Chapter 18
The tap on my room door startles me for a moment. Stuck on the end of the couch where I was texting Damiano, I wonder for a second if he actually came down to my suite to see me before the wedding, but think better of it. There’s no way that he would disrupt plans to see me.
If not an explicit planner, Damiano is predictable regarding his image.
Stealing away to see his shot-gunned bride isn’t a part of it.
After a second, the lock on the door gives, and Anthony, a guard, enters. His brown eyes meet mine for a second, and then he looks away. His head lowers as if he's bashful, but I know he’s showing respect.
“Mi scusi, the food is here.”
Confused but grateful, I stand. “Okay.”
I look around, gesturing where it should go, but I stop when he steps further in and holds the door open.
Pushing in a tray laden with covered plates is Blaine. With a full head of dark brown hair and a thin, low, shaved beard that doesn’t match the clean-cut look I’m accustomed to, I watch him quietly. He’s still as handsome as ever, but I know he shouldn’t be here. I know I should alert Antonio that he’s a danger to me or something. I should make it so that he understands he needs to stay as far away from me as possible.
But I can’t. I won’t.
Despite how I feel about him now, Blaine is the closest thing I got to normal in the past few years. Aside from him working for Aldo and Tommaso, what happened between us was real.
A man faking his emotions wouldn't go to this length to get my attention.
Or maybe he would.
But I will never take that risk with him.
Casually, as if he buttles daily, he lifts the trays to show foods I know he didn’t cook. When he gets to the champagne bottle, he lifts it, and I see a burner phone in a ziploc bag in the cooler. “Compliments of the resort, Mrs. Bianchi.”
I acknowledge the unopened bottle. “Thank you, but I’m not drinking at the moment.”
I look towards Antonio. “Do you want it, Antonio? Maybe you can drink it after you walk me down.”
I suggest.
From his position by the door, Antonio shrugs. He’s the complete opposite of Vlad. Usually, he smiles and says a few kind words. Today, though, he’s been more radio silent than usual.
I look back at Blaine and, for a brief moment, am stunned by the look of remorse on his face as he takes me in. “Um, you can leave it. I’m sure someone will drink it.”
Blaine looks down at the hidden phone, ensuring I see it, then returns the bottle to its place on top. “Of course, Mrs. Bianchi.”
He straightens. “Congratulations from all of us.”
Without another word, he leaves the room, Antonio following behind him.
For what feels like forever, I stare down at the champagne, debating if I want to hear what Blaine had to sneak in to say to me. It was bold of him to assume that once I recognized him, I wouldn’t have Antonio get him out of here, but then he probably knew I wouldn’t.
Maybe he figured that because it’s my wedding day, I wouldn’t want it to be ruined.
He’d have it all figured out.
Startled by the sudden vibration that echoes through the chiller beneath the bottle, I look to see if somehow Antonio heard it from outside the room. Before the phone can ring a second time, I rush to grab it, putting the champagne back where I grabbed it.
The second time it rings, I answer it, hesitating to put it to my ear. I hear Blaine call my name through the phone as I lift it to my ear, but I don’t say anything right away. I take a deep breath, schooling my emotions.
“Blaine.”
My voice is barely a whisper, and I want to take back the fact that I even answered.
“Hey, Ec’.”
His voice sounds huskier than when he was in the room a moment ago. “How are you?”
It’s a valid question, but it irritates me. “Is that why you called, Blaine? To ask how I’m doing?”
He sighs. “No, that’s not why–”
“Then spit it out.”
My words are harsher than I feel.
Blaine chuckles, more to himself than from finding something funny. “I’m– I, uh, have to go away for a bit. Some things are happening in Tommaso’s house, and it’s gonna get ugly.
I already know, and I’m sure he’s aware I had something to do with it.
“At first, I was going to ask you to come with me– I know this isn’t what you want, Echo. I know you don’t want to spend your life behind windows, looking at people doing things you’ve always dreamed of. I know you better than you think I do, and despite what you believe, I do love you.”
What a weak declaration.
I roll my eyes. “Well, what better way to show your love than by working for the family that mutilated mine.”
Blaine scoffs. “I took that job before I knew you. Fuck, I didn’t even take it, I had no choice. My younger brother got himself into debt, and I offered my services to help him.”
I recall him mentioning a younger sibling once, but I didn't care enough to listen then. I still don’t care enough the more that I think about it. This phone call feels like a waste of my time, and I’m sure Blaine is only using it to gaslight me.
“You have one minute to tell me what you want, Blaine.”
“I just wanted to let you know that if you ever need me, Ec’, I’m here. All you have to do is hit one on this phone, and I’ll find you.”
He stops talking for a second, and traffic sounds reach me. “If I could change things so you could end up with me, I would. The only reason I’m leaving you alone is that when I saw you today, you looked happy and glowing. Maybe it’s the pregnancy or whatever, but I– I can’t take the chance of you hating me if I stole your future from you.”
Stole?
I think about his words. “You were going to drug and kidnap me?”
Rage soars through me. “You stupid motherfucker, why would you even think that would be possible?”
