23 years old
July 2014
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”
The shout of a hundred different voices hit me as I pushed open the club door. Confetti fell, sparkling beneath dim lighting and tickling my bare skin as it brushed my shoulders. Balloons floated to the ceiling, distorting the view of a photo of me blowing a kiss to the camera that took up the entire far wall. Birthday by The Beatles flooded the room.
Valentina ran up on stilettos and wrapped me in a hug. “Happy birthday!”
“Do you think you might have overdone it a little, Val?”
“Is it the photo?” She frowned, releasing me. “Too big, you think?”
Laughing, I kissed her cheek. “It’s perfect.”
I maneuvered my way into the club, hugging and thanking people for their birthday wishes until my cheeks hurt. My world tilted as someone picked me up by the waist and spun me around. The spinning stopped, and Luca’s close gaze came into focus as my feet still dangled a foot off the floor.
“You owe me money, Gianna.”
I frowned. “Is this how you wish everyone a happy birthday?”
“Only women that try to wiggle their way out of their debts.”
“Oh, please.” I brushed a piece of nonexistent lint off his shoulder. “You’ll lose the next bet. I’m only saving us time with an exchange, is all.”
A dry breath of amusement escaped him, and he set me back on my feet. “I think you’re the worst cheat of us all, and you’re not even a Russo by blood.” He took a seat back at the bar.
“Oh, look,” I said, stepping between Luca and Nico, who sat beside him. “I’m so popular to be honored with the great Nicolas Russo’s presence at my birthday party.”
Nico gave me a half-smile, nursing a glass of whiskey. “Got a meeting tonight.”
“Ah,” I responded, understanding it would be downstairs in the conference room. “Do you think you could at least pretend to be here for me?”
“You have plenty of people here for you.”
I pouted, looking around the crowded club. “True.”
We hadn’t talked about that night one year ago. Not once, since the morning after. It was like, if we didn’t speak of it, it hadn’t happened. However, the secret had eaten away a large chunk of my soul. Regret was a hungry beast, and every day, it fed.
Nico and Luca’s gazes went to the door. They stood at the same time, and I turned to see a man I didn’t recognize—black suit, black hair, the glint of the Cosa Nostra in his eyes.
“Who’s he?” I asked.
“None of your business,” Nico responded. He didn’t take his eyes off the Made Man as he cupped the back of my head and pulled me against his chest in a rough, short hug. “Happy birthday,” he said, adding, “Try and take it easy tonight, yeah?”
“Sure, Dad.”
He pushed me away playfully by the face, and then both Russo men headed toward the man who was none of my business.
Valentina bumped shoulders with me as she ordered a large number of drinks from the bar, and soon after, I was lost in the bottom of a shot glass, bathroom trips, and a heady, uninhibited rush in my blood.
Purple, yellow, blue. The panels beneath my feet blinked back and forth, casting a glow against my bare legs and white dress. Katy Perry’s I Kissed a Girl blared through the speakers, as the bodies on the dance floor moved together, limbs jiving, hips rolling, lips touching.
Purple. A drop of sweat down my back. Yellow. The glide of skin against mine. Running my hands over my neck, I lifted the heavy strands and looked up.
Blue.
My breath slowed, and so did my movements.
I held his gaze as he stood next to Nico at the bar. Allister responded to something Ace had said but kept his eyes on me.
The roll of my hips, the glide of my hands in my hair—they moved to a different rhythm than the beat. Slower. Sexier. Like a caress of silk sheets against naked skin. Holding his stare, I lip-synced a line of the song. The words poured from my red-painted mouth, sensual exhales between parted lips.
His eyes darkened.
I’d only been messing with him, but somewhere in the middle of it, my body had grown confused. The blood in my veins heated. My nipples tightened. Sweat glistened like drops of oil on my skin, tickling as it ran between my breasts.
His gaze drifted to my photo on the wall behind me before he met my eyes.
I smiled, lifted a hand, and blew him a sweet kiss.
With shaky legs, I stumbled off the dance floor a half hour later and drifted upstairs to quiet the thumping pulse of music in my head.
I opened a VIP room door and paused with my hand on the knob. A familiar dirty fed stood with his back to me, facing the large window that sparkled with city lights. He had a phone to his ear, and his smooth, deep words reached me. Something about a contract and a bad situation. Sounded intriguing. I entered the room, closed the door, and leaned against it. Allister’s back tensed subtly at the quiet click, but he otherwise didn’t acknowledge my presence.
