Chapter 35
Alex
My eyes trail the bleak walls of the room as regret forms in my belly. I’m glad I threw the flowers in his face yesterday, I am. But I can’t say they wouldn’t look good in here. The room would benefit from some color to liven up the dull magazine look.
Still, the last thing I’d want is for him to think that he can treat me like shit and make it all right with a simple bouquet.
It’s not my first apology bouquet; I’ve received plenty of them in my relationship with Robbie.
He wasn’t abusive from the start. No, our relationship was good enough to fool me into thinking he was a good person.
The first few times he lost his temper, it was just his words.
They stung like hell, but he’d follow up with some flowers and an apology.
He claimed he was under a lot of stress because of his impending promotion, and I swallowed his excuses like they meant something.
If I had left then, everything would’ve been different. I wipe the tears from my eyes, and a knock sounds at my door. Leon’s deep voice follows the knock as I startle.
“Get ready. We’re leaving in half an hour. I suggest black tie, but it’s up to you.”
My lips press into a frown as I rack my brain to remember if we had plans of sorts, but we’ve avoided each other since yesterday. I jump out of bed to open the door to the hallway. He’s already entering his office. “What the hell does that mean?”
He turns to me, in his signature, perfectly tailored suit, with eyes dark as coal. “It means what I said. We’re leaving in half an hour.”
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
“Fine. Then I’m not coming.” I cross my arms in front of my chest.
“Fine. Then I’ll carry you.” His voice is casual, like he’s fully prepared to do so.
I open my mouth to say something, but the only thing that leaves it is a frustrated groan. I follow that up with a slam of the doors, checking the time on the modern wall clock.
Who the hell does he think he is?
A mafia boss, obviously, with enough money to do what he wants. Still, he can’t buy me. He can’t buy my forgiveness.
I pass the full-length mirror, noticing my messy attire. My hair is a nest on top of my head, and I’m wearing a pair of leggings and an old, worn t-shirt. He said the dress code is black tie. An idea forms in my head, and my mouth twists into a smirk. I shouldn’t change.
The always-put-together, Type-A Leon would hate it. Rubbing my hands together like a cartoon villain, I grab a pair of white, sporty socks to complement the outfit, delight blooming within me.
Half an hour later, a knock sounds again.
Excitement flows through me as I rise to open the door with a wide smile on my face.
Breath hitches in my throat at the sight of him.
His tux looks somehow even more expensive than his typical clothes.
His thick, dark hair is styled in a way that makes me want to mess it up.
He sports a five o’clock shadow that does wonders for his jawline. He’s unfairly hot.
His gaze travels over my body, but it seems almost appreciative. I’m dressed as if I’m doing home renovations, but he doesn’t seem to mind. My face drops, disappointed by his lack of reaction.
“Grab a jacket,” he says, and I take his words to heart. Being underdressed is fine, but being cold is where I draw the line.
I slip my arms through the sleeves of my coat, give Persephone a kiss goodbye, and follow him out.
We enter the elevator, but instead of going down, he presses a button that leads us to the roof.
Maybe he plans to throw me off it. The silly thought is quickly pushed away.
He’s way too smart to do that off the building he lives in.
The elevator doors open onto the roof, and the wind howls around us, making an even bigger mess of my hair.
At least I brought a jacket. With squinted eyes, I realize the wind isn’t the only thing howling — there’s a helicopter across from us.
White lines on the floor signal that this is indeed a helipad and remind me of just how much money the man next to me has.
He seems unimpressed, making his way toward the noisy aircraft, and I’m too shocked to do anything but follow.
He stops next to the door and puts his hand out.
I’m still dumbfounded, so I take it and lift myself up to the cabin.
I scoot my ass to the other side, trying to put distance between us, but the cabin is too small.
He sucks the air out of the tiny space, forcing his scent down my nose.
He smells just as good as he looks, making my belly churn with frustration.
A pilot sits in the front seat, his head adorned with large headphones.