Blaine is silent for a second. “This isn’t going how I expected. I’m saying everything wrong. I thought you weren’t there by choice. That this wedding and pregnancy were all a ruse for Bianchi to control you. So, I was going to get you out.”
I nod, though I know he can't see me. That sounds better, though it doesn't make me feel any better. As much as I want to escape Damiano’s controlling ways where I have to have protection with me at all times, and it has motivated me to stay in the house, I don’t want to be taken from him.
A deep breath escapes me. “I’m fine, Blaine. I’m fine.”
I make my voice sound as calm and honest as possible. I am fine. I’m the one who came up with this plan to pretend that I’m pregnant for a bit more security. I’m the one that played myself into Damiano’s hands to get his attention. I’m the one who is making all the moves silently while everybody else believes I’m weak.
Blaine scoffs on the other line. “Remember, press one, and I’ll come to you.”
I hear a car door slam. “I love you, Ec’.”
Even when I hear him disconnect the call and know I should lower the phone and destroy it, I don’t. Instead, I tuck in the corset bodice of my wedding dress in case someone searches my room while I’m walking down the aisle.
I chance another glance in the mirror of my suite and push my shoulders back.
It’s time for a fucking wedding or a fucking massacre.
****
This feels different.
Foreign. Yet a welcome difference from the shitshow I just narrowly escaped with Blaine.
At the same time, it’s nothing less than I’ve always deserved.
Poised, I stand behind the doors as the music crescendos, waiting for my time when they swing open and reveal my future. My hands are tightly wrapped around the bouquet the wedding planner thrust at me, stopping me from running a nervous hand through my hair that took me forever to do. I inhale a deep breath, hold it, and then release it, praying the nerves will die down, too.
Today has been nothing like I had always imagined as a young girl. I had always been plowed with miraculous images of happiness, gaiety, youthful innocence, and being with my family. None of that is what today represents. I have nobody around me that I love, nobody to bask in my happiness with me– In fact, I have nobody at all.
Aside from Blaine, Gio, and Antonio, nobody familiar graced me with their presence today– Not that anybody could.
But for the first time in a long time, I’m hyper-aware of how alone I am. Preparing for my wedding by myself without the traditional bridesmaids made that more apparent than not even having any family. Especially having to advocate for myself when I'd been dissatisfied with the services I had received.
The makeup artist applied too much makeup on me. While it made me look beautiful, it also covered who I am. Over the years, I have learned to love and accept my scars and imperfections. The slight cuts that line my body from Luca deserve to be seen by people. The slight scar on my face and neck from when he lost control depicts my triumph from pain and devastation.
I have all the reasons to hide my scars, but I refuse to. They will never be hidden, no matter how uncomfortable they make other people.
To my right, I see the wedding coordinator speak into her walkie-piece. Her eyes cut to me, and she nods.
It’s showtime.
The doors burst open, and I start to practice another frenzied, anxiety-quelling breath when my eyes fall on Damiano standing at the altar. My breath catches in my throat, and I can’t move when our eyes meet.
He’ll never know how magnificent he looks to me at this moment.
“Go.”
The wedding coordinator whispers loud enough for only me to hear.
Clutching my bouquet, my vision only lining with Damiano’s, I take my first step forward. I allow myself to pretend that he’s all I’ve ever wanted, and somehow, we’ve met under different circumstances. I imagine that I’m deeply in love with him and that he’s my salvation, which isn't far from the truth concerning the salvation portion. I make myself believe for the sake of those watching us– For the sake of the Rossi family watching us, I’m madly, deeply in love with him.
I let those raw emotions press forward as I concentrate on him alone.
I can hear or vaguely note the surprise from people as they take in my silver wedding dress that is lace embroidered throughout, with a sheer covering over another shimmering material. There’s a barely visible high slit up my left thigh that is covered in layers, allowing me to walk with ease. The backless bodice opens to a V-shape above my butt, fluttering out in waves of black in a trumpet-style train to flatter my shape. I have to give it to the shop-broad. She did a splendid job on the design I explained to her.
I’m sure Damiano telling her that no mistakes were allowed in making the dress helped with my dress being done to perfection. And I eagerly note that she’s not here.
I reach the steps at the altar after forcing myself not to acknowledge anybody else, and a hand outstretches towards me. I don't have to look up to see who offers me their hand, but I do anyway.
My gaze lifts to meet Damiano, who has moved from his position close to the priest, and he smiles at me. It’s so genuine that I’m initially uncertain if I should take it. Every time he shows a hint of emotion towards me, I can’t help but be surprised and question his motive. Right now, he can either be so taken by the sight of me that moving to help me is something he has no control over, or it’s for show.
Undoubtedly, all of these people believe that I’m pregnant, so this show of care is going to make them assume even more so.
I’m the future of the Bianchi family.
Gingerly, I place my hand in his, smiling up at him as well, and we move to our places like we rehearsed last night. Next to Damiano, Gio moves in to take my bouquet so we can hold hands, then steps back down so it’s just the priest and us. We had agreed that because I don’t have anybody in my bridal party, he would only have Gio stand up there temporarily, then step down when I arrived.
