angelo opened the door with a gun, lowering it when he saw the look on my face. He held out his hand in silence, but I only shook my head. I couldn’t even keep my breathing steady, let alone my fucking hand.
The next morning, I awoke to his wife standing over my bed, her dog in one hand, a kitchen knife in the other.
“I’m sorry to hear you got stabbed,” Rory said calmly. “But what the flamingo have you done to Penny, and why is her cell switched off?”
Since then, she’s been arguing with Angelo behind closed doors and shooting me death glares from all four corners of the house. I still haven’t eaten or drunk anything that hasn’t come from a sealed container.
But now, as she runs her gaze down my legs, it’s the softest it’s been all week.
“Are those my sweatpants?”
“Your husband’s.”
She frowns. “Same thing.” She glances at the bag of chips nestled in my arm. “Are those my snacks?”
“Probably.”
Stroking the ball of fluff in her arms, she stares at me for the longest time. She sighs. “You’re just a heartbroken little fool, aren’t you?”
“What gave it away?” I ask dryly.
Her eyes fall to my feet in sad bemusement. “The novelty lucky socks. Oh, and the fact you’ve hardly moved from this position all week.”
New Year’s Eve has come and gone, and I barely even glanced at the fireworks on the other side of the living room window, let alone threw a signature Raphael Visconti party.
What would I have done, put on a fucking suit and a smile and pretended like everything underneath it wasn’t on fire? The only respite I’ve had from the pain was when the captain of La Signora Fortuna texted to let me know Penny had gone nuclear.
Good. I hope she’s angry. I hope she ruined everything I own. And I hope she feels better for it.
Rory disappears upstairs and comes back in her sweats, her curls piled on top of her head and a paper bag tucked under her arm. “Therapy dog,” she says, dropping Maggie in my lap. She plonks down next to me, tosses the chips on the coffee table, and with a stolen glance over her shoulder, she upturns the contents of the bag between us.
“Don’t tell anyone, but I keep all the good stuff upstairs,” she whispers, letting the candy fall through her fingers like it’s a pile of gold coins.
She then reminds me that I’ve already watched this football game twice this week, and turns the channel to some trashy reality TV show.
I pick up a gummy thing wrapped in loud plastic and hold it up to the light. “Is this strawberry flavor or raspberry flavor?”She sighs. “Swan, this breakup really has ruined you.”
Rory tears her eyes from the show we’ve been watching about rich housewives in Beverly Hills. We’re balls-deep into season two, and fuck, I guess it’s easier to get invested in who’s sleeping with whose husband, rather than think of the Penny-shaped hole burning in my chest.
“It’s red flavor.”
“Yeah but—”
“Shh. Kim is about to confront Kyle in the limo about stealing her goddamn house.”
Outside, the purr of a super car melts in from the driveway, then a car door slams. Rory sighs, pausing the show. “Never mind; I know that slam. You’re in trouble.”
I turn to her. “How do you know I’m the one in trouble?”
She scoops the sleeping dog off my lap and flashes me a look of disbelief. “Not going to be me or Maggie, is it?”
The front door slams shut and rattles all the windows. Angelo’s voice booms through the foyer. “All right, that’s it.” He appears in the doorway of the living room, bringing in cold air and animosity with him. “I’ve put up with a week of this shit; now get up.”
I glance at him. Pop the gummy in my mouth. “Nah, I’m good.” I turn to Rory. “Plot twist: I think it’s watermelon.”
“Ooh,” she squeals, digging around in the candy pile for one.
Angelo’s charred glare flicks between me and his wife. He braces his palms on the sofa armrest and grits his teeth. “Get up. Shower. Shave. Put on something that doesn’t have an elastic waistband, and meet me in my car in twenty minutes.”
“Can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Kim’s about to confront Kyle about stealing her goddamn house.”
Beside me, Rory nods in approval. “We’ve been waiting all season for this.”
His blistering glare scorches my skin, but I hurt too much everywhere else to notice. “I told you to make a plan.”
“And my plan is to take a break,” I growl back.
“A break from what?”