Leon grabs an identical set, placing it over my ears.
He grabs his own headset and within minutes, we’re up in the air.
Finally, my tongue relaxes enough to speak. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see,” he responds through the headset.
A million questions swirl through my mind, but I know Leon well enough to realize they would be futile.
My gaze lingers on the swirl of colors outside, the sunset painting the sky.
Just as the last traces of the sun disappear, the aircraft begins its descent.
We’re hundreds of feet from the ground, but I would recognize New York’s skyline anywhere.
Leon helps me out of the helicopter, just like he helped me in.
The chill has risen in the air, and I’m relieved to have brought my coat.
He walks me around the aircraft and to another elevator.
A quick two-block walk after, we’re ascending toward the roof of a famous hotel. I know exactly where we’re going because I was here twice before. The elevator dings, and we step outside.
The Rooftop. My favorite restaurant. Even though we’re in the heart of a massive city, the string lights hanging from wooden pergolas make it seem like we’re in a small Mediterranean town in the middle of the summer.
There are heaters hidden in the pergolas, making sure we can enjoy the place any time of the year.
A maze of hedges allows privacy for every guest and gives you the feel of a garden.
Yet, the view is the most stunning part of it.
Millions of tiny lights resemble a sky full of stars.
We’re so high up nobody could hurt us here.
We step toward the hostess table, and my cheeks heat, realizing what I’m wearing.
“You should’ve told me where we’re going,” I whisper-yell.
He glances back at me, shooting me a devastating smirk. “You should have listened to me.”
I’d never admit that in a billion years, but he’s right. I was stubborn, and now I’m in my favorite place in the world, and I look like I’m here to beg for spare change.
“Good evening. How can I help you?” The meticulously styled hostess asks, eyeing Leon with interest.
“Petrovi?.” Leon says, the hard roll of the r rumbling deep in my chest.
The hostess glances at me, scrunching her nose, and leads us to our table. Our table is a corner one, with plush maroon chairs and an uninterrupted view of the city. My eyes are probably sparkling as I stare at it, and Leon clears his throat to grab my attention.
“I wanted to give you another bouquet, but I was afraid it would suffer the same fate.” He bites the inside of his bottom lip, hiding a smirk.
“You were right to be afraid.” I shoot him a fake smile. “I don’t know what your game is here. But your apology is still not accepted.”
This time, he’s unable to hide his smirk. “That’s okay. This isn’t my apology.”
“What is it, then?” I cross my arms defiantly.
“I remember you talking about this being a place where you felt safe and I thought you could use some of that these days.”
My mouth parts on an ‘oh,’ my shoulders relaxing. He’s right. I’ve been on edge ever since I realized someone was following me, and even though I’m pretty sure I’m safe in Leon’s apartment, I still feel caged in.
Comfortable silence falls over us as Leon focuses on the menu in front of him. I have it memorized, so my gaze falls to my clothes again. What is it about him that makes me want to counter him? That makes me want to do the opposite of what he says?
There was a voice inside of me urging me to taunt him since we met, which led to plenty of passionate nights. But it’s still not a behavior typical of me.
Maybe before… before everything. But I was trained to create as little friction as possible in my relationship with Robbie, and I’ve done my best to avoid any conflict with the opposite gender after that.
Still, it’s like I can’t control it around Leon.
Especially now, after he hurt me, I want to make him suffer.
I want to counter his every word, his every action.
The rational part of my brain knows that it’s not the smartest thing to taunt a person with unlimited access to weapons and money.
He could destroy me in more ways than I could count.
But the flicker inside my chest doesn’t care.
Because deep down, I know he wouldn’t hurt me.
My throat constricts as my thoughts get too heavy. Luckily, the server arrives to take our orders, snapping me out of it. I recite my order while Leon reads his, and when the server leaves, the comfortable silence becomes anything but.
Leon scans the surroundings before locking his gaze on mine. “I can see why you like the place.” I simply shrug, so he continues, “It’s stunning.” He takes a sip of water. “And so are you.”