Silence stretches as the music stops, and for the first time, I look at Damiano. The priest’s words drown out as I notice how handsome he looks. His stark black hair is neatly combed back, revealing lines in his hair from the direction of the comb, but even that doesn’t stop the wild cowlick that the hair on the nape of his neck has. His beard is trimmed and lined up, but he didn’t take any length off, giving it a fuller appearance.
I like it, I realize. I like the way that he looks. Even though I’m accustomed to seeing him dressed like this, I hardly ever get to see him in a gentler mode for the sake of his business associates. While the handsome businessman persona that I met the night at the hotel bar is very apparent, beneath the attractive exterior, I also see that he’s taken heed of everything and everyone here.
No more than I am.
As I walk towards him, I quickly survey everybody who is seated. The families are amongst themselves, quietly sandwiched between unknowing guests. They are like lambs willingly going to slaughter - Unaware of just how cruel these men are, but this is what life is for the families. Two worlds are seated in one room, and one group is none the wiser about what can happen. It’s crazy to sense the amount of tension that fills whatever room these men are in, yet The Council insists on forcing them to abide by their rules.
A council that does nothing for anybody and somehow lines their pockets with percentages of what everybody gets. A group of fish among sharks are holding power, and I can't help but want them to fail.
Hands clench mine, and I force myself back to the present, leaving my thoughts where they belong. My eyes lift to Damiano’s, and I offer a slightly apologetic smile. His thumb runs over the outside of my hand in acknowledgment, and the corners of his lips lift in a reassuring smile.
The priest, an older Italian man, pauses for a moment. His sermon ends, and I freeze because I wasn’t paying attention. I’m uncertain why he stopped abruptly when we didn’t discuss this part in the rehearsal. “And now, the groom would like to profess something to his bride.”
‘What?’ I mouth at Damiano. My heartbeat races, and I wish my body would move to tug my hands away, but they don’t. They’re frozen. Similar to the rest of my body.
He smiles at me. One of the most genuine smiles I’ve ever seen on him, and I stop myself from swooning.
Fuck this man for being so goddamn delectable.
“Echo Johannsen,”
he begins, still smiling, “I know you don’t like surprises or extreme public displays of affection. I know you are probably going through a million scenarios in your head right now, each of them worse than the one before, because this stunt wasn’t what we planned. I couldn’t resist.”
Playing along, I offer a beaming smile of embarrassment that reflects exactly how I feel when a few people chuckle. “Really?”
I ask gently.
He chuckles. “From the moment we met, you have undoubtedly been a moving force in my life and decisions- A divine whirlwind in my monotonous days. You push and motivate me when I would rather stay stagnant. You accept me for who I am and what I am not.”
Definitely fuck him.
It takes more restraint than I’ve felt since seeing Aldo at Luca’s funeral not to slap him. Everyone sees this as a declaration of his undying love and affection for me, but I see it as what it is.
One, he’s teasing me. He’s making sure that I know he has the upper hand in this relationship at the moment and finding humor in it in front of an oblivious crowd of hundreds. Two, his words carry the underlying meaning that he knows I’m not telling him everything, and he’s accepting me as I am when he doesn't have to.
Such pretty words from such a mesmerizing snake.
“I don’t know how, but I’m so grateful you’ve deemed me worthy of your future.”
His words have a hidden meaning and a glimmer in his eyes that almost looks lustful. “So, right here, right now, as mine forever, tell me that you’ll allow me to spend the rest of our lives finding out.”
I ignore the apparent woos and coos from people in the crowd who have never experienced such a hopelessly in-love Damiano Bianchi. I almost want to chuckle that they never will and that this is all just a show…. Some may even think that because I’m pregnant, he’s doing this.
Fingers snap in the background of my mental mind.
My angry pride is swallowed, and I fall into character. A girlish, breathless guffaw escapes my mouth, and I clutch his hands tighter. I force another wide, tooth-revealing smile that hurts my cheeks.
“I do.”
I nod emphatically, and tears bud in my eyes as I lean into Damiano without waiting for the priest. Our lips touch like young, excited lovers, and I pull away. “Always. Forever.”
I offer a second later.
My insides beg to regurgitate the air I’ve consumed today. I’m sickened with myself and this act, wishing that now I could walk right up to Aldo and his family and slit their throats without any repercussions. That the hidden razor in my garter could be utilized.
Just be patient.
Damiano’s arm wraps around me, and he pulls me in for a deep second kiss that invades my senses when my feet leave the ground. Snapping me out of my fuming thoughts, his teeth gently nip my bottom lip before his lips assuage the slight damage and take over. My hands clasp around his neck, my fingers threading through the too-long hair on the nape of his neck to make a fist, and I pull on it frustratedly. He grunts, and his tongue parts my lips as I take him in willingly. My left leg wraps around his hip, pulling him closer to me, and I pray he feels the free warmth beneath my thin wedding dress. A soft moan from me emits throughout the deadly silent area, causing Father Antonio to clear his throat.
“Well, without further ado, Mr. and Mrs. Damiano Bianchi.”
The older man stutters, coughing when our lips pull apart, but we don’t acknowledge him or anybody else. Damiano's presence crowds me. His forehead is pressed on mine. Slight cheers erupt around us, and he mildly kisses me at the words. He sets me back on my feet when we separate, not releasing me. His breath is warm as it wisps over my face and goes straight to my core.