He’d grown out the top of his fade haircut in the years since I’d met him. It was now long enough to run one’s fingers through, to grab a handful of. The thought made me feel warm and strange, and I quickly pushed the feeling away.
He hung up and turned around.
We stared at each other, and a thick, almost suffocating tension filled the air. Two nights on a terrace had been the only other times we were alone. Now, with a closed door, a ceiling, and four walls surrounding us, it felt like there wasn’t enough oxygen in the small space for us both.
“Grown bored of your party already?”
There were a number of games we’d played over the last year, at the few functions where we ran into each other. A favorite of mine required us to ignore the other’s presence completely, even if an acquaintance chose to introduce us to one another. Another game was that I pretended to be madly in love with him. He hated that one the most, and because annoying Allister would taste sweeter than my birthday cake, it was the one I decided to play.
I slipped my heels off. “Maybe I came up here to be with a man.”
Something dark moved through his eyes, but as soon as he leaned back against the glass it disappeared. “Let’s hope you’re not keeping it in the family this time.”
My stomach dropped like lead, and a quiver started in my chest. He knew. He knew about me and Nico. I’d seen the fed with Ace a few times over the last year, but I didn’t believe they were close enough to share secrets with one another. How much had Nico told him? It felt like I was going to be sick.
I swallowed and tried to keep my voice steady. “You and I aren’t related, Officer.”
His lips lifted. “Ah, so you came to be with me.”
Unease suddenly rose up to choke me, and I couldn’t pretend to be normal anymore. Heels forgotten, I turned and grabbed the doorknob, but before I could get the door open all the way, his hand appeared above my head and slammed it shut. The echo sent a tremor through me.
His shoulders blocked out the light. His presence, heavy and palpable, skimmed down my spine. “You started this game,” he said, with the rough sound of anger. “Finish it.”
I couldn’t think with him behind me, cornering me against the door. We’d always stood close—close enough to watch the room and insult each other’s looks and intelligence with ease. But this was different. Real, volatile anger poured off him, and it was freaking terrifying.
Plainly, and as bland as stale bread, I said, “The way I feel about you, well, it’s put me in a small spot.”
“Tight spot,” he corrected softly.
I didn’t say anything because I was internally shaking. At his closeness, his unexplained anger, the fact I was trapped, and I wasn’t getting out unless he chose to let me go. Just the idea he might touch me sent every nerve ending in my back tingling in expectation.
His hand slid off the door and he stepped away.
I inhaled slowly. Released it.
Turning, I watched him walk to the minibar and grab a glass of clear liquid that sat on the wooden top.
“Go entertain your guests, Gianna.”
A sliver of irritation ran through me. I hated when he told me what to do. Like he was my lord and master, and I just wasn’t aware of it yet.
“That’s what I’m trying to do, but I suppose some guests are just assholes.”
He braced his hands on the bar and turned a dark gaze to me. He wasn’t here for my party but for whatever meeting was happening downstairs. And his expression was making that abundantly clear. But I didn’t care for semantics.
“Where is my present?” I asked, padding toward him on bare feet.
“What? The room next door overflowing with presents isn’t enough for you?”
“Aw, does that make you mad? That I have friends, and you don’t?”
“You need confirmation that everyone adores you, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I said, straight-faced. “So where is my present?” I tapped the front of his watch, and his eyes narrowed on the movement. “Surely your watch is too much? It’s a Rolex.” When he only gave me a dry stare, I sighed. “Okay, if you insist.”
I started to unclasp his watch just to see if he would stop me, to grab my wrist and tell me to quit being annoying like any other man I knew would. He had never touched me. Not once. Not when I’d messed with his tie, taken his glass straight from his hand, or “accidentally” stepped on his foot when he’d told me that at least my blond hair now matched what was inside my head. To be honest, it made me believe he thought I was too lowly to even come into contact with. For a reason I couldn’t explain, it bothered me. And it might’ve been why I touched him even more.
Hands braced on the bar, he only watched me unclasp his watch. My breath grew dense in my lungs. I was simply removing his watch, yet somehow, it felt like I was undoing his belt.
The Rolex slid halfway down my forearm when I put it on, but I still waved it around like I would a new conflict-free diamond ring.
“Thank you,” I said brightly. “I love it.”
We watched each other, and something thick and heavy flowed through the room. He tipped his glass back and took a large sip. I’d say it was water, but I knew it was vodka. The man could drink, and yet he seemed impervious to getting drunk.