I release a breath through my nose. “Oh, please. Look at me.” I motion to my getup.
His eyes trail my form appreciatively. “Like I said. Stunning.”
The hairs on the back of my neck rise as the tiniest shiver crawls down my spine. My nipples prickle, and I curse myself internally for not wearing a bra. The server brings us the drinks, and I take a hefty gulp of my wine, steeling myself for the rest of this night.
“Was New York the favorite city you’ve lived in?”
“Nope. It’s Vegas.” A hint of a smile appears on his lips, like he knows exactly why. “I guess it’s pretty self-explanatory.”
“Is he the reason you never went pro?” He doesn’t mention his name, but he doesn’t have to.
“Yeah,” I let out a nervous chuckle. “I needed to keep a low profile. Though I sometimes wished for him to find out.” I huff a laugh. “God, he would’ve been pissed.”
My joke falls on deaf ears. Leon’s expression is solemn as he stares at me with intensity. “He didn’t like you playing?”
“Something like that.” I take a sip of wine, and he doesn’t force me to say more. The server brings my plate with the juiciest-looking steak, and I stare at it as memories come rushing back and words start pouring out of me.
The first time he was violent with me, it was a small, almost unnoticeable thing.
“He had his colleagues over for a poker night.” The knife cuts through the meat like butter, as my hands go through the automated motions.
“I was the dutiful housewife, even though we still weren’t married, and served them chips and beers.
It wasn’t too bad; I enjoyed watching them play.
” I shrug, placing a bite of food onto my tongue.
The silence stretches until I swallow, but he doesn’t break it.
“I would study their games, watching from the sidelines. He would let me sit next to him, claiming I was his lucky charm. One day, after he lost a pretty big hand, a comment escaped my mouth.” I sense him growing tense, his energy turning darker.
“He plastered on a fake smile, but clamped my thigh with his palm. To others, it looked like playful banter, but the table was hiding the way I flinched after his fingers dug into my flesh. It was also hiding the red marks left on my skin.” One more bite, and I swallow back tears.
“It was when I learned he wanted me seen but not heard. He especially couldn’t stand my comments regarding poker, probably because he knew I was better than he was.
” I don’t dare look up at him, focusing on my meal instead.
The last thing I want is to see the pity in his eyes, making me feel weak all over again.
“I should have left ages before I did. But he would threaten me, and I could hardly rely on the police protecting me, could I? Still, I should have left earlier.”
His fingers wrap around my wrist, stopping the robotic motions. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“I know, I’m just saying…”
“It wasn’t your fault,” he repeats, his voice solemn. “He used his power and position in this rotten system, and the fact that you did get out is a testament to your strength and wits.”
My throat constricts as it gets harder and harder to keep my tears at bay. Rationally, the words he said are nothing new to me. My brain knows them. But my chest still swells hearing them. “I know that,” I whisper.
“Do you?” His thumb caresses the thin skin of my inner wrist, grounding me.
I nod, lifting my head. The look in his eyes knocks the breath out of my lungs. The dark chocolate pools swim with rage and pain. His pupils are blown wide, but they seem almost glossy, mirroring the emotions in mine.
“I will handle it, you know?” he asks.
“What?” I blink my tears away.
“Your ex. You will never have to be afraid again.”
His words wrack my body with shivers. I don’t ask how or what he’ll do.
He’s in the mafia, and I don’t know nearly enough about it to make assumptions about what that means.
A better person would tell him to let it go, that it’s not his battle to fight.
But I’m so tired of fighting alone against an invincible opponent. I’ll take all the help I can get.
My nose sniffles as I attempt a joke. “I still won’t forgive you.”
Once again, he doesn’t let me soften the mood. “You shouldn’t. I hurt you. And you should make me grovel for it.”
A flutter starts deep in my core, his words affecting me more than they should. My shoulders feel lighter after I shared this with him. Even though I still hate him, I don’t feel so alone anymore.