“Forever and always, Bellissima.”
****
The reception is in full swing now that the nuptials are complete.
Watching the guests and everybody engage with each other casually, I sip from my sparkling non-alcoholic wine while sitting next to Damiano. Oblivious to my forlorn attitude at having nobody I know here, he talks animatedly with Gio. Occasionally, he ceases his conversation, takes my hand to kiss it, and then returns to whatever he’s doing. We’ve shared a few words, but my somber mood is making it impossible for me to want even to talk much. Plus, I can only catch bits and pieces of their conversation in full-blown Italian because the hall is so loud.
I’m not fluent in Italian by any means, but I was able to pick up enough when I’d been with Aldo. The rest I learned on my own by eavesdropping in on conversations or watching movies only in Italian.
Somehow, I still can’t let go of the deflated glamour my wedding and reception have turned into. My thoughts may be lingering on the fact that I could be with Blaine right now, plotting the Rossi family's demise, versus sitting less than thirty feet from them. Though I’ve tried repeatedly to prevent looking in their direction, I can’t seem to help it. Their presence seems to take over the room, and I’m sure only I feel it.
Tommaso came in place of Lorenzo. The oldest Rossi, Don Lorenzo, is out of the country and couldn’t attend. Tommaso didn’t bring a date, and from what I know, he’s not married, which makes me wonder what his future as Don Rossi will look like. On the other hand, Aldo brought a date. She’s a woman who looks like she was hired and is probably too old for his taste– Considering that she looks beyond the legal age. He’s barely paid any attention to her, and it seems like he’s too busy taking advantage of the open bar being provided.
Either way, I hate that they’re here. I wish the beverages that they’re drinking were poisoned, and I could watch them die in front of me.
As the reception draws closer to an end, the night is more tedious by the second. I hate to admit it, but I had hoped someone – Anyone would die tonight. At the same time, I constantly had to remind myself that the families aren’t the only people present. If anything happens, it affects them all. Yes, these men come from families with illegal dealings, but as time has progressed, so have many of their mindsets. They know that to keep dirty money, it’s in their best interests to have clean money, too.
The mayor briefly introduced himself to me, congratulating Damiano on a spectacular wedding and then reminding him of their meeting in three weeks, when we’re supposed to return from Italy.
From our honeymoon.
A honeymoon that I doubt is going to be one. I had imagined going somewhere remote with private beaches and nobody for miles. I had gotten one of those.
The honeymoon is going to be spent at his family home. The place where his mother was murdered. If that doesn't scream romance, I’m not sure what will.
Maybe he’ll even kill me while we’re there. Or leave me there like his father did with his mother.
Those options seem far better than what I’m dealing with now.
My gaze lifts, and I spot Aldo unabashedly staring at me from his table for the millionth time. He’s been doing that all night, only turning away when speaking to someone else or barely acknowledging his date. Besides that, I can see his cold, quiet eyes calculating his next move.
I wonder what he’s thinking, what he sees now when he looks at me. I’m not the same scared sixteen-year-old that he put two bullets in a decade ago. I’m not his little Schiavo d’amore anymore. His smitten love slave who did what he wanted, when he wanted without any question, ready and eager to submit to him.
I want him to see his failures when he’s looking at me. I want him to know he couldn’t kill me. I want him to see that more than once, he or his men didn't succeed in taking away my willpower, my determination, or my life. That, if anything, helped breathe it all back into me.
Killing all of his men has been nothing, if not the most rejuvenating orgasm I’ve ever felt.
On the other hand, he’s still as handsome as he was then. His face is older, but his maturity looks good on him. He has a simple mustache that makes his face look thinner than before and sets his high cheekbones to look more sunken. His hair frames his face in the same thick, stark blackness that he had before. The soft waves of it roll just below his chin in an unkempt way that tells me he’s also had his fill of alcohol to get through the evening.
My memory takes me back to when I would run my hands through his hair as he fucked me, our eyes never leaving each other’s because he claimed he wanted to see the change in them when I came around him.
I had been such a fucking idiot.
I had eaten up and worshiped every word he had spoken to me. Besides Gaia, he had been my world. Then I found out I was pregnant, and he had changed. The doting, loving Aldo had changed into a possessive, controlling asshole. He had his men follow me everywhere, sometimes even taking me places rather than letting me go with my friends - Especially if they were boys. He constantly had to know what I was doing when I was doing it, when I would be home, or he could get me. So many nights, I stayed at his penthouse to quell his worry. He had claimed that he needed to be near me all the time, that the change in my scent had him obsessed with me.
At that time, I’d been just as consumed by him. Then, the one day I told him I needed to spend time with Gaia for her birthday, he disappeared for days, not responding to me. When he finally did, it was when he’d put holes in me.
The rush of emotions makes me feel sick. “Damiano.”
My husband turns to look at me. “Si, Bellissima?”
He frowns. “Are you okay?”
“Uh-”
The hot rush of saliva that crowds my mouth forces me to clamp my lips shut when bile rises in my throat unexpectedly.
