Guilt is physical. It’s a parasite that grows inside your gut, getting bigger and bigger with each passing day, feeding on you.
It’s day eight when I break.
If I don’t fix this, the parasite will consume me entirely.
Even if Ras takes years to resent me, I’ll resent myself far sooner than that.
While Ras is out at the store getting groceries, I take my old phone out of the nightstand and search the drawer in the kitchen that’s filled with all kinds of cords and chargers.
When I find one that matches my phone, I take it as a sign.
I count the seconds until the screen flickers to life. I quickly write down Cleo’s number, turn the phone back off, and dial her using the burner phone.
It doesn’t take her long to pick up. “Hello?”
I sit down at the kitchen table, my legs wobbly at hearing her voice. “Cleo,” I breathe.
There’s a surprised gasp. “Gem! You came up on my caller ID as Unknown. Where are you?”
“Somewhere far. Are you okay? Tell me what’s going on.”
“Shit, hold on. Let me go into the bathroom to make sure no one hears. I don’t even know where to start. Are you with Ras?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, good,” she says, sounding relieved. “Shit, Gem. No one knows where you two went. Papà’s ordered all of his capos to look for you, but no one else in the clan knows you’re gone. He’s keeping it hush-hush and has told Rafaele he’ll get you back in no time. Papà’s been trying to get your location from Damiano, but Damiano says he doesn’t know where you went. No one believes him.”
“Do people think Ras took me away on Damiano’s orders?”
“Of course. Didn’t he?”
I feel a tinge of relief. Is Damiano covering for Ras? He could have made it clear that Ras acted on his own and thus deflect any blame, but he didn’t. That means there’s still hope they can reconcile.
I clutch the phone tighter. “So Papà’s still in jail?”
“Yes. Listen, apparently the whole succession thing is now in question. Rafaele’s refusing to help Papà. He said he’s not doing anything until Papà delivers on his side of the bargain.”
I thought that might happen. Rafaele doesn’t seem like the type to hand out favors without a clear repayment plan. “And Vince? Is he back?”
“He is. I told him he’s a fucking prick. Actually, I told him a lot more than that. You should have seen us when he first showed up. Ma had to practically pull me off him.”
So my brother returned to New York. Now that I’m not conveniently solving all of his problems, he’s had to step up.
“What’s his position on all of this?” I ask.
“He’s running things while Papà’s in jail, but he doesn’t want to be here. He says he’s in love with some princess.”
My eyes widen. “A princess? What does that mean?”
“She’s literally a princess. Royalty from some European country. Not Switzerland, but maybe Sweden? I don’t know. You know geography was my worst subject.”
“So what does this mean?”
“It means she’s the reason he doesn’t want to come back. Or one of them at least.”
My stomach sinks. Vince and Papà made their succession plan ages ago. Sounds like Vince was already involved with this woman back then, and yet he didn’t say a word about her to me. I’m starting to get the sense I don’t know my brother nearly as well as I thought I did.
“Vince had the decency to look ashamed after I went off on him,” Cleo continues. “I think he regrets manipulating you with Papà, but he’s not exactly embracing his responsibilities. He’s working overtime trying to convince Rafaele to still go through with the deal.”
I rub my forehead. It’s as big of a mess as I’d expected.
“I don’t think you should come back for a while,” Cleo says. “When he went to see Papà he said he’s going to kill Ras the next time he sees him.”
Panic squeezes around my lungs. He won’t. I won’t let him do anything to Ras.
“Are you okay wherever you are?” Cleo asks.
“Yes, I’m safe here.”
“Ras is taking care of you?”
“Yeah.” But at what cost?
“How is he? How are you two getting along?”
Well, I’ve thoroughly fallen for him, and I think it was in the cards all along. A fuzzy memory from Ibiza surfaces—his thumb brushing over my skin, his lips forming the words, “Who did this to you?”
I shut my eyes and clear my throat. “We’re making it work. Does Papà really not have any way of getting out without Rafaele’s help?”
“I’m not sure, but it doesn’t sound like it. Apparently, there were multiple rats. I don’t know who, but they gave the Feds a lot of stuff on Papà.”
“So unless I come back, Papà will stay in prison.”