My back molars grind together. A break from everything. From being Raphael Visconti. From being an underboss; a CEO. A brother, a friend, a fucking gentleman. Anything that requires me stepping outside this house and into the world where she isn’t. Through half-lidded eyes, I look back up at him. Now, his irritation is softened by something around the edges.
“Don’t do this to me,” he says quietly. “Gabe’s disappeared off the face of the planet again.”
“Good. The cunt almost had me killed.”
His eyes flash. “You know he didn’t mean it.”
Gabe’s done a lot of reckless shit in his time, but swapping out the cat-killer for Dante tops everything. I don’t know whether Gabe gave him the glass shank or he smashed something to get it; I just know it ended up three inches deep in my stomach, narrowly missing a main artery.
I lost a lot of blood, but in the end, it was a pretty superficial wound. I managed to get a good swing to his head with the claw side of the hammer before hitting the deck. The last thing I remember was hearing Gabe’s gruff voice muttering something about how he couldn’t take it anymore. How he was going out of his mind.
I glance down at my feet. The lucky socks didn’t work, which confirms what I already knew: while the Queen of Hearts is in my bed and under my skin, I’ll burn until there’s nothing left of me.
Doesn’t stop me wearing these ugly fucking socks, though.
“Just give him a few more days, baby,” Rory pipes up, flashing her husband her sweetest smile. “He’s moping.”
“Rafe doesn’t mope,” Angelo grunts.
“He does now that he’s a heartbroken little fool.”
Angelo’s eyes slide to mine, narrowing in disgust. I don’t care if he thinks I’m pathetic. I just know if he tries to pull me off this sofa I’ll put him in a headlock, stomach wound or not.
“Fine,” he snaps, rising to his full height. “I’ll meet Tor in Cove alone. I’ll be sure to bring back a box of tampons and some ice cream.”
He storms to the foyer. “Make it chocolate chip,” Rory calls after him.
“Nah, vanilla,” I mutter, popping a Jolly Rancher into my mouth.
“Rafe?” My attention falls from the diner’s backlit menu down to Rory’s concerned eyes. “Libby asked what you want to order?” she whispers. She glances at the server but says to me, “Are you okay?”
No, I’m not okay. The lights are too fucking bright and my chest is too fucking hollow. It feels like there’s not enough inside of me to prop my bones up, and I’m going to implode at any second. And whose fucking bright idea was it to get burgers?
Her loud laugh. Her wet coat drip-dripping onto the checkered tiles. Cough up, sugar daddy.
Violence grips me and I sweep everything off the counter. Rory gasps and steps back. Eyes come to me over the backs of booths, and silence crackles like an electric current.
I run my hand over my throat and glare up at the strip lights. “I’ll wait outside,” I say calmly, stepping over the cash register and pushing out into the cold street. Our security men stare at me like I’ve lost my mind. I don’t know why, because it’s not exactly a revelation.
The mist falling from the black sky does nothing to cool my blood. I drop my head against the glass window and light up a cigarette. As the smoke dissipates, my focus sharpens on the phone booth across the street, and I let out a bitter laugh.
This is it, isn’t it? What it’s going to be like forever? Not a day will go by when I’m not reminded of the red-haired brat who ruined my life. When I don’t wonder what she’s doing. When I don’t have to stop what I’m doing, because I suddenly remember how other men exist in this world, and one day, one of them will treat her a lot better than I did.
The door chimes, and Rory falls into step with me, clutching the grease-stained sack to her chest. She’s silent and wary as she slides into Penny’s seat. Her cell lights up her face. No doubt she’s texting my brother about my outburst.
“I’ll cover the damage,” I murmur, kicking the car into gear.
She stares straight ahead. “Uh-huh.”
I inch down the window. “And don’t eat that burger in my car. It fucking stinks.” And reminds me of extortionate lap dances and sharing milkshakes with my girl.
She nods tightly.
An awkward tension presses against the walls of the car, swelling when I slow on Main Street. I can’t help it: I take my foot off the gas and steal a glance at Penny’s living room window. Rory does too, then she lets out a small sigh.