I tilted my head. “Where are you from?”
“Iowa.”
A laugh escaped me. “And I’m the Queen of England.” I took his watch off, set it on the bar, and spun it with my finger. “Fine. I know what I want for my birthday.”
“I’m on the edge of my seat.”
“You’re not. But that’s okay. We can’t all have feelings and things.”
He put his watch back on, and I grew distracted by the movement. Allister had the kind of hands that made a woman wonder what they would look like against her skin.
“I want a secret,” I said, adding, “One of yours, of course.”
“And what am I supposed to get out of this?”
“The satisfaction of making me happy.” I flashed him a sweet smile.
His gaze dropped to my lips. He looked away, but before he did, I saw a flash of something unmistakably sinful. My heartbeat tripped up on itself.
He braced his hands back on the bar. “Tell me what your husband got you first.” His voice was nonchalant, though a tense vibe emanated from him, and it sent a nervous energy through me.
I lifted a shoulder. “I’m sure some piece of jewelry, like he gets me every year. I don’t know. I haven’t seen him yet today.”
“Why not?”
“He’s a busy man.”
“Too busy for his wife on her birthday?” I recognized his indifferent yet vicious tone and where he was taking this. Frustration chafed beneath my skin.
“Stop,” I told him.
“What was Antonio doing today? Or, maybe the right word would be, who?”
Anger scratched at my throat and the backs of my eyes. Antonio didn’t consume my thoughts anymore. I no longer thought of him with a young, wide-eyed wonder. Love had turned bitter—if it had ever been love, and not infatuation. However, betrayal still stung, and Allister was cutting that wound open to bleed.
I choked on my fury. “I hate you.”
“I think about you.”
Those four rough words filled the air between us, settling to the floor with a stillness that rocked me to my core. My blood cooled as silence came out to touch me with cold fingers.
I stared, eyes wide.
He watched my expression, bitter amusement passing through his gaze. “There’s your fucking secret.”
Downing his drink, he dropped it on the bar before heading to the door. He stopped with a hand on the knob and turned to me. “You want to know why I don’t touch you?”
I shook my head.
“Because if I did, I wouldn’t stop. Not until I’d snuffed out that pretty fire in your eyes.” His gaze flashed. “Don’t shut yourself in a room with me again, Gianna.”
He left, but his warning stayed behind.
My heart tripped over itself as I marched down the stairs and knocked on the heavy door. It swung open to reveal Tara standing on the other side. Her bright smile dropped into a scowl when she saw it was me.
“You know Antonio doesn’t like women down here.”
She opened a door for a living, yet she believed she was the equivalent of the President’s right-hand man. I didn’t know why, but every woman who had ever manned this door was a raging bitch.
“You have a second to get out of my way before I have you demoted to taking out the garbage.”
Her gaze narrowed to slits. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me.”
Anger rose to her cheeks. However, as though she’d just remembered something important, a spark of mischief lit in her eyes, and she pulled the door open wide.
Something obviously lay in wait for me, but I couldn’t find the will to care. I was too frazzled by Allister’s earlier words, and furious that Ace had told him what happened between us.
I walked past her and down the short steel staircase.
Cigarette smoke hung in the air, coalescing with dim orange lighting. The card tables sat still, and the booths circling the room unseated. A few men loitered outside the conference room door, and heated conversation filtered to my ears from within. I made my way toward Antonio’s office to wait until the meeting adjourned.
As I walked past the conference room, Lorenzo stepped out of the group of men and blocked my path. “What are you doing down here?”
“Trying to eavesdrop on all your secret plans to take over the world.”
He slipped his hands in his pockets, a smile pulling on his lips. Lorenzo was the cutest of the Russos, if you were ever going to use that word to describe any of them. Blood splatter and the look of the Cosa Nostra usually revoked any sense of cute from their description. But, somehow, Lorenzo still retained it. He might be the cutest, but I’d heard he was the kinkiest, too.
“You have a party upstairs,” he said. “Why don’t you go join it?”
“I have to murder Ace first, then I will.”
“Ace is busy.”
“I’ll wait until he’s free.”
I needed a second to collect my thoughts anyway. Not until I’d snuffed out that pretty fire in your eyes. A cold shiver erupted at the base of my spine. What did that mean, exactly?
Distracted, I tried to step around Lorenzo, but he blocked my path again.
“Go upstairs, Gianna.”
Tara’s mischievous look came to mind. With a singsong lilt in my voice, I asked, “What’s in my husband’s office that I’m not supposed to see?”