I cover my mouth and hurriedly push my chair back, Damiano following suit quickly. Eyes watch as he places his hand on my lower back and rushes us out of the hall to the women’s restroom. We both burst through the door, and I quickly relieve myself of the rancid memories that caused me to throw up. Another bout takes over me, and I let out a groan of disgust and misery when I’m done.
In my wedding dress on the floor in the bathroom, I lean back against the stall door and close my eyes, waiting to see if I’ll get sick again. When nothing else comes up, I exhale deeply and open my eyes.
Damiano is staring down at me. “Did you take another pill on an empty stomach?”
He questions me. The humor in his voice covers the concern in his eyes.
I shrug. “I’m pregnant, remember?”
My lips purse together at my sarcasm, and he sighs above me. “I do.”
He agrees when he realizes that someone could be here listening.
He technically shouldn’t even be in here, but who is going to tell the owner of the hotel and venue to get out of the bathroom with his wife, who just lost the contents of her stomach?
Not anybody that wants to live.
He crouches in front of me, assessing me. When I don’t look him in the eye, he takes my chin between his forefinger and thumb, caressing my chin gently, and he blesses me with a tsk. “Amore mio, stay here. I’m going to get you some water and shut everything down. Marco Jr. will be here in a second.”
I nod when he stands. Suddenly exhausted, I close my eyes and lean against the door again. At this point, I hope he comes back and tells me we can leave. We’ve come and made our point. We’re married, and people will believe I'm pregnant after our quick exit to the bathroom.
The soft sound of footsteps nearing the bathroom alerts me that Marco Jr. is outside. I take another deep breath, then gather enough energy to stand and flush the toilet. I turn, halting in shock at the body that is too close to me.
Without any eye contact, I know instantly that Aldo slinked his way into the bathroom. I don’t know where Marco Jr. is or if Damiano has even had the chance to tell him to get to the bathroom, but somehow, being a slippery snake is working in Aldo’s favor. It takes me a moment to gather my bearings before I finally look into the eyes of a man I used to believe I was in love with.
The intense passion in his eyes almost has me running back into the stall, disturbed. I expected to see anger or disgust. Maybe even a sick lust.
What I see, though, is sadness.
Longing.
“Echo.”
He greets me. The smooth, slickness of his voice crawls up my back, caressing me like nails on a chalkboard. The low timbre also sends shivers through me. Despite my deep hate for Aldo, he has always had a sexy voice. It’s not deep like Damiano’s nor holds a menacing edge like his. No, Aldo’s voice is mesmerizing and charismatic. The light, smooth tones carry a captivating lilt that could sell honey to bees.
I stand frozen, staring up at him.
My brain screams at me in fury. It wants to slash his throat, wants to watch the blood pour uncontrollably from the slit as life drains from his eyes. I can almost feel the heat of the blood as it cascades through my fingers when I touch his neck to make sure he’s dead, seeping into my deep wounds and filling them until I’m healed.
His eyes drink me in hungrily. “You’re still as beautiful as you were all those years ago. Just grown now.”
I still say nothing. It’s funny that he would mention that I’m grown as if we ended on excellent terms and not with him putting holes in my chest. Maybe he’s forgotten how much of my life he’s taken from me. While he’s been living content to the fullest for the last ten years, I’ve been in hiding and then underground. Learning to accept, at some point, that any breath could be my last was a hard realization. That crying until I didn’t have any more tears, then deciding to turn the tables and hunt him, had caused a mental shift.
That his praise disgusts me.
He scoffs, more to himself than anybody else. “Congratulations are in order, I see.”
He reaches out and gently takes the dramatically flared end of my wedding dress sleeve between his fingers. He absorbs the feel of the material between his index finger and thumb as he rubs them together. The emotions crossing his face betray precisely what he’s feeling when he drops his gaze to look at my dress.
“We used to talk about this day, remember?”
He asks me. “You always used to say that you wanted to wear a white ball gown dress because it fluffed out. You would rock your hips from side to side and make the swish sound you thought it would make when walking down the aisle.”
He chuckles, engulfed in the memory. “I just liked the idea of it because I would envision you in that dress, then all the things I could do to you while hiding under it.”
He retakes my sleeve end, repeating the same action he did earlier.
I force myself to stay quiet, to not make a sound. I don’t have to look at Aldo too long to know he’s drunk. There’s not an overwhelming smell of alcohol coming from him, though he’s not rocking on his feet or even slurring his words. He is oversharing and sentimental. He used to always become sentimental when he was drunk in the past.
It’s a shame that in ten years, nothing has changed on that end.
He lets go of my sleeve. “Do you remember the house I promised you?”
Pensive, I still don’t open my mouth. I feel trapped in my body that is uncertain whether it wants to fall for this snake’s words and relinquish the years of hatred I’ve felt just for a simple taste of the love I’d concocted in my head or kill him. It had been such a deep connection I’d thought I had with Aldo, but I know it had all been a lie. Poetic lies that sprouted betrayal and death behind them.
You could never love him again.
I hate him now. Every cell in my body, every atom, wants him to cease existing.