“Which is exactly where he belongs,” she says harshly. “Gemma…” She exhales. “Gem, when he hit you in his office right before you left… That wasn’t the first time, was it?”
“No, it wasn’t.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I didn’t notice.”
“I hid it from you.”
“No, I’ve been a bitch. I’ve been so self-absorbed that I failed to notice what was right in front of me. I feel horrible about it. You deserve a better sister.”
My eyes well up with tears. “You were going through your own stuff.”
“I was rebelling just to piss Papà off, while you were getting beaten by him and being forced to marry a man you do not want. We are not the same,” she says, her tone threaded with bitterness. “Thank God for Ras. When I heard the sounds coming from the office, and then when I saw you… God,” she says, her voice breaking. “I’ve never been so scared, Gem. Not even when Rafaele killed Ludovico a foot away from me.”
I take a deep breath and try to rein in my emotions. “It’s okay, Cleo. I’m safe now.”
“I love you so much. You know I’d do anything for you, right? I see things more clearly now, and when you come back, I promise things won’t be the way they used to be.”
I take a moment to compose myself, letting her words sink in. “I know. I love you too.” Ras will be back soon, so I need to wrap this up. “What do you think I should do?”
“Whatever you want. You don’t owe anyone anything.”
Except Ras. I owe him everything. “If I come back, Vince can go back to Switzerland, and Rafaele will get Papà out. Everything will fall right back into place,” I say, thinking out loud.
“It’s not your job to fix this.”
I know it’s not. But I can go home and help people who don’t deserve it, or I can stay here and ruin Ras’s life.
The choice is obvious, but it’s far from easy.
Swallowing past the ball inside my throat, I say, “Cleo, I’m going to come home. Can you tell Vince? I’ll give you my location. Don’t give it to him until he swears on his life that he won’t send anyone after Ras and that he won’t let Papà harm him either. Tell him to send a plane for me to the closest private airfield. I’ll find a way to be there.”
“Are you sure?”
“I am. Write it down.” I give her our address in Crete.
Cleo blows out a breath. “All right, I’ll take care of it. I gotta go. I think I can hear Mamma coming up. I love you, okay?”
“Love you too. Bye.” I hang up.
Ras won’t let me just walk out of here. He’ll fight, argue, tell me whatever I want to hear to make me stay.
The only way this works is if I tell him I don’t want him.
The thought of doing that makes my chest tight with pain.
I’ll have to break his heart.
Can I lie to his face? Because that’s what it would be—a lie.
I love him.
Which is why I have to let him go.
The sunset is particularly beautiful tonight. The sky blushes with shades of pink and orange, its reflection glimmering across the Mediterranean.
Ras and I made fresh linguine, and from my spot on one of the patio chairs, I see him carefully toss the pasta into a pot of boiling water. He feels my attention on him and shoots me a grin. “Three minutes.”
He sent me out here about ten minutes ago with a glass of rosé after I kept dropping things because I’m on the verge of a breakdown. He misread my distress as clumsiness.
A big bird cuts an elegant arc through the sky just as my old phone vibrates in the pocket of my dress.
I cast a quick glance at Ras to make sure he’s not looking over here and then read the message from Cleo.
Tomorrow, 10 a.m.
My palms grow sweaty. The plane is coming to pick me up and take me back to New York.
I slide the phone under the chair cushion as Ras comes out with two plates and places one on the table in front of me. The linguine is topped with homemade sugo, grated parmesan, and basil.
I pick up my fork. “It looks delicious,” I say, trying to keep my tone upbeat even though I’m crumbling inside. I want to enjoy this one last dinner with him before I break the news.
He takes the seat closest to me, leaving the corner of the table between us, and places a hand on my thigh.
I take my first bite and it’s so damn good I can’t hold back a moan. He’s an exceptional cook.
The sound makes him smirk. “Fuck, you’re going to make me hard before we get to dessert.”
I swallow my food and force a smile. “Liar. You’re already hard.”
His eyes spark. “Why don’t you get on my lap and check?”
“I’m hungry,” I say, waving my hand at my plate.
“I’ve got something I can feed you.”
Even though I feel lower than I’ve ever felt before, he manages to make me laugh. “Stop it. I’m trying to enjoy this pasta.”