“Nothing.”
“Oh, Lo, I know you can’t help it, but has anyone told you, you’re transparent?” I rolled my eyes and pushed past him.
John stood beside the office door, one hand clasping the other wrist in front of him. He wasn’t Italian, and therefore could never be sworn in as a Made Man, but he’d been a trusted man of my husband’s since I’d met him and would probably always be.
“New hairdo?” I asked, glancing at his bald head. It was an ongoing joke between us.
A small smile came to his lips. “Borrowed some of Lorenzo’s hair gel.”
I could feel Lo’s eyeroll behind me.
“Ah, well, I like it.” I winked.
I grabbed the doorknob, but John’s voice stopped me before I could open it.
“Gianna.”
I looked at him to see a somber expression staring back. At this point, I knew what lay beyond the door, but I was so tired of running from it for the last year. My thoughts reflected in my eyes, and he tipped his chin in understanding.
I opened the door and strolled inside.
She sat on the couch, one leg crossed over the other, a textbook open on her lap. When she looked up and saw me, she dropped her pen and stared.
“Hello, Sydney.”
She swallowed. “Gianna.”
“Don’t mind me,” I said, sitting on the couch beside her and grabbing the TV remote. “I’m waiting for Ace. I just need to kill him, and then I’ll be on my way.”
She nodded like she completely understood.
I flicked through the channels, settling on my favorite soap opera, and pulled my legs up beside me.
Sydney’s discomfort wafted from her like a heavy perfume. She shifted in her blue scrubs, and I realized she must have come straight from the hospital. She worked as a phlebotomist to put herself through nursing school. I was surprised she still insisted on working—I knew Antonio wouldn’t hesitate to pay her way.
“Gianna . . .” She hesitated, thick emotion laced through her voice. “I don’t know what to say to tell you how sorry I am for everything.”
Betrayal twisted my heart in a brutal grip.
It was the same thing she’d said in a hundred emails, voicemails, messages, and a couple of personal visits I’d quickly ended. Say something too many times and it becomes meaningless.
“If I could go back and change how things happened—”
“No, no, no,” I muttered, shaking my head at the TV. “Don’t sleep with Chad. He screwed around with Ciara behind your back last week!”
Sydney’s attention went to the TV before frustration heated her cheeks. “I know you, Gianna, and I know you aren’t so indifferent, not to me.”
Bitterness stung my throat. “You do know me. You know more about me than I have ever shared with anyone else. And that is why I can’t forgive you, Sydney.”
I’d taken a few college courses when I married and moved to New York. “It will help you get a feel for the city,” Antonio said. I was in awe of his generosity, the freedom he’d granted me, which I had never experienced before. That was where I met Sydney. I remembered the hours we spent squished together on her dorm room bunk bed, staring at the ceiling and talking about life.
It was the first meaningful friendship I’d ever had. And when it ended, it wasn’t the first time my heart had been ripped out. My chest had felt hollow since I was five years old, and sometimes, where emotions should be, there was only numbness. Some called it depression. I called it life.
“You know what he’s like,” she said softly.
I did know. I knew so well I actually felt sorry for her, but it did nothing to remove the image of him and her together. Or the knowledge they’d been seeing each other for a year now, without any regard to how it would make me feel.
“I didn’t mean for anything to happen. I felt sick about the whole thing—”
“This topic is positively boring,” I sighed. “I know, let’s talk about how my husband is in bed.”
She made a noise of frustration. “Stop doing this. Stop pretending you don’t care.”
“You want some honest emotion from me? Fine.” The words poured from my lips without any sentiment. “I hate you. I hate you for what you did. I hate you for still doing it. And I hate you for acting as though I’m in the wrong here. You’re dead to me, Sydney. Is that enough emotion for you?”
You’re dead to me.
You’re dead to me.
You’re dead to me.
It resounded in the room on an undying loop, like the skipping of a scratched record.
Her face lost all color, and her voice was so quiet it sounded nearly inaudible. “I’m so sorry for what I did to you.”
“So am I,” I whispered, resigned.
Silence reached out to consume us both. It masqueraded as a calm, peaceful entity, but it couldn’t conceal a volatile edge. We sat in that uncomfortable, deceitful silence. It was her punishment. It was just my existence. She worked on her homework with a shaky hand, and I watched my show while trying not to regret the words I’d said. But I did. They already haunted me, and she wasn’t even dead yet.