“You wanted a Craftsman style house. You said that you wanted it to be brick all the way around. We were gonna have five bedrooms. Three kids, a cocker spaniel named Jinx, and Gaia would live with us.”
At the mention of Gaia, I’m broken out of my reverie, reminded of how much I hate him. I look up at him squarely. “It was a Colonial.”
Confusion takes over his face. “What?”
“The house that I wanted,”
I start firmly, “it was a Colonial, not a Craftsman. That’s what you told me you would get me if I was a good girl.”
The memory sickens me, but I keep everything down. Not that I have much of anything to let go of.
Flabbergasted by my comment, Aldo looks at me incredulously, his brown eyes searching my face for a sign I’m joking. “That’s what you got out of everything I said? I risk everything to see you, and you’re correcting me? Do you even know how broken I’ve been all these years?”
“Ironic, isn’t it?”
The words slip out before I can stop them. “That you stand here telling me I’m grown when all your attempts to end my life have been thwarted.”
I scoff. “Che vuoi, Aldo? You want me to say that I still love you? I dream about what our life would be like? Do you want me to say that I want you to remind me how good you felt inside of me? Or do you want to hear about how I dream of bathing in your blood after I’ve slaughtered you? How I want to tear your skin off your body and wear it as a trophy?”
He looks away for a split second, snapping out of his drunken stupor. His eyes drink me in. Hunger and longing in them despite what I just said. He moves closer, causing my hand to inch towards the razor clipped to my garter belt. I stop when he inhales deeply. His nose is a few inches from my erratic pulsing neck. He pulls back, and I see it, finally.
Disgust.
“You smell like him.”
“Who?”
I play dumb. Taunting him. “Damiano? My husband?”
His jaw flexes with tension at my words, and he grinds his teeth. It’s something that he does when he’s trying to control his anger. I realized it years ago when I would force his hand to punish me by being a petulant teenager. He would calm himself and give me what I deserved later, even though I had craved it then.
“Bianchi.”
Aldo scoffs. “How did that happen?”
Emboldened by his discomfort, I shrug nonchalantly. “The enemy of my enemy.”
A second time, he moves in, sniffing the air again. A sneer is on his lips when he pulls back. “How far along are you?”
There’s no way he can sense a pregnancy. Is there? There’s no chance that I’m pregnant. I’m still taking my birth control.
“Fuck do you care?”
I say the words, seething with hatred that I feel for Aldo and his family.
Before I have time to react, Aldo’s hand is around my throat. My back is pressed against the outside of the door that is swung inside the stall, and his chest presses against mine. A menacing look is on his face, and I sense he’s considering what he can do to me in a matter of seconds before I scream.
“You’ve always been a little bitch that likes it rough, huh?”
His hip pushes into me, and it does nothing but make me want to kill him more. I can’t wait to saw through his cock with a rusty blade and shove it down his throat. “Tell me, does he know when you’re about to come? Do you still make that low squeak right before you come all over his cock? That needy fucking whine that you used to give me every time.”
A smile spreads on my face. “I scream when I come on his cock.”
He’s quiet as his memory is jogged to Luca’s funeral at the church, and his face reddens. Though it was Damiano’s fingers I came around that day, he doesn’t know any better.
I angle my neck up, jutting out some, which seems to relieve some of the tension of his hold. My chest pushes out, touching his even more, and I chuckle. “What’s The Council going to say about you sneaking into the women’s restroom to harass the wife of a family, huh?”
My eyes never leave his. Aldo seems to think about my question but doesn’t release me. “You think you’re so smart? You think this farce of a marriage will save you or Bianchi? That Bianchi can satisfy that filthy pussy of yours? That this bastard baby will make it past its first birthday? You think that you can just go around fucking us and having babies?”
I laugh lightly. It’s such a masculine move to attack my virtue. “Jealous? Worked with you, huh?”
His pupils dilate in unchecked rage. “Oh, but you killed your child, right? You brought him into this world, so you took him out.”
I continue to bait him.
“Shut your fucking mouth. You don’t know anything.”
Angered, Aldo forcefully pushes me back, and my head hits the door, but not hard enough to cause any damage or pain. We’re nose to nose, our breaths mingling in a fusing mixture of hate, rage, trauma, and lust that has been dug up from years ago. I hate him with every molecule in me, to the point where I want to taste his death and consume his soul.
He’s obviously mistaking that with want.
I roll my eyes. “I know all I need to know. You gave me every hope ten years ago, then snatched it all back in an instant and more.”
I growl. “I’m going to do the same thing to you.”
“And how are you gonna do that, my little Echo?”
He taunts me, using the very first nickname he gave me at twelve when he talked to me at the office so many years ago.
I seethe, hating how I should have known to walk away from him even then. “I’m going to kill you, Aldo. You’re gonna die by my hand, screaming my name around your cock in your mouth.”
Laughter is the response I receive, and I’m not shocked by it either. “My sweet little Echo has grown a voice?”
He teases me, his eyes lowering to my lips. “What a beautiful voice it is.”
I watch in horror, frozen in place, as he leans in as if he’s going to kiss me. Time seems to slow down, suspending in front of me. I take in a deep breath, appalled and disgusted. My razor is unsheathed in the instant it takes him to blink, and Aldo stops when he feels the metal press against his erection. His eyes skirt past my lips, taking in the razor, then lift back to mine. Realization settles on his face, and his lust-driven daze seems to lift.