He drags his hand up my thigh, pushes it beneath my dress, and stops at the edge of my underwear. He digs into his food, but his fingers brush back and forth over my skin, drifting closer and closer toward my center without ever quite reaching it.
Heat travels up my body in a slow wave.
He keeps his gaze on me, an amused glint in his eyes as he watches me try to pretend like I’m unaffected by his touch.
I’m wet by the time I’m done with my pasta, and my breaths come out in short pants. “Ras,” I rasp.
He arches a brow. His plate is still half full.
“Eat faster,” I beg as he slides the tip of his finger beneath the fabric and brushes it over my sensitive slit.
He chases his next bite with some wine and then picks up a napkin and presses it against his lip. He pulls his hand away, pushes his plate aside, and pats the surface of the table like he wants me to get on it.
Excitement runs up my spine.
I stand up.
“Take off your clothes,” he commands, his voice a low rumble. Fire blazes inside his hazel eyes.
When I slip the straps of the dress off my shoulders and let it fall to the ground, Ras makes a satisfied sound. He waits until my panties fall alongside the dress and then says, “Good girl. Now, get on the table and spread those thighs open. I’m ready for my next course.”
I do as he says, my clit pulsing with excitement and my nipples puckered, eager for his attention. It’s easy to obey him. The thought reminds me that very soon I’ll have to do the opposite… Oh God, I’ll have to tell him—
He wraps his big hands over my thighs, leans forward, and buries his face inside my cunt.
His tongue momentarily chases away the thoughts pressing in on me, the ones that carve out pieces of my heart. Ras feasts on my pussy until I’m begging for him to fuck me, to get inside of me, to fill me up.
My thighs are shaking and drops of sweat are sliding between my breasts when he finally stands up and fists the hair at my nape. “So greedy,” he says against my lips as he deftly undoes his belt. I taste myself on him. Smell my arousal on his beard. “I love when you’re desperate for my cock.” His tongue slides over my bottom teeth, and he deepens the kiss. I feel him prod against my opening. I reach between us and slide him inside of me. He groans and starts to roll his hips, his mouth still locked on mine.
It feels so, so good.
My heels dig into his thighs as he speeds up his thrusts. My back arches. The table jitters beneath us, the dishes and the cutlery clanking so loudly I’m afraid they’ll break, but he doesn’t stop, and I’m not about to ask him to. Not when I can feel my orgasm coming on, my body becoming engulfed in flames.
Mindless and all-encompassing need pulses inside of me. My nails dig into Ras’s back, leaving half-moon marks and tearing at his skin.
“Fuck,” he says raggedly, his cock deep inside of me, and his hot breath by my ear. “You’re too good. Too fucking good. I’m going to—”
The words push me over, contractions coming on suddenly and with such force they take me aback. I gasp. There’s no air inside my lungs. I’ve forgotten how to breathe.
I clutch onto Ras and feel him tense up as he finds his own release. He groans, his hold on me tightening until it’s painful, but the pain somehow feels just right.
A tear leaks out of my eye. God, I need to pull myself together.
“I love you, Peaches,” he says, tracing the words with his lips against my temple, and my blood freezes.
I love you too. When I think of you, there’s this overwhelming feeling inside my chest, as if I’m coming down the peak of a rollercoaster.
I press my face against his bare chest, hiding the cascade of tears. His heart is pounding.
I can’t say it back, no matter how desperately I want to. If I do, I won’t be able to leave. I won’t be able to break his heart, which is what I have to do.
When he pulls out of me, I’m on the verge of panic.
He’s still catching his breath as he steps back, spreads my legs, and looks at where my pussy is leaking his cum all over the dinner table. Satisfaction flashes inside his eyes. He traces his fingertips over the inside of my thigh. “Seeing that makes me so fucking crazy, baby. You have no idea.”
I sweep my palms over my face to wipe away the wetness and slide off the table. “I’m going to get cleaned up,” I mumble, already on my way to the bathroom.
I need to numb myself. I need to separate my brain from my heart.
And then I need to tell him.
In the shower, I stay under freezing cold water until I can’t stand it a second longer, and then I pad into the bedroom. Ras’s lying on the bed in his boxer briefs, his arms folded behind his head, biceps bulging.
I think he might have fallen asleep, but when he hears me, his eyes spring open.
