“I think you have to pay for love with bitter tears.”
—Édith Piaf
“YOU KNOW,”—SEBASTIAN SCRATCHED HIS jaw—“I don’t know much about New York City, but my guess is this neighborhood isn’t one of the best.”
He sat beside me on a green bench that was sticky with spilled soda and other things I didn’t want to think about. If there ever was a neon sign flashing “steal from me” it was him, in his crisp gray suit and gold watch and cufflinks that sparkled in the sun. I’d dressed the way I had for a reason, but it was pointless now with him stuck to my side. I wasn’t that concerned for my safety, however. He might look preppy and ostentatious, but the darkness of his profession reflected in his eyes whenever the light hit them just right.
He sat back against the bench. “So, what do we do now? Just wait?”
“Yes.”
Across the trash-littered street sat a row of rundown townhouses. Barred lower windows, chipping paint, and sagging chain-link fences. My focus was on the gray one far enough away we were fairly hidden by a few trees, but close enough I could still make out the front door.
It had taken thirty minutes to find the right house, the entirety being filled with thoughts from seven months ago. I wished I could say my memory of him was poignant and unforgettable, but in truth, he was just a shadow in my mind, the only thread holding him together, guilt.
A small park sat off to our right, and Sebastian watched as a group of boys pretended to shoot each other with finger guns.
“Maybe they could come work for you and my husband,” I said.
He laughed. “I’ll give them a few years.” Resting his arm behind me, he said, “You do know he’s going to try to kill me, don’t you?”
“Why did you insist on coming if you believed that?” I shook my head in disbelief, but a cold sweat drifted through me. “I won’t tell him you were involved.”
He let out a breath of amusement, his gaze following a cop car that drove past us suspiciously slow. “Oh, Elena, he already knows.”
The hair on the back of my neck rose.
Movement caught in my periphery, and I fought not to shift to the edge of the bench. I didn’t want to bring more attention to myself when I already had a Colombian drug lord sitting next to me.
“Looks like we got a bite,” Sebastian said.
She appeared to be in her fifties, with graying blond hair swept into a bun at the nape of her neck and a haggard expression that only hard work could create. Walking toward us from the other side of the street, she wore blue scrubs, but I knew she wasn’t in the medical field. She washed laundry at a local nursing home from four a.m. to noon, and then worked at a gas station until midnight.
She was blonde, like him, but that was the only similarity I could see. Though, to be truthful, I’d mostly forgotten what he looked like. My fingernails dug into my palms as she walked up her porch steps while rooting for her keys in her purse. She halted and glanced at her feet. I held my breath as she bent down and picked up the green money bag.
I remembered only pieces of that weekend. The whirring sound in my ears as my uncle shot him in the head and the warm spray of blood against my face had filtered into the other memories and blurred them in red. But I did remember how much he worked: three jobs and longer hours than I had ever imagined was possible. Most of the time, I was alone in his friend’s apartment, who’d gone to jail for petty theft, while he went to work to support his mother and a younger sister still in high school.
He wanted his sister to go to college, not to live the same life as him, working hours and hours and never making enough. For families out here, it was like a merry-go-round that could never be stopped. What I did remember was blood, lifeless eyes, and how passionately he spoke about his family. He would have done anything for them, and I couldn’t sit by and do nothing when I had the means to help.
She unzipped the money bag. Her purse dropped to the porch as a hand flew to cover her mouth. There was fifty-thousand dollars cash in that bag. It was all I could get from the bank on such short notice, and even then, probably just because of my last name. It was still legally Abelli, and I wondered what they would have done for me if it were Russo. The rest of the money was via a cashier’s check, and I was going out on a limb hoping she would cash it quickly. Nico could shut down my bank account fast, as well as get the transfer reversed if he claimed fraud, though that might take longer.
First, she pulled out the ring, and I rubbed my bare finger before she put it back in the bag. Next was the note I’d written. My throat felt thick as she unfolded it. After a moment, her shoulders shook with sobs and she slid downward to sit on the steps. A tear ran down my cheek and I wiped it away. I didn’t deserve to grieve with her; it had all been my fault.
I’d known his name for months now. There was no getting past it when I had to research his death so I could find out his mother’s information. But we had a deal: he wouldn’t tell me his name until I told him mine. And as he wasn’t alive to ever hear mine, I’d pretend to never know his.
A few minutes later, she stood, wiped her cheeks, and went inside.
Some pressure drifted away like a bird on my shoulder. I couldn’t give her son back, but I could ease both hers and her daughter’s futures. Stop the merry-go-round so they could get off before it spun again for the rest of their neighborhood.
Sebastian brushed a piece of lint off his suit. “That’s it? I expected something more . . . climatic.”
I gave my head a shake, but I couldn’t respond because my breath caught in my chest and my veins turned to ice.
“Never mind. Here it comes,” he said with a sigh.
Nico’s car came to a stop in the middle of the street. He got out, slammed his door, and strode toward us with a blank mask. He was the don now, but something all Nico flickered in his eyes. Volatile depths that made my chest clench.
Sebastian got to his feet. “Glad to see you finally show up.”