A smirk spreads on his face. “Seems you did learn a thing or two in WITSEC.”
WITSEC.
My emotions take over. Blinded by the rage I’ve held for the last ten years, I move the razor to his throat faster than he expects. It nicks his neck, and a red slit presents itself, coating the razor with the warm substance.
I push at him, and he releases me.
“WITSEC, huh?”
I let out through clenched teeth. The tables have turned, but I can’t bring myself to kill him the way that he deserves. “No, I learned this after your incompetent men lost me.”
I press the razor more. Blood slides from the razor over the hilt, making its way down my arm, but gets hidden by the black color of my gown. “How does it feel, Aldo?”
His brow furrows at my random question. “What?”
“To know that you turned me into this?”
His hand slowly reaches up towards mine as if he’s trying to be apologetic, but the threat of my razor stops him. He drops his hands. “Don’t ever touch me again.”
“You’re right.”
Fuckin’ A, I’m right.
“Your filthy hands are never allowed to come within two inches of me.”
He raises his hands in surrender and mockery. “Do you understand?”
These men are so cocky. They think that just because I’m a woman, I’m incapable of taking care of myself or killing. When they’ll never know that I get my best sleep after I’ve killed a Rossi member.
“Say you understand?”
Aldo holds out for a second. I know that he doesn’t like that he’s at my mercy. And while he believes that I won’t kill him, he’s also not too sure. I am, after all, a woman. An unstable creature, as he liked to call me. He knows I’ve been on the run for years and spent the last few so deep underground that he didn’t even realize I was right under his nose.
I press the razor further into the cut, and he winces. “I understand.”
He looks at me evenly. “Tell me this, and I’ll never bother you again.”
“I don’t have to tell you shit. I don’t owe you shit.”
Light brown, soulless eyes meet mine. “Where’s my son?”
He spits out the last word in anger.
I waver at the question for a millisecond, then control myself. “He’s my son. And he’s not here anymore.”
“You’re lying.”
A mixture of hate and anger are evident in his tone, but his eyes reflect pain. It’s an emotion I only saw in Aldo when he spoke about his sister. “Where is he?”
“He’s gone,” I repeat.
“No, he’s not,”
Aldo argues. I see the disbelief on his face. The urge to not accept reality. “Where are you hiding him? Where’s my son?”
He yells at me.
Noise reaches us from outside the bathroom. The door swings open, and I see Damiano, Gio, and Tommaso from the corner of my eye. They all stop abruptly. A dreadful sense of urgency fills the small space as they look between us both – uncertain of what to do or who needs help. Instead of dropping the razor like I’m supposed to, I focus on Aldo.
“He’s gone. You saw to that.”
I look up at the man I used to love. My emotions come forth. A part of it is on purpose, to make me look like the victim rather than the attacker. The truth is that a deep part of me could maneuver this razor across his throat with ease and not flinch when I’m showered in the spray of his blood. “You took him from me.”
Right now, I can’t kill him. Not with the audience we have, and Aldo seems to realize that. As Tommaso’s primary enforcer of sorts, he’s always been observant and quick on his feet. He’s an idiot, but he's also a ruthless killer.
In front of our audience, Aldo seems to grow bolder. “He belongs with his father.”
He insists. “He’s a Rossi.”
I force tears free, but my stance doesn’t change. My razor and hand are still poised to take Aldo’s life ruthlessly. In truth, I want to kill him right now. It would serve him right. “He’s a Johannsen. And he’s buried with them.”
“He should be buri–”
I move, deepening the slit on Aldo’s neck and silencing him. Tommaso steps further into the bathroom, but nobody tries to stop me. “He was the only good thing I had left after that day, and you took him. You took everything worth living from me.”
A hand softly closes over mine, and Damiano’s warmth surrounds me even though I didn’t see him enter the bathroom fully. His lips touch my ear, his body once again crowding me with a calming presence that makes me want to act erratic. “Echo, you need to pull away.”
His voice is gentle and soothing, but his tone is firm.
I don’t look back at him. I’m all too aware that if I do, I will immediately give in and need his strength. A strength that isn’t my own and feels all too foreign. I’m not used to leaning on someone else and don’t like the idea. After being by myself all this time, my demons and I only want to trust in ourselves.
“Tell her to put it down, Bianch-”
Aldo shuts up when I do the opposite of what I’m being coaxed to do, pressing the metal further in his already wounded neck. “You just couldn’t stop until I was dragged into the same darkness you are.”
I scoff. “You remember the houses and false dreams that you promised me. I remember your words.”
“Do it then. End me, Echo. End this.”
Aldo urges me.
I imagine following through with the bold request from him. “You took everything - my world. My son.”
The tears that fall now aren’t forced anymore. This is the first time I have fully acknowledged my son's existence. I had always felt that if I didn’t admit he was gone, then he never would be. He would always be with me. I’m purging myself of any slight emotion I might have for this man that will prevent me from killing him. I’m releasing over a decade of tears that have prevented me from moving on.