The reverent look he gives me nearly kills me.
I know with absolute certainty no one will ever look at me that way again. My conviction wavers for a moment, but I steel my spine and tighten my robe around me.
There are no other options. It has to be done.
“Ras, I have to tell you something.”
“What is it?” he asks, sounding unconcerned.
“I think I made a mistake.”
He gives me a kind smile. “Whatever it is, we can fix it.”
“I…” My gaze drops to my feet. “I can’t do this with you.”
There’s a long, horrible pause.
“What?” He sounds confused.
I force myself to look at him. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to be here with you anymore.”
He sits up. “Gemma, what are you talking about?”
“I hardly knew what was happening when you said we were leaving New York. There was no time to think. I made a mistake.”
“You don’t mean that. Why are you saying this shit?”
My hands are trembling. I link my fingers behind my back. “It’s the truth. I can’t live on the run with you for the rest of my life. I can’t abandon Vale and Cleo. I don’t want this.”
He’s shaking his head like he doesn’t believe me. “You’re happy here.”
“They’re my family,” I force past my tightening throat. “I want to be able to see them.”
“Just give me some time,” he says. “I just need more time to figure it out.”
“There is no time. I’m going back home tomorrow. I’ve already arranged the plane with my brother.”
His face turns pale. He stands up, all of his muscled glory on display, and crosses the distance between us, stopping inches away. “You did what?”
I swallow.
One day, he’ll wake up and realize that I wasn’t worth throwing his life away. He says he loves me, but it’s because he doesn’t really know me. He doesn’t know how pathetic I am.
I’ve spent my whole life chasing my parents’ validation. I’ve allowed my father to beat me for years without standing up for myself. I’m good at shrinking myself and making myself inconsequential.
I’m not good at being brave.
And Ras? He deserves someone brave. When he finally realizes that I’m not, he’ll regret all of this. He’ll realize he chose a dud, a worthless, stupid thing.
I suck in a breath and say, “I’m leaving.”
“Fuck, Gem!” There’s astounded anger in his voice. “And what about me? What about us?”
My voice rises. “What us?”
He looks stricken.
“I’m going to go home, and I’m going to marry Rafaele,” I say. At least then I’ll do something useful. Instead of ruining one life, I’ll save two.
“You don’t love him.”
“I don’t need to love him to marry him. I didn’t know what I was doing when I agreed to come here.”
“And you still don’t know shit,” he snarls. “But I do. I know that I chose you. Despite everything stacked against us, I chose you. I love you. I spent a decade forgetting how to love someone, and yet a few weeks with you is all it took for me to learn it all again.” His laugh is humorless. “You are the air I breathe. You are the ground that keeps me standing. Without you, I’m nothing, Gemma.”
I don’t answer him because I can already feel myself choking on my words. My chest feels like it’s being split open.
“I’m sorry,” I finally manage to whisper.
His eyes flash with desperation. “Was none of this real to you?”
“It was,” I whisper. “But we don’t exist in a vacuum, Ras. There’s a world around us.”
“Did you ever think that maybe we could mold that world to be what we want it to be if we’re both willing to try?” He raises his hand like he’s about to brush my hair away from my face, but I take a step back.
“I don’t know how to do that. I’ve made up my mind. Once I’m in New York, I’ll smooth things over with Rafaele, and I’ll convince him not to come after you. And you can go back to Italy. You’re Damiano’s best friend. You’re his family, and he’s still covering for you. He’ll take you back.”
Slowly, so very slowly, his shoulders slump.
“Why are you doing this?” he rasps, all of his heartbreak stuffed inside those words.
Despair fans through me. “Because I don’t love you.”
He sucks in a harsh breath as if I struck him.
You’ve done it now. You’ve pushed him away. There’s no coming back from this.
Inside my chest, everything fractures.
A horrible sound comes out of his mouth, a kind of broken roar. He turns and sweeps everything that’s on the dresser to the ground. A vase with flowers shatters against the stone floor. He clutches the edge of the dresser, his head down and his back to me.
Tears stream down my cheeks. His name is on the tip of my tongue, so I bite on it hard enough to spill blood.
He shoves the dresser into the corner with a loud scrape and leaves the bedroom without a single glance at me.