“Me and the girls have tried to contact her every day,” she says sadly. “I just need to know if she’s okay.”
My lungs pinch together. Galvanizing my glare on the windshield, I slam on the gas, narrowly missing a Ford Fiesta coming the other way.
“Me too,” I mutter under my breath. “So try harder.”
Tor’s leaning against the pillar propping up the front porch when we pull up to the house. He’s just outside the glow of the security lamp, and the only reason I know it’s him, is because he tilts his chin when he hears my engine, and his stupid fucking nose stud glints.
“What’s this dick doing here?”
Rory spots him a few seconds after I do, and tightens her grip on her dog. “No idea. We hate him, right?”
I run my tongue over my teeth. Bad blood thins quickly in this family, aside from when certain members do extra-stupid shit, like blow up the port.
“For now.”
My eyes clash with his as I slam the driver’s door shut. I don’t break eye contact, even when I round the car and open Rory’s door. She walks into the house, whispering “attack, Maggie, attack” in her dog’s ear as she passes him.
Tor’s face is alight with lazy humor as he drinks me in. He slides his hands into his pockets and strolls into the house after me.
“Sweatpants, cugino? Am I seeing things?”
“You’ll be seeing stars if you don’t get the fuck out of this house,” I reply calmly.
His easy laugh follows Rory and I into the kitchen. She takes her time, peering over the breakfast bar as she grabs us plates and cutlery. Tor leans against the counter like he didn’t hear me.
“You ever answer your phone these days?”
“Yeah, because you really did that when you fucked off on vacation for three weeks.”
He lets out a tense breath. “Come on, cugino. I explained myself. What the fuck have I got to do for you to get over it?” He runs a judgmental eye down to the green socks poking out between my sweatpants and my Nikes. “To get over this?”
I ignore him in favor of tossing my burger on a plate and feeding Maggie a French fry. “The housewives are going to Amsterdam in this episode, right?” I ask Rory.
“Uh-huh. Apparently, they have the craziest fight over dinner.”
“Gesù Cristo,” Tor grinds out. He lunges over, grabs my burger, and Frisbees it into the sink. “Let’s just put a pin in your meltdown for a minute. I’ve got the whole of Cove at my feet. Every bar, club, and casino. I own one-hundred-percent of everything, no Dante in sight. What do you want?”
I palm the counter and look up at him. “I wanted that fucking burger.”
He ignores me. “I’ll sign whatever complicated contract you want me to, and I won’t even read it.”
I’d forgotten how persistent this dick could be. I glance to Rory, and she flashes me a lop-sided grin. “You’re heartbroken, not stupid. Get him in the pockets, Rafe.”
I bite back a smirk. “What do you think I should do?”
A glint sparks in her eye, like the darkness inside her is knocking to get out. She scoops up Maggie and strokes her, like Doctor Evil strokes Mr. Bigglesworth in Austin Powers. “I think you should hit him.”
“And I think that’s an excellent idea.”
Tor groans. “Fuck’s sake. Fine.” He straightens up, rubbing his hands together and cricking his neck. He rounds the counter and braces himself on the other side of it. “Just don’t knock out any teeth; my smile is my best feature.”
I wash my knuckles in the sink. Blood, both mine and Tor’s, snakes between lettuce leaves and a lone pickle, then swirls down the drain. Behind me, I can hear the low hum of our reality show floating in from the living room. In front of me, the rain has started up again, hammering on the kitchen window.
,
Sighing, I hold my hands up to the recessed lights. Splitting skin doesn’t feel anywhere near as satisfying when it isn’t for her.
Behind me, Rory clears her throat. I glance up, meeting her reflection in the rain-streaked glass.
“She’s gone.”
I swallow. “Gone?”
“I got hold of Matt. She slid a note under his door,” she whispers.
My heart climbs up my throat and sits there, choking me.
I swallow, hard, and try to breathe like a person who hasn’t just had the life knocked out of him.
I brace my bloody knuckles on either side of the sink. Meet her reflection again.
“Tell Tor I want forty-nine-percent. And tell your husband I’m back.”