I’m letting teenager Echo go. The innocent girl groomed over the years to fall for this man, then discarded when she wasn’t valuable.
She deserves to be content. Present Echo will see things get sorted out.
“Bellissima,”
Damiano's body moves into mine more, and I can’t ignore his presence anymore when his chest presses against my back. I chance looking at him over my shoulder. “He could never take your world. They are with you through every breath and decision you take. Your Gaia and son are here with you through it all. We’re rebuilding our world right now together.”
Without words, Damiano’s arm snakes around my front, pulling me back into him, his hand covering my stomach. His right hand clasps around the metal of the razor that I’ve loosened against Aldo’s neck, and when I see his fingers coated in blood against the super sharp razor, I let it go.
An intense heat consumes me. The type that tells me I’m either on the verge of a mental breakdown or an anxiety attack. Somewhere I haven't been in a long time.
I exhale a deep breath, succumbing to my temporary defeat. My body turns into Damiano’s chest, and I breathe steadily, inhaling his scent that centers me. My hands grasp at the front of his jacket, but I don’t move or look around me.
“The Council will hear about this.”
I recognize Tommaso's thick, accented voice. “Your wife threatened my brother’s life. This is not acceptable.”
Beneath me, I feel Damiano’s chest heave in a quick scoff. His arm is still around me protectively. “Yes, I can’t wait to bring forth how your brother was discovered in the women’s restroom in my place of business, where my wife was. And how she had to protect herself against him.”
There’s a cold sensation that envelops me from behind me. Without looking, I know Aldo is moving towards the door. “Lascialo stare.”
I'm curious if he means to leave me alone or going to The Council.
I don’t care. I can’t.
Weaknesses I don’t want to show consume me as I hide my face and allow Damiano to bark orders from the bathroom in Italian at everybody. What feels like forever passes by before Damiano peels me away from his chest, his head ducking to assess me. I stand under his scrutinizing gaze as he looks me over, ensuring I’m unharmed.
“Did he hurt you, Echo?”
His hands frantically skim over my body, seeing if I flinch at any point. When his hands fall to my sleeve, he pulls back at the sight of the blood from Aldo, and I shake my head. I know I’ve prepared for this day for years, but somehow, every time I see Aldo, a part of me gets sick from the utmost disgust, while another craves him. I hate him with every fiber of my soul, but at the same time, I still find myself seeking his approval. And I realize it’s because I’ve never had closure.
I’ve spent the last ten years either running from him or eliminating his men. He’s been in the background of my relationships with people- The cause of all my pain, love, hate, and despair.
“I shouldn’t have left you.”
Damiano continues to look over me. “I should have stayed until Marco Jr. got here.”
I don’t tell him he shouldn’t have, but I don’t lie and tell him everything was great. He can deduce from what he saw precisely what transpired. I stand stuck in my mind, considering what would have happened if I had killed Aldo. What I really would have felt, but my mind keeps returning to Damiano, how my actions would affect him only.
Being soft isn’t like you.
The voice inside my head speaks to my biggest insecurity, but I push the voice down, tamping the fire that begins to start within me again. Despite my wish to take care of things my way, I have relinquished control to Damiano in a way I don’t want to admit. Maybe it weakens me, but I’ll look into that more another day.
Once he’s content, Damiano takes my face in his hands. The blood that coats his fingers from when he grabbed my razor spreads across my cheeks, but neither of us acknowledges it. “I’m so proud of you.”
Surprised, I look up at him. A million questions form in my head, but only one comes out. “Because I didn’t kill him?” I ask.
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Because you thought to protect yourself.”
He places a tender kiss on my lips that echoes through the bathroom. “When I realized he was missing, I swore to Tommaso I would kill him if he were near you. But you did a much better job frightening him than death would have.”
I chuckle. “Yeah?”
I’m not sure if I can recall whether Aldo was frightened, definitely uncertain of what could happen, or if my toxic daddy approval syndrome has shifted to Damiano. Either way, I love that he’s proud of me, and if it weren’t for the hate I feel for myself, I would embrace my pride. I hate myself for enjoying the feel of him, the warmth of his blood against my skin. I hate that I need him, and his instinct to care for me seems wholesome.
I hate that I feel safe at the moment.
He nods. For the first time in days, he smiles at me. A genuine smile that melts me to my core. “Death is definite. Seeing Aldo suffer because you don’t want him and are married to me is better torture at the moment.”
I weigh his words briefly. It doesn’t take long for me to accept that he’s right. Death for Aldo right now would be too easy. He wouldn’t get to enjoy seeing his family perish before him.
Meeting my husband’s gaze, I feel my breath leave my body from the care and yearning I see in his eyes. This is a night for foreign emotions. I don’t feel the usual lust consume me, but a soft yearning in response to his. It’s like a soft tug of emotion, but the feeling seems to trickle into something deeper I refuse to delve into.
It can’t be love. Neither of us believes that’s a factor or possibility in this deal.
Neither of us will allow it or admit it willingly out loud.
“Can we go home?”
I ask him, when I accept, I’m over the day.
“Of course.”
Damiano smiles softly. “Let’s go home.”