Fifteen minutes later, Antonio burst into the room with Ace on his heels. They were arguing about something, but as soon as they noticed our presence, they both stopped to stare. I guessed a wife and a mistress sitting side-by-side was a perplexing sight. I aimed to make it more confusing.
I smiled. “Aren’t you going to wish your wife a happy birthday?”
“Jesus,” Ace muttered. “We don’t have time for this right now.”
I shot him a narrowed gaze. “You know what I don’t have time for? You!”
It was an immature response I didn’t think through, as I did have some free time, considering I had no job and not a single responsibility, and that thought was clearly conveyed in Ace’s dry expression.
Father and son stood beside one another. Together, they could double as a brick wall. An unyielding force of nature. Or something someone might pray to.
My husband’s gaze coasted from me to Sydney and, in a twisted, disgusting way, I thought he liked seeing us together.
I hadn’t touched him since last October, since I’d told him I wouldn’t. But he was getting more persuasive as the days went on, and I was beginning to ache for human contact. For hands and lips on my skin; to lose myself in a sheen of sweat and lust. The desire grew stronger every day, and I knew he was only biding his time until it became unbearable. Antonio might smack me around sometimes, but he had never tried to rape me. My guess was that was a sin he’d be too ashamed to confess. Or, more likely, he thought my resistance was a game I was close to losing, and he was going to feel immense satisfaction when he won.
Thankfully, the way he watched Sydney and me was making me a bit nauseous. I got to my feet and straightened my dress.
“Is there a reason you’re not celebrating with the people upstairs who came here for you?” Antonio asked.
“Yes, actually, there is. To shoot Ace. Since I’m not currently armed, I’ll let you do the honors.”
He rolled his eyes and headed to his desk. “Appease my wife, son. It is her birthday.”
I turned to Nico, triumph sparkling in my eyes like a sibling who had just won a battle. But that was a slightly awkward comparison, considering we’d had sex.
Nico shook his head, and then walked to the door and opened it. “You have a second to say what you need to. And you’re not fucking shooting me.”
“We’ll see,” I muttered, passing him as I walked out the door.
My bare feet touched the cool concrete in the hall just as the first pop cut through the air. A draft hit my face, a ring sounding in my ears. John slumped to the floor with a solid thunk.
I stared at the splatter of red that slid down the wall in front of me.
My breath escaped me in one rush as someone slammed me to the wall, covering me with their body.
Pop.
Pop.
“Fuck,” Nico growled, smacking the wall beside my head. He whirled around, pressing his back to my front. The sound of three close gunshots cut through the air. They rang in my ears and vibrated in my bones.
Something wet and warm soaked through my dress. I touched the spot and brought my fingers up to my face. Red coated my hand like paint.
So much blood.
“Ace,” I breathed. “Oh, my god, Ace.” My hand shook.
Someone grabbed my wrist and shoved me into my husband’s office.
“Do not leave this room under any circumstance,” Antonio said. The darkness in his soul had leaked into his eyes, filling them with black. He slammed the door, and I fell back a step, finding balance.
“Oh my god, Gianna!” Sydney hurried over to me. “Where are you hurt?” She ran her hands over my arms and midsection while I stared blankly at the door. When she didn’t find a scratch, she breathed, “Whose blood?”
“Ace’s.”
“Oh, my god.”
A pop sounded from outside the door, one after the other, and then it went quiet. So quiet my heartbeat pulsed in my ears.
She eyed the door.
“No, Sydney,” I warned.
Turmoil flickered through her gaze. “I can help.”
“No.” Urgency filled my voice. “You heard Antonio.”
Tears filled her eyes, one escaping her bottom lashes. “I have a bad feeling, Gianna . . .”
“You love him.”
“Yes,” she cried. “I don’t want to live without him.”
She took a step toward the door, but I grabbed her wrist. I wouldn’t let her sacrifice herself for love. I couldn’t. Love wasn’t worth it. Love hurt. I tightened my grip when she tried to knock my hand away. But then the lights went out, and darkness descended on us, with reaching, searching, cold fingertips.
A strangled sound of protest escaped my lips, and I was eight years old again. Don’t you ever shut up, girl? Disgrace. Worthless. Unlovable. Whore.
My lungs tightened, constricting.
Her wrist slipped from my grasp and disappeared into the darkness.
You’re dead to me.
“No,” I cried, as I dropped to my knees and fought to breathe.
Sydney got her wish.
She didn’t have to live without him.
On my twenty-third birthday, I became a widow of one.
