30. Georgia
30
GEORGIA
I let myself wallow in my pity party for an hour after he left and then got up and dusted myself off. It was time to make myself at home, like he said. Best of all was the fact that the doors to his bedroom and office weren’t even locked. That made me think he didn’t share his space very often with others. Seeing how private he was gave me a kind of satisfaction I didn’t want to examine too closely.
I started in his office. There was a laptop, password-protected, of course, and a painfully neat desk. That was about all that made up the office. Not much to see there.
Next, I moved to his bedroom. In another life, I might have felt bad about invading his privacy. But considering how he’d left me with nothing but questions and no answers, locked up, penniless, phoneless, and desperate, I wasn’t feeling too bad about it.
As soon as I opened the bedside table, it was clear this was where he kept his private things, not at Casa Nera. There wasn’t much in his bedside drawers, but there was enough to give me a glimpse of the man he had become.
There were a couple of well-thumbed paperbacks and a set of dog tags. I picked them up, staring at his initials etched into the metal. Where and when had he worn these?
I already knew he’d been in the military — that much was obvious from his bearing and training — but I longed to know the story behind it.
Where had Elio gone? What had he seen? I had a feeling that the what he had seen part was what drove him to sit at the table at night, clean his weapons, and roll the dice on tomorrow.
Beneath the dog tags there was a notebook I recognized like it was my own.
The one Elio used to write his poetry in.
I opened it, sliding my finger across the spidery black lines.
Beneath the frozen river, currents still run.
Beneath stone and concrete, seeds push through?—
And those seeds can lift whole buildings.
The past sat on my shoulder and dug its claws in. He still had the notebook that he’d filled with words that summer. I gripped it tightly. I wanted to read it. I was that much of a masochist.
With a sigh, I sat on the bed with the notebook on my lap and gazed out the window. The city was dark, and the lights of the hotels and casinos glittered. Elio was out there right now. What was he doing? Who was he with? Was he really working? Should I even care?
He really could have a girlfriend. He’d been clear enough that I wasn’t his wife, only his hostage. Surely, his display in the clothing shop had been for appearances only. I could try to tell myself I didn’t care if he was with someone else, but that would have been a lie. And I didn’t have the strength to lie to myself in my own head.
I would care. I would really care.
With a sigh, I sank back, staring at the ceiling, my mind drifting back over the days we’d shared together. That whole sun-dappled summer that had passed too quickly—before my life had plunged into winter.
Unrelenting. Never-ending.
I still hadn’t found spring.
The sound of a slamming door echoing through the penthouse sent me shooting to my feet.
A person?
I stood, panicking. Every time I snooped, I ended up nearly getting caught. I probably should just quit it. I clearly wasn’t cut out for a life of crime. But common sense warred with my desire to find out more about Elio.
I shoved the notebook into my pocket, hoping my loose pants and baggy shirt would hide it.
I sauntered out of Elio’s room, trying to seem like I hadn’t been doing anything wrong.
A woman stood in the foyer, a discreet black headset in her ear. When she saw me, she stood straighter, clasped her hands behind her back, and studied some point over my head.
“Captain Toni Deponio, Mrs. Santori, performing a security sweep.”
I felt like an absolute mess compared to this professional, disciplined-looking woman.
“Um, Elio said that there wouldn’t be security inside the apartment,” I pointed out.
“With respect, Mrs. Santori, that is only when he is in residence. Otherwise, I will be looking after you.”
I sighed. “I don’t need looking after.”
“With respect, your husband disagrees.”
Your husband. My face felt hot and itchy.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Toni. Please call me Georgia.”
“No can do, Mrs. Santori. Please go about your evening, and I will check the residence.”
She gave me a salute, turned on her efficient heel, and strode off.
I stared after her. These people who Elio had watching his house weren’t De Sanctis men (or women, for that matter). There was no way. These were all ex-military. More clues to Elio’s mysterious past that I couldn’t fit together.
Seeing as Captain Toni seemed as likely as a rock to let private information slip about her boss, I was just going to have to find out for myself.
You could just ask Elio.
Yeah, right, because he was really open to being asked about what had happened in our time apart.
The truth was, however, that Elio still had the poems that he’d written that summer. Love poems… to me. It made my heart feel like it could smash into a million tiny pieces.
That could mean anything… but it didn’t mean nothing.
I couldn’t go and read the notebook while Captain Toni was wandering around. The last thing I wanted was Elio finding out that I was snooping in his most private, personal memories. I’d justified it because he’d destroyed my life and forced me to leave everything I’d cared about behind. And yet… I couldn’t deny that it was weighing on my conscience.
I really was done snooping.
I needed something else to do. Something other than sitting and thinking about the disaster that was my life. I had just the thing.
For an upright, ex-military Mafia man, Elio sure had an impressive wine collection. To be fair, they were pretty dusty. He might collect, but it didn’t seem like he enjoyed them often. I uncorked a bottle of red and swigged straight from it, settling down on the floor with my back against the kitchen counter, staring out the floor-to-ceiling window at the Atlantic City marina.
My mind lingered here and there, a bird hopping from the past to the present. I never usually let myself think too much about those days together. They had been so short but so precious. Thinking about them was like tracing an old scar that had never quite healed right and would always ache.