I cringed at his words, but before I could even blink, Nico reached Sebastian, pulled his gun out of the back of his waistband, and backhanded him with it so hard he fell back two steps.
Sebastian froze with his head cocked to the side. “You know,” he said, wiping the blood off his lip with the back of his hand. “I’m taking this a little personally.”
Calmly and without a word, Nico pointed his gun at Sebastian’s head. My heart froze over, and I jumped to my feet and stood in front of him. “Nico, stop!”
“Get in the car,” he said, keeping his gaze on Sebastian.
“No,” I breathed. “This had nothing to do with him.”
His burning eyes finally met mine. “Did you let him in my club?”
I blinked. “What?”
“Did you let him into my goddamn club!”
I took a step back and bumped into Sebastian. I’d never heard Nico so angry, and my heart tried to flee from my chest.
“N-no,” I stuttered. “Why would I do that?” Awareness settled over me. He thought I was having an affair with Sebastian? “It’s nothing like that at all, I swear. Please, let me explain,” I begged. One glance toward the kids at the park showed they were all staring at us, wide-eyed.
Sebastian pushed me out of his way and stepped toward Nico until the barrel of his gun pressed against his forehead. All his playfulness disappeared; nothing but darkness leaked into his gaze. “She wouldn’t need any of your money to run away with me, Russo. Nor to sit in some shitty ass neighborhood for an hour.”
Luca’s car pulled up behind Nico’s, and I said a quick prayer that he would talk some sense into Nico. My husband and Sebastian stared at each other. My blood drummed louder in my ears until it was all I could hear.
“Nico—”
His gaze coasted to me. It was cold enough to freeze me to my spot. “Get. In. The. Car.”
“Please don’t kill him.”
His jaw ticked. “If I have to say it again, he’s dead.”
With nausea churning in my stomach, I walked toward his car. As I put my back toward them, a shiver ran down my spine, every nerve anticipating a gunshot to cut through the air.
A few cars idled in the street, not being able to get past Nico’s Audi taking up both lanes. I climbed in and shut the door, closeting myself in the scent of leather and him. They exchanged more words. Words that appeared to be calm and reasonable. Just as relief crept in, Nico backhanded him with his gun again. Annoyance flared in Sebastian’s eyes as he spit out a mouthful of blood. Luca grabbed Sebastian’s arm and pushed him toward his car.
Nico walked across the street. He still wore jeans and a grease-stained white t-shirt. I wished he hadn’t. I could deal with the don in a black suit, but this Nico intimidated me. He had so much more to take away.
He got in and shut the door. Thick tension rolled off him, sucking all the air out of the small space. His fist tightened and released before he put the car in drive and headed down the street. The atmosphere was hostile; one tiny spark and it would explode. It took five minutes to gain the courage to say anything.
“Nico—”
“Don’t say another fucking word to me right now, Elena,” he snapped.
Something grabbed my heart and ripped it into two pieces.
After what I had done, I didn’t have it in me to defy him. Nothing but tire noise, the outside sounds of the city, and my painful heartbeats filled the car. All I wanted was to go home, press my face into his chest, and apologize. To promise I would never keep anything from him ever again.
My papà kept his bank information locked in a safe not even Tony had the code to, and then Nico’s had been lying there on the counter. It was too tempting, maybe my only chance. Men like him were all supposed to be the same. Stealing from Nico should’ve been like stealing from my papà, but it didn’t feel that way. It felt like the worst sort of betrayal.
We weren’t going home. I didn’t dare say a word, but as the awareness settled in of where we headed, a hollow ache in my chest grew emptier every mile.
He parked, and I got out of the car and followed him. I stood side-by-side with him in the elevator, but he’d yet to even look at me. A ping sounded, and the doors opened to the penthouse apartment. Every shallow breath hurt.
A dark-haired man in a suit stood in the small hallway. I vaguely recognized him, but couldn’t put a name to the face. He gave my husband a small nod.
Nico unlocked the door and flicked on the lights. Numbly, I stepped inside behind him.
He stood by the open door, his gaze focused above my head. “James will be outside. He has a phone you can use if you need anything.” His voice was cold and distant.
I wanted to say something, anything, so he would look at me. “I want my own phone.”
His volatile eyes finally came to me. I ached for him to touch me, for the roughness of his hands on my face, his deep voice in my ear.
“You had a phone. You chose not to use it.”
“I will now,” was all I could think to say.
His jaw tightened. “I’ll have one brought to you then.”
He’ll have one brought to me.
He was done with me then? He hadn’t even let me explain. Maybe he didn’t care. I stole from him, and that, he couldn’t forgive. My eyes burned, and I blinked to keep the tears at bay. “Thank you.”
His bitter laugh was quiet. A small shake of his head.
“Luca will bring your bag by soon,” he said, turning to leave.
“Nico.”
He stopped with his back to me, his shoulders tensing.
“I’m sorry,” I breathed.
A few seconds passed, and when I thought he might respond, he walked out and shut the door behind him.
I stared blankly until the numbness turned into despair that scratched at my chest, stole my breath, and bubbled up my throat in sobs.