Now, it felt like that wound had been opened right back up. And blood was running freely.
Before I knew it, the bottle of wine was empty, and my head was swimming. I had to hold onto the floor.
I had to be drunk. Because I never even heard him approach.
One minute, it was just me, gazing out the window, whispering to myself like a madwoman.
The next, a dark figure was crouched beside me, prying the empty wine bottle from my hand.
“What’s going on?” Elio asked, his deep voice sending a rush of sparks across my skin.
“I’ve just been taking a walk down memory lane,” I slurred, sloppy drunk. “I don’t recommend it. It’s a fucking tragedy.”
He studied me in silence, then stood. “You need to lie down.”
I nodded, my head feeling like a puppet on a broken string. “Yes, boss,” I sniped, putting my hands to the floor and trying to push up — only to immediately tip over.
“Whoa.” The world spun violently.
An Italian swear word left Elio’s mouth, then he muttered something and reached for me. His arms were strong as he scooped me up and held me against his chest.
I inhaled the smell of him.
No perfume. No cigarettes. No gross club smell or evidence of another woman. He hadn’t been with someone else. Why did that make me relieved? It shouldn’t. I should be happy if he was making himself and his taciturn moods and cruel disinterest someone else’s problem.
“You smell like you,” I murmured into his shirt.
He turned and took me from the kitchen.
“Who else would I smell like?” he mused as he carried me down the hallway.
“Your girlfriend,” I mumbled. “You’ve got one, right? Why wouldn’t you have one?”
“I’m not really the dating type,” he said cryptically. “And I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’m a married man.”
A smile spread across my lips at his matter-of-fact tone. He glanced down, and one side of his lips lifted in a smirk.
“You like that?”
“Yes,” I nodded. “Yeah. I like that.”
We reached my bedroom. He pushed the door open with his foot and carried me in, heading toward the bed.
“Can I ask why you decided to get drunk as a fish tonight?” he asked and lay me down.
“I couldn’t work out how to turn the TV on.” I sighed and relaxed into the mattress.
“I’ll show you tomorrow,” Elio said. “Get some rest.”
He turned to go, and — faster than I thought I was capable of — I snagged his hand and held him there.
“No, wait.”
He stilled.
“I met Captain Toni,” I added and tugged on his hand.
He let me pull him to the edge of the bed. He sat.
“Good. She’s going to be your bodyguard when I’m not around.”
“She’s scary and awesome… Why a woman? Didn’t trust me around a man?” I dissolved into giggles. It suddenly seemed so funny that Elio might think I was some kind of sexpot man-eater, when in reality, I’d only ever been with one man. Him.
“More like I don’t trust them. I know better than to test a man with a temptation like you.”
I wished it was brighter in here and I could see his face. But it was shrouded in shadow.
I gripped his hand like it was a lifeline in a turbulent sea — the only thing that could keep me alive.
“Be careful, dear husband. I might start to think that you don’t hate me as much as you say you do.”
“You can hate someone and want them at the same time.” His voice was dangerously deep. “You taught me that.”
Acting on sheer drunken impulse, I pushed myself up, bringing my face close to his. He stiffened, but there was no stopping me when I was this drunk. Suddenly, tempting Elio’s ironlike control was all I wanted. I wanted him to see me. I wanted him to break his rules for me.
“So, you hate me, but you want me, and you have me here… all yours,” I said.
In the dark, with only the neon glow of the city seeping through the windows, I could just make out his eyes. He was looking down at my lips. Heat surged through me.
I swayed toward him, leaned in, and landed a kiss on his lips.
His hands immediately closed around my shoulders and moved me back.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
A tear escaped my eye and dripped down my cheek.
“Why?” I asked. “You said you wanted me. You were lying, right? Just like then. You never really wanted me. You just wanted what you could take from me…” My voice broke near the last word. The damn wine had made me vulnerable and unfiltered.
He took his time to answer.
“I don’t kiss drunk women,” he said simply.
“That’s nice to know, you’re great at avoiding answering things,” I said, dizziness taking over.
Oh, I’d really had too much to drink.
I lay back down, blinking at him a few times, my eyes growing heavier with each one.
“You’re a professional. Did you train in how to survive torture?” I was so hot. I couldn’t stand it. I pulled at my shirt, trying to unbutton it and take it off.
Elio’s blunt-tipped fingers brushed mine out of the way and finished the job. I tossed the shirt across the room and flopped back in just my bra.
“But then, this isn’t torture, is it?” I chuckled.
Elio stared at me. “Isn’t it?”
I rolled onto my side and reached up to tap his nose.
“It’s good,” I said, “not to kiss drunk girls. You’re still a good guy, though you kill people now. But if you only kill bad guys, does that made you a good guy?”
My voice was slurred, my thoughts slipping away.
“Me,” I continued sleepily, my words barely making sense anymore, “I don’t kiss drunk girls. Or drunk guys, either.”
A pause.
“Do you want to know a secret?” I whispered.
Elio paused then leaned in.
I pressed my lips to his ear. “I’ve never kissed anyone but you.”
The confession was the last thing I said before the world drifted